If Jack was found guilty, one of her colleagues would get a report request like Derek’s. Lil, maybe. Or Sylvia. Whoever it was would scan the paperwork as Mary just had, see his name and age and crime and think: Agh. Gross. Arsehole.

She also had about thirty telephone messages, many from people she didn’t know or couldn’t remember, and seventy-two emails, none of which looked terrifying at first glance.

She was starting to feel less unsafe.

Catherine wasn’t in her office, which meant the meeting would be downstairs, and that Mary would have to do the walk of shame. She braced herself and made the journey she had made thousands of times, past Sylvia in criminal justice, who’d usually look up to say hi, but didn’t today; past the children-and-families workers who were busy praying Please don’t let me ruin a child today. Please do not let me ruin a child. None of them acknowledged Mary because news had obviously already spread. She was a walking nightmare. Behold Mary, they were all thinking – and never, ever take the mother’s word for it.

Because Mary had ruined a child’s life today. Her own.

She was dizzy when she reached the opposite door, and only made it halfway down the stairs before needing to sit. A moment later, the door behind her banged. Footsteps. Someone was coming.

‘Mary!’

Fuck, it was the green-haired student social worker. Mary didn’t have her headphones, shit. She decided it was best to make a dash.

‘Mary, stop!’ The girl had caught up with her. Her hand was on Mary’s arm. ‘You’re shaky. You’re going to fall over. Stop. Sit for a minute.’

Mary collapsed onto a step and blurted out: ‘There are no programmes of offence-focused work for autistic gamblers. I’d just have to make it up, and it’d take ages, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to help you.’

The student social worker was holding her. How did that happen? ‘I heard about your son. I’m so sorry.’

‘He didn’t—’

‘I know. Of course he didn’t. I know. I believe you. It’s okay. If anyone can get through this, you can. You’re amazing. Here.’ She took Mary’s hand and pulled her upright. ‘Where are you heading? I’ll take you.’

The conference room stank of the power of senior social workers. Catherine, her boss and confidante, sat at the far end of the enormous table, and gave Mary a nervous smile. Beside her was her boss’s boss, Shirley, whose presence made Mary hot and itchy.

She had to hold it together for Jack. ‘Can you give me a moment?’ She concentrated. ‘I’m having a panic attack. Just a moment…’ Four, seven, eight, she repeated three times, even though she didn’t feel much better, then began contemplating the daunting task of lifting her head.