Anna blinks. Her mind’s blank for a moment, before she clocks that the woman is talking about the book in her hand. She thinks Anna is about to start reading, not checking it for secret phone numbers.
‘Yes, she’s good.’ It could be true, too, for all she knows, but she can’t even remember who the author is, let alone whether she’s any good.
‘Let me have a look?’ the volunteer says, taking it from Anna’s hand. Her heart rate accelerates immediately. If the woman sees the phone number . . .
Anna’s being ridiculous. She watches the woman skim the blurb on the back cover before she gives it back to Anna, not even opening the book at all. She’s a book-lover, that’s all.
‘It’s always the husband,’ the woman says, with a laugh. ‘That’s the rule.’
Anna smiles, too hungry for literary discussion. She piles up another forkful of food and sticks it into her mouth. The volunteer settles back in her chair, waiting patiently for Anna to finish chewing before she leans forward, elbows on the table.
‘So, what brings you here?’
Anna blinks. It’s direct. ‘Well, I . . .’
‘Sorry, stupid question. Life. That’s what’s brought you here. The real question is, what’s next?’
Anna looks at her, meeting her gaze steadily, taking her in from head to toe. Brushed, clean hair, a jumper that might well be cashmere, gold studs in her ears and flashes of gold and diamond on her left hand. Colour in her cheeks, no sign of prison pallor, none of the grey of days and years spent inside.
Anna takes another mouthful of food, chews it slowly, deliberately, counting the number of times her jaw works, nineteen, twenty, trying to exert even the smallest amount of control.
Despite her caution, her long-held policy against trusting strangers has softened, leaving her defences down. Maybe because of Tom, maybe because she’s so tired. Maybe because the way the woman is smiling at her reminds of the sister she hasn’t seen for over four years, though this woman is clearly older, closer to forty than thirty.
Anna swallows, roast potatoes long turned to mush in her mouth. The food sticks on the way down and she swallows once again, drinking some water. Then she puts down her knife and fork, inhales deeply. ‘I only got out of prison on Friday. I don’t like asking for help, but I think I might need to learn.’
‘A lot of people say that,’ the volunteer says. ‘You’re not alone. And admitting it is the first step. It will get much easier from here.’
Anna laughs, though it catches in her throat like a sob. ‘It can’t get much worse.’
‘Honestly, I’ve talked to so many women in your situation. Men, too. There’s a bright future ahead if you let yourself look for it.’
Straight to the jugular.
‘I wish Kelly had seen that,’ Anna muttered.
‘Kelly?’
Her sotto voce remark had been louder than she intended. ‘My pad mate – sorry, my cell mate. She took her own life.’
The volunteer reaches forward, puts her hand on Anna’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry. For both of you.’
‘I mean, I didn’t know her. We were just sharing that night. But still . . .’ Anna’s voice trails off. The pressure of the fingers on her arm tightens.
‘Very traumatic.’
Anna swallows, raising her chin. Shifts her arm gently to remove the hand that’s clasping it. She’ll cry if she gets any more sympathy. ‘Anyway. This is a total long shot but I need to start somewhere. Her name was Kelly Green – I know she was living on the streets here recently. There was a mention of a hostel. Has anyone by that name come through here lately? Have you come across her in your volunteering?’
The woman looks thoughtful, shakes her head after a moment. ‘I don’t think so, no. The name doesn’t ring a bell. Are you sure she spent any time here?’
‘No. I don’t know anything about her. I’m clutching at straws here.’
‘You could always ask around, but if I haven’t heard of her, not sure anyone else will have done.’
Anna laughs. ‘Back to square one. Thanks, anyway. It was nice to talk to someone.’
‘Nice to talk to you, too. Good luck with everything.’
38
