In the last few days, she had handed out eight complaint forms, two of which had been completed and returned to head office. She’d executed the exit of two battered women. She’d made a Sunday roast for an elderly lifer, and told a defence lawyer to fuck off. She’d given two hundred pounds to each of her three lovable rogues, the eighteen to twenty-four-year-olds who carried hammers and kicked heads and the like, but who had a chance of stopping. She’d filled her boot with food, parked at the entrance to the office at lunchtime, and asked clients if they’d like to help themselves. She had also openly promoted the smoking of marijuana to all her colleagues and clients, and had suggested to the governor of Lowfield that it be offered to all inmates in abundance and for free. If she was to undertake an Acute 2007 risk assessment on herself now, she’d score on every item: hostility, sexual preoccupation, rejection of supervision, emotional collapse, collapse of social supports, and substance abuse. In other words, Mary was at very high risk of causing catastrophic harm, and she wanted management to know.

The supervision sessions were at 4.45 p.m. – a sacred time in social work. Even though the office now enjoyed a flexitime system, which Mary had allegedly abused (‘Did I sexually assault it?’ she’d asked her boss’s boss, Shirley, a week ago), everyone wanted out at 4.45 p.m. on the dot, like in the good old pre-flexitime days, when the time of release was certain. After the visit with Minnie Mouse, Mary reported to Catherine and reflected on the errors of judgement she had made since they last met, the first being that she had fantasised about her new client to the point of orgasm. With great lethargy, Catherine noted this and the many other points in the hard-backed red notebook Mary carried in her satchel that bore the title: IF I CHICKEN OUT, PLEASE USE THIS TO SACK ME, then said: ‘You should go to his launch tonight.’

‘Did you not listen to my masturbation story?’

Catherine read out loud as she added another misdemeanour to the notebook: ‘Attended handsome ladykiller’s work-related event, clearly breaking professional boundaries.’

‘Take someone with you, but I agree with you about this guy, Mary. Where on the risk assessment do we score the item “sudden fame”? Right now, in my opinion, Macdowall’s risk is through the roof. Go to the launch.’

Catherine shut the book and handed it back to Mary. ‘It is so fun having a rogue worker! But no more than two drinks, don’t go to the afterparty, and if you don’t put in your resignation as promised I will take you on a day trip to Argyle, and on the way back I will drive you into a river and watch you drown.’

‘That is so fucked up.’