Mary took back control by summarising her powers: ‘I must approve your address. I must know where you’re working and when. I will visit you at home – announced and unannounced – and you will attend my office weekly to check in and tell me what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been seeing. I want to know about any potential relationships before they get intimate, and you should know that I may disclose your offence to that person if you don’t. I need to know if you have any intentional contact with children, and if you do, an assessment will need to be made by my childcare colleagues. You can’t go anywhere overnight without my approval. I will undertake structured domestic-abuse sessions with you called “What Were You Thinking?” on an individual basis in the office. You will abstain from alcohol and attend counselling weekly, where you will be breathalysed. I will liaise with Tracy regarding the results. I’ll check in with your GP about your mental health and medication management. We’ll review the licence every three months, see how things are going, if anything needs to change. Failure to comply with any of the above, or with any reasonable instructions I give you in order to promote your rehabilitation and protect public safety, can result in your immediate recall to prison. Get it, Liam?’

‘Got it, Mrs Shields.’

Ms. One syllable. Like Miss. Simpler than Missus, by a factor of one. Not difficult at all unless you are a complete fuckwit. And breathe. ‘It’s Ms Shields.’

‘Mzzz Shields,’ Alt-right Derek piped up. ‘If Liam meets a girl in a bar he has to ring you before taking her home?’

She knew this instruction would cause problems, might even be newsworthy. She didn’t give a shit. ‘That sounds like a good idea.’

‘You’re wanting Liam to check in with you before he has sexual relations?’ Derek said. ‘How many hours before the first kiss: twenty-four, seven? Three seconds? Or is it before second base, if he’s about to touch a breast?’ Everyone but Mary laughed. ‘Takes the romance out of it, doesn’t it?’

‘Murdering your wife can do that,’ Mary said.

Holly stood, which was not allowed. ‘Excuse me! Excuse me! Anyone else think this woman is FUCKED IN THE HEAD?’

The prisoner, the lawyer and the alcohol counsellor walked into a bar. No, they didn’t. They stared at Holly, so out of place here with her symmetrical face and use of capitals.

Everyone froze, unsure how to respond.

Except Mary. ‘Sit down, Holly. Listen, if I have to breach you, Liam, you’ll get a chance to argue your case with the board, as will I. But it’s not what I want. I want you to be law-abiding and happy.’ It was half true.

Holly sat down eventually but tried to make it look like her decision.