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she was staying with you?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “That’s against the house rules, isn’t it?”
    Leslie glanced at her. “She never drank in the house.” She sounded defensive. “She’d say she was going to the shops and come back drunk.”
    Maureen stubbed out her fag in the mug, compounding the smell on her fingers. She shouldn’t have to do this, waiting behind in the horrible office, trying to guess what Leslie really meant. If Leslie didn’t trust her anymore she should fucking find someone she did and bore them with it.
    “I heard you asked for her as a resident,” said Maureen.
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “I heard ye did. I thought you were strapped for cash.”
    “That’s utter shite,” said Leslie, belligerent and annoyed. “I didn’t ask for her, I just happened to have a space.”
    Maureen looked at her and sucked a hiss through her teeth. “Leslie,” she said, “do you know Ann?”
    “No.”
    “Why are you so interested in her, then?”
    Leslie paused and pulled another cigarette out of her packet, but Maureen knew she wasn’t a consecutive smoker. She was lighting up so that she’d have something to fiddle with, so she wouldn’t have to look at Maureen.
    “I don’t know Ann,” said Leslie slowly, measuring her speech, “but I’m worried about her.” She pursed her lips tight around her cigarette, lifting the lighter to the tip. The orange flame cast her face in stark relief and Maureen saw a miserable tremor on Leslie’s chin. Whatever she was holding back wasn’t keeping her warm at night.
    Leslie was looking at the Polaroid of the big man and the small boy. The boy had Ann’s fluffy yellow hair and pink skin. He didn’t look happy and Maureen could tell from the strain in his forearm that he was trying to pull his hand away His free hand clutched a handmade Christmas card decorated with glitter and gluey cotton wool. “Is that Ann’s kid?” she asked softly.
    “Yeah,” said Leslie, her voice a little higher, a little uncontrolled. “She’s got another three, all boys.”
    “He’s like her, isn’t he?”
    Leslie nodded, clearing her throat, regaining her composure. Maureen sat next to her on the desk, pretending to look at the picture but letting their hips touch, staying by her. “I didn’t see her again after she left the office,” said Maureen gently. “Did her lip heal okay?”
    Leslie nodded again. “Yeah. She got a scar on it but the swelling went down pretty quick.” The color rose in her face. “Mauri, I’m frightened she’s dead,” she blurted.
    Maureen looked at her and snorted with surprise. “Where did ye get that from?”
    “From these.” Leslie slapped the photographs in her hand emphatically. “They’re pictures of everything big that ever happened to her. She wouldn’t leave them. I think someone was after her.”
    “Come on, Leslie, it’s a shelter for battered women — there’s someone after all of them.”
    “This is different.”
    “Why is it different?”
    But that was exactly the question Leslie didn’t want to answer. “I think we should look for her,” she said, “see what we can dig up.”
    “We wouldn’t know where to start.”
    “We did it last time.”
    “Yeah,” said Maureen, “but you weren’t lying out of your arse the last time.”
    They sat side by side, looking around the office, as if the answer had been misplaced on someone’s desk. Maureen rubbed her eye.
    “Winnie came to see me this morning,” she said, falling into the old way of telling Leslie everything at the forefront of her mind. “Michael’s got a flat in Glasgow.” She wished she hadn’t said it. She was opening up to Leslie through force of habit, telling her most intimate worries when Leslie wasn’t there and Leslie didn’t care.
    Leslie looked at her aggressively. “If he bothers you at all,” she said, “I’ll kick his teeth in.”
    “Aye,” said Maureen skeptically. “Right.”
    Leslie had crapped it when they were chasing