There, that was polite, much more than she deserved. But the woman wouldn’t let it go. Casey had made it clear she didn’t want to talk, and yet the donkey trotted forwards anyway.

“Well… you see.”

“Do I. Do I see.”

“It’s five o’clock. We’ll be closing the gates soon. I’m only here because of cooking–”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking life story.” Casey thought of sitting in the park, how it had felt like no time at all. But there were no parents around, no kids; she’d been sure it was three.

“Who’s your daughter?”

The woman was getting far too close. It looked like she was about to spring at Casey. And then maybe she’d hit her and throw her down and kick her and then drag her into a bedroom with the mattress on the floor because they couldn’t afford a bed frame, no way, not with how expensive beer was and weed and don’t forget cocaine, and liquor was the worst of all, mix it all together in a plastic bottle and take a sip and suddenly there’s no more pain, no more anything, and she could even laugh at it… laugh and laugh and laugh.

The woman gasped, her eyes bulging, bloodshot. It took Casey a moment to realise what had happened.

The woman had forced Casey to defend herself. She had her hands on her shoulders, shoving her up against the fence. Casey’s hands were around her neck, squeezing, so much stronger than anybody had ever given her credit for.

“Please.” Donkey’s words came out strained, her hands pawing at Casey’s wrists. “Please, stop… please.”

It was terrible luck. The second Casey finally started to feel something again, she was forced to stop. A man was jogging up from the school building towards the gate, a real do-gooder look about him.

Casey let the woman go and turned away. She focused on the running, on the feeling of her designer heels slamming into the concrete, of the sound they made, like rain, like fingernails against a coffin. She breathed steadily, cleanly. A person could be healthy even when they smoked and snorted and – very occasionally – injected. It simply took the right spirit.

She stopped in an alleyway, leaning against the wall, her hands on her knees. She was smiling, at least; that was progress.

Maybe this was an indicator she’d made a mistake. She’d waited a year to unleash herself on Scott, dreaming of it every night, obsessively focused on how incredible it would be.

It was too much pressure.

But just then, when she’d put that donkey slut in her place, that had been something. There had been a flicker. Maybe, even if it pained her, she’d have to move on from Scott. It was such a waste, though, to put in all that effort for nothing.

She sighed, letting her head fall against the brickwork, listening for sirens, for commotion, for anything. But there was only the distant honking of a car horn and the closer rumbling of traffic beyond the alleyway.