Mary could hear a drink being poured. He was obviously being served, superstar. ‘I’ll take this out to the smoking area, hang on. Okay I’m – I’ll go to the author toilets.’

The author toilets. Fancy.

‘Okay, sorry, Mary. I’m sitting on a Portaloo. What is it?’

‘Liam, you’ve done almost everything wrong since you got out, you do realise that? It can hardly be a shock. You’re breached.’

A moment’s pause. ‘I’m what?’

‘I’m going to read you the conclusion of the report I’m sending to the parole board after this call. Okay?’ Mary found herself revising and deleting as she went along. If she couldn’t say it out loud to Macdowall, she should get rid of it. And she did; bits anyway. ‘This is the conclusion: “I am concerned that Mr Macdowall is not complying with the conditions of his licence. I can confirm that he has not attended two scheduled supervision appointments, I have photographic and physical evidence that he is drinking, and believe he may be having casual relations with a single mother who is known to the social work department.”’

‘Oh God, oh God.’ Macdowall kept saying. ‘Oh God’. A lock slid, which gave Mary time to edit the next bit.

‘“I am also concerned that he may be attracted to, or drawn into, potentially violent situations because of his sudden fame and association with known anti-immigration and anti-feminist activists. To protect the public, I recommend Mr Macdowall be recalled to prison immediately.”’

Mary heard the clinking of cutlery. ‘Liam, I’m heading to Charlotte Square now. I’ll meet you at the signing table around 3.00 p.m., after the event, okay?’

All he said was, ‘Oh God,’ then the phone went dead.

12

As Mary passed the exit for Lowfield, she was minded of her very first prison visit with Maggie, her practice teacher, thirty years earlier. Maggie had a court-report interview at 11.00, and yet she seemed relaxed when the probation review still wasn’t finished at 10.25, even though it would take at least forty minutes to get from the office to the prison by car. Maggie even got petrol on the way, plus a sandwich, which she ate while driving at high speed on the motorway with no sat nav, while also chatting to Mary, while listening to Clyde 1, occasionally singing along and navigating by eye to the prison, which was in the middle of nowhere.

Mary had not managed to do more than three things at once for at least a year, and when she did manage, it was with a great deal of stress and unhappiness, mostly for those in her vicinity. However, she still managed two things sometimes, like making a hands-free call while driving. She tried that now. ‘Jack?’