Muireann and Megan hadn’t dared to share even a quick sympathetic look. It had been drummed into both of them that their gang rivals were shagging septic cans of piss, and that their old dolls were expected to regard them with equal disgust and hostility. But both women were acutely aware of what they themselves looked like, in the short skirts and the tight slutty tops that their lords and masters insisted that they wear, and that whenever they went out they had to walk three steps behind them. On at least two of the occasions when Muireann and Megan had seen each other they had both had black eyes, which even make-up hadn’t been able to conceal.

Muireann knew only too bitterly what a woman in an abusive relationship looked like. It had never mattered to her that she and Megan might never come closer than the far wack of Pana, or if Megan would never want to have anything to do with her. The very first time she had seen her she had recognized that they were sisters in pain.

She was more than ten minutes early for her appointment, so she sat down next to Megan and said, ‘How did you come by that, then? Your nose?’

‘It was Barry. It was my own fault, I suppose. He wanted me to go to the shop to fetch him booze and fags and I was bold enough to say that I wouldn’t. It’s only a fracture, and the doctor reset it straight for me, so with any luck I won’t need an operation. But I can’t tell you how much it hurts.’

‘Jesus. With Tommy it’s always the clatters. I have only to say one word that riles him and it’s slap! He wears all these fierce heavy rings, too, and that’s what causes the bruises.’

‘Why don’t you walk out on him?’

‘Because I’m with him for a reason. And one day I’ll be able to give him what he deserves. Which is everlasting hell. Why don’t you walk out on Barry?’

‘I’d leave him if I dared but I don’t dare, and in any case where would I go, like, do you know? I can’t believe that I ever thought that I loved him, or that he loved me. And I can’t believe that I went on thinking that he loved me, even when he started to belt me, and tell me what a thick ugly cow I was. But it got worse and worse. I could only leave him if I went to live so far away that he could never find me. He’d have me murdered, if I left him, I’m sure of it. He’s said so, more than once. Not because he loves me, but because everybody would say that he couldn’t hold on to his woman, and he’d be morto.’