Sometimes, when they’d had a bad domestic, there would be a woman battered black and blue. The man would have a restraining order placed on him, the woman would be taken to hospital. Then Kate would hear that the woman had gone back to her husband, wanted the charges dropped, and the others would say what a fool the wife was. But Kate had sympathised. Some were like the little girl with the curl. When they were good they were very, very good, but when they were bad they were bastards. There were other ways of battering women too, ways that did not involve physical violence, and Kate sometimes thought that the mental battering was worse.

Unless, of course, you were dealing with the Grantley rapist. With a husband or boyfriend at least you had an inkling of what you were up against.

With him, you were on your own.

Kate’s thoughts strayed to Patrick Kelly, keeping a lonely vigil by his daughter’s hospital bed. She dried between her legs and felt the stirrings there. Kelly brought out feelings she had forced down for years. She closed her eyes to stop the pictures that were invading her brain. She was tired and lonely and Patrick Kelly had affected her for all the right reasons - he was an attractive man. Dan, on the other hand, affected her for all the wrong reasons. Namely, because he was here now, and she knew exactly how their lovemaking would be.

She hoped that Kelly’s daughter pulled through, she really did. He had such faith in himself, he had such a strong belief that Mandy would open her eyes and look at him as though she had just had a nap. Kate wanted that for him too.

Of course, Patrick Kelly kept invading her thoughts because of his daughter’s terrible predicament. She forced that thought into her head and held on to it. It was just pity.

But she knew she was lying to herself.

She fancied Patrick Kelly with all her heart and soul. He was the first man she had fancied for over five years.

She heard Dan’s voice coming up from the lounge and Lizzy’s laughter. After all, he had given her Lizzy. For that reason alone she would forgive him an awful lot. But their days of bedding down together were over.

Patrick Kelly looked at his watch. It was just after seven. He realised that he had not eaten for over twenty-four hours. Putting his daughter’s hand gently back on the bed, he walked from the intensive care unit. In the small waiting room he lit a cigarette and took a hip flask from the pocket of his jacket. The brandy burnt his empty belly. He was unshaven and unkempt.

The young PC who had been staying at the hospital, in case Mandy awoke and said anything, came into the room.