“Here.” She tossed Tabitha the towel she’d been issued on her arrival. “You take the towel and the soap and you have a shower.”

She went out of the cell, leaving the door open. Tabitha got to her feet. She was cold to her bones. She looked out of the little barred window again: the sky was white. It might snow, she thought. That would be something: feathery flakes falling thickly just a few inches from where she stood, covering everything in a blanket of unfamiliarity.

She took the towel and the soap from the side of the sink and walked into the central hall that was echoey with sounds: footfalls and doors and voices raised, laughter, coughs, the slap of a mop. A very thin woman with long white hair and her face a muddle of wrinkles hobbled toward her. She wore a thick brown dress to her shins and her hands were swollen with arthritis. She was holding a bundle of papers clutched to her chest.

“You’re here too,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, I’m here too,” said Tabitha. She walked the length of the hall and into the little wing reserved for showers. The showers were in a row of stalls. Along the far wall was a wooden bench and hooks. Women were pulling clothes on and off. The tiled floor was wet and there was the smell of soap and sweat and bodies. She had a memory of school changing rooms that was so pungent that it hurt. She slowly took her clothes off, looking at the wall so she didn’t catch anyone’s eye. Before she took off her knickers, she wrapped herself in the thin worn towel, like a shy teenager on a beach, and then eased them down.

Inside a free stall she pulled the curtain across and hung the towel from a hook. She turned the tap and a tiny trickle of water emerged from the showerhead. She tried to twist the tap further but it wouldn’t go.

“You need to bang it,” said a voice. “Bang the pipe.”

She tapped the pipe. Nothing happened.

“Harder,” said the voice. “Really hard.”

She made a fist and hit the pipe. There was a little spluttering, coughing sound and the trickle became a faint stream, just enough to wet herself all over. But there was nothing good about it, nothing to lose herself in, nothing to comfort her.

Two

This way.” The warden was solid with a bored expression. When she walked, her feet slapped down, flat and hard.

“What?”

“Your brief’s waiting.”

“My brief?”

“Your lawyer. You were told about this yesterday.”