‘I’d like one of your cigarettes.’ I don’t smoke, but it’s nice to have things in here. I’ve started to collect bits and pieces where I can.

‘You can’t smoke in here.’

I stare at her. She’s so wrapped up in what she’s supposed to do, she could become tedious. She leans back decisively and stands up. She stretches and winces a little. She wanders over to the window, her back to me, to show me how she isn’t intimidated by me, how we could just be friends having a catch-up. She stands there looking out. I don’t want her to notice my brave little leaf manically waving at her; I feel rather possessive of it. She wanders slowly down the stretch of the unbreakable windowpane. I watch her. I like her body: it is strong and solid, fit, a body ready for hard physical labour, broad but languid – an unusual combination. She tries to open the window but it is locked, of course. Anything and everything in this place that can be opened is always locked: cupboards, windows, doors, minds. It is rather sweet that she seems annoyed. She tries a different window. Maybe she fancies herself as a bit of a maverick, an opener of windows.

Slowly she walks back across the room and sits down again. ‘Are you going to use that computer we brought you?’ she asks.

‘I’d have preferred a MacBook Air,’ I say.

She smiles. For the first time I think that if it wasn’t for a hundred different things, I might quite like her.

‘You’re a writer – don’t you miss writing?’

I’m free of all that crap in here.

‘Sometimes we find that writing things down works as a memory trigger. It can unblock the amnesia.’

She really hasn’t got it.

‘You could try. See what you recall . . .’

‘How old are your kids?’ I ask.

She crosses her legs and smooths her skirt. ‘Am I right in thinking this all started six years ago?’

‘And you and Si Hubby, how long have you known each other?’ I ask.

I’m starting to annoy her. ‘This isn’t about me, Connie.’

‘But one-sided relationships are not conducive to intimacies.’ I smile at her. It’s a genuine smile. I’m having fun. ‘Go on,’ I say. ‘Where did you and Si Hubby meet?’

She squints her blue eyes, angles her head and listens to the howl of that wolf. This is a serious pose. She can come over a little headmistressy; she ought to be careful about that.

‘You know, Connie, we all have to accept responsibility for our choices and for our actions.’ She seems impressed by her own profundity. ‘You are not going to be able to use avoidance tactics for ever.’