‘Because if we don’t kiss immediately…’ I placed your hand on my chest ‘…I will set off the device that is wrapped around my chest, underneath this shirt. Can you feel it?’ Risky strategy, I know. You told me later that even though you couldn’t feel anything under my shirt, you should have run for your life rather than kiss me.

I wish you had.

I’m afraid Rab and I climaxed at the same moment. I do hope it’s not because I made noises thinking about you, but, Belle, how can I be quiet when I think about you? My regret is noisy, my grief is noisy, my desire for you is noisy.

3

Mary closed chapter nineteen, threw the book on the floor, and messaged Roddie:

—I just fantasised about a client for the first time ever. I need to leave that fucking job.

—I shoulda reciprocated earlier, soz. The author guy?

—The wife-killer guy.

—Well he could do it for me, too. Look at that pretty face in amongst all those naked threesomes.

—You’re Googling him?

—I Googled ‘cuck’.

Roddie copied and pasted:

—cuckold, (kuck-uhld), noun: the husband of an adulteress, often regarded as an object of derision. Online, particularly 4chan, the term is used to insult a man who is considered to have ‘sold out’ or who sacrifices his dignity for female approval.

—Hon, don’t beat yourself up over him … ever again. Shall I send you a cock pic?

Mary gave it some thought.

—That’d be lovely, thank you xxx.

It was ten past twelve, Friday, and Liam Macdowall was a no-show. Mary dialled the governor of Lowfield on her ancient work-issue Blackberry.

‘Tell me you changed your mind, K. You’re keeping him in?’

The governor wasn’t usually on first-name bases with social workers, let alone first-letter, but Karen and Mary went way back to the glory days, when terrorists had luxury wings and better food, and when sex offenders wore sex offender-coloured polo shirts. K and Mary had met ten years before in the staff gym, when overweight K was thrown from her runaway treadmill. The unfortunate incident had been on replay in security ever since. And ever since, Mary and Karen had attended the pub on Fridays.

‘Nup, he’s your problem now,’ Karen said. ‘But he’s been waylaid by a flock of adoring misogynists and some loud lesbians.’

‘Any cute ones?’

‘Not a one. You in the Toyota shite-mobile? I’ll make sure you get through to the G4S entrance, and we’ll get you to him, then head off left, not the motorway. Get him out of here.’