Mr Macdowall is appearing at a heavily publicised sold-out event at the Edinburgh Book Festival at 2.00 p.m. today, and news feeds are already reporting that angry protestors are gathering at Charlotte Square. Since his third month in custody, Macdowall has become heavily involved with men’s rights movement, in particular with its Scottish leader, Derek McLaverty, who is the publisher of Macdowall’s “book”, Cuck – Letters to My Dead Wife, a publication that highlights the nominal’s narcissism, misogyny and lack of remorse for his actions. McLaverty has seven previous violent convictions for assault/serious assault/assault to permanent disfigurement and endangerment of life, all of which were aggravated by hate crime (domestic, racial, homophobic). Mr McLaverty’s interests appear to extend beyond those related to fair custody rights, to an ideology which supports racial hatred.

I am extremely concerned by Mr Macdowall’s audacious and hostile attitude. He is not attending supervision, he is drinking heavily, and may be having casual relations with an unknown and potentially vulnerable single mother. In my opinion, Mr Macdowall may also be involved in the wider and more sinister interests of the alt-right movement, or he is being used and swept along by its conductors. Either way, I feel that serious harm is imminent and in order to protect the public, I recommend Mr Macdowall be recalled to prison immediately.

Happy with her facts and her writing and her assessment, Mary attached the ‘Macdowall.17’ breach report to the secure email addresses of the parole board, MAPPA, and her boss, Catherine. She marked it ‘urgent’, and almost pressed ‘send’, pausing to reflect that she shouldn’t send it yet. She should read it again, one more time. She should breathe.

Mary longed to stop reflecting. To do a thing and not reflect on it.

Mary reflected that she needed to be one step above ‘defensible’ in court, and so before pressing ‘send’ she dialled Macdowall’s mobile number, the one she had asked him for and had written down and managed to put in her work-issue Blackberry. That’s right, she good old-fashioned dialled it, having decided it was probable her report was fair. On balance. Considering.

She was confident! About the essence. So much so that she would read the report to Macdowall right now, right here, over the phone, totally out loud. That’s what she’d do: read the breach to her nominal.

‘Liam, is that you?’

He sounded happy, like he’d had a drink, and this made Mary relax. She was doing the right thing.

Macdowall said something about a ‘lurt’ and free wine and nosh. Mary could hear the clinking of cutlery. ‘I’m so sorry, can I call back?’

‘No. Stop whatever it is you’re doing. Go somewhere quiet.’

‘What? (Yum, thank you! Yes please.)’