‘I don’t want an omelette.’ Her fist clenches at her side, the other hand still on the latch. Her breath’s coming so fast she’s soon light-headed. Why the hell is he bothering with her? Why can’t he leave her alone?
‘There’s coffee,’ he says, smiling. The dog is now sitting at his feet – it’s fluffy and brown, a pink tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. Totally unthreatening. Flight diminishes in her. Fight, too. The smell of coffee returns, and she hasn’t got the strength to resist anymore. She lowers her hand from the door, smiles.
‘Yes, please,’ she says. ‘But I can’t stay long. I don’t even know where I am. I really appreciate your hospitality last night, but I need to get to London. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.’
Tom starts to laugh. ‘Didn’t you see where we were going last night? We’re in Oxford.’
‘I didn’t see, no,’ Anna says. The sense of security engendered by the dog, the coffee – it’s disappeared now, a cold chill in its place. She’s not where she thought she was. She swore she would never set foot here again.
‘Are you sure we’re in Oxford?’ she says, conscious immediately that it’s the stupidest question, hoping still that he’ll tell her it’s a sick joke. Her mouth is drying out, her heart rate rising. There is drumming in her ears, sweat breaking out on her neck, the back of her hands.
‘Yes, Oxford. I’m sorry – I assumed you realised. It’s the nearest city to the prison, after all.’
‘I wasn’t thinking . . . I’ve got to get out of here. Before anyone sees me . . .’
‘We’re quite far from the station,’ he says. ‘You can’t just walk.’ He’s still laughing.
‘This isn’t funny. I promised I’d never come here again. I promised her. I can’t be here.’ She’s trying to control it, but the panic’s got full hold of her now, her hands shaking as she tries to make him understand.
The dog gets to its feet and walks over to her, its head by her hand, leaning against her knee. She’s about to push it off, but the warm weight gives her pause. She puts her hand into its fur, taking in a deep breath, another.
‘I was asleep all the way here,’ she says. ‘I guess I should have realised, but I just wasn’t thinking.’
‘I understand,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for laughing. Please, have some coffee, and let’s work out what you need to do together. I’m not your enemy, Anna. I’m your friend.’
A friend. It’s been a long time since she had one of those. One she could really trust, at least. She never let anyone get close inside, tried to keep it safely transactional, however good the intentions of those around her might have been. You scratch my back, I’ll watch yours – though she only ever pissed off one inmate enough to need protection, the woman furious at the legal advice she’d forced Anna to give her. It wasn’t like a defence could be magicked out of nowhere, however hard Anna scoured her basic criminal law knowledge to find one. Hard to explain away a kilo of cocaine in your coat pocket.
‘You can’t tell me you don’t need a friend,’ he says. It’s as if he’s read her mind, her lonely thoughts laid out bare in front of him. She rubs the dog’s head, speechless, before she walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table.
15
Tom takes a mug out the cupboard and pours coffee into it from a cafetière on the table. The mug has a picture of Snoopy on it wearing sunglasses, and the sheer incongruity of it makes Anna smile, albeit weakly. Proper coffee for the first time in three years. She used to throw double espressos down like they were water, not taking even a moment to relish the flavour. Now, she rolls the rich brew around her mouth, appreciating every nuance of its taste, aroma.
‘I’ve missed this,’ she says.
‘I’ll bet. I don’t think there’s any way I could do without coffee.’
‘It’s surprising what you get used to,’ Anna says.
‘I guess so,’ he says. There’s silence between them for a moment as they savour their drinks. Tom puts his cup down on the table at last, an air of decision about him. ‘About what you were just saying,’ he says.
She knows immediately what’s coming, puts up her hand, turning away from him.
‘What you said just now, about swearing never to come back here. Why was that? Is it to do with your original conviction? Do you have family in Oxford?’
Her head’s down. She’s tracing a pattern in a splash of coffee that’s on the table in front of her, pulling it out into long spikes like a firework. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I know you don’t,’ he says.
‘One of the first rules of prison. You learn not to ask.’
‘You’re not in prison now, though.’
She glances up at him. The panic she was feeling before has subsided, but it’s left its trace, her heart still pumping faster than it ought to be, her breathing still ragged. He meets her gaze and for a long moment they look at each other, the tension seeping out of the air. He’s right, she’s not in prison anymore. She remembers his words in the cell,that’s tough, a kinder judge than she’s ever been to herself.
She takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, I have family in Oxford. My sister. I nearly killed my nephew. The last I know of him, he was on life support. I didn’t mean to, but I did all the same. It was when I was a newly qualified solicitor. At one of the magic circle firms – you know what they’re like?’
Tom nods. ‘I escaped from Linklaters myself. I needed to get my life back.’
