I let her pride lead me out of the bar and into the street. As soon as we were outside, I snatched my hand away from hers, and looked at her with eyes brimming with tears.

'What the fuck was that?' I demanded of her.

'I was showing that bastard where to get off,' she retorted, beginning to see my anger but not softening in the face of it.

'No you weren't!' I replied, my rage no doubt fuelled by the beer I had drunk. 'You were showing off. You were showing off to everyone in there, that you didn't fucking care what they thought. But you didn't give a fuck about whether I cared, did you? Did you even think about who it was you were kissing?' I looked at her, saw the realization in her eyes, and watched it turn to resentment. I was going to cry, because I had wanted her so badly, she'd drawn my deepest truth from where I kept it safely locked, brought it out into the open and now she'd betrayed me, and everything I'd always feared had happened to me in that pub. To hide my tears, I began to walk away from her, down the hill.

'Don't just walk off!' she snapped, and I paused, waited for her, but did not turn to face her. It must have angered her further, as she caught me up, because her eyes were blazing. 'And what's your problem anyway, that some people you've never met know that he was right, you are a fucking dyke? Because you know something? That's what you are!'

I turned to her now. It felt as though she had taken a hammer to my fragile emotions, my newly emerging confidence. 'Do you think I don't know that?' I snarled at her. T just didn't fancy showing the whole bloody pub quite so explicitly. You just used me to show them that you didn't care.'

'You say you know it, Jen, but do you?' I heard insecurity in her tone now, beneath the anger. T mean, you decided so fucking quickly didn't you? On a date with a bloke one minute, falling for me the next. Are you sure?'

Her words not only hurt me with the implication that I had been dishonest with her, they also shook me, since they tapped into the root of all of my insecurities. What if I was wrong? That eternal echo. But I'd banished it; she'd chased it out of my head. T am sure...' I began, only to be interrupted by her.

'Because you know, when a guy tries to chat me up, I don't have a conversation with him, I tell him to get the hell away from me,' she said bitterly.

'What, you think I wanted to talk to him? I was trying to get him to leave me alone! I just wanted to do it without attracting the attention of a whole pub. You might like them all knowing all about you, but there are some things I'd like to keep more private. You had no right...'

'So you've been hiding from the truth for six years and you're going to keep hiding are you?' she shot back at me. I had no idea how she could have said it, bearing in mind our earlier conversation. It seemed to be calculated to tear my heart to pieces.

'It's not for you to say whether I hide or not,' I told her quietly, and I walked away from her quickly down the street. This time, she didn't follow me.

I managed to get into a taxi and make it back to my flat, all the time wishing I'd not walked away from her, but having no concept of how I could possibly have stayed. Once I was safely inside, I broke down, collapsing onto the sofa and crying into the cushions. It was so different to how I'd expected to return here, with her. Now, I was questioning everything. The fact of the matter was, in a cruel way, she was right. If I couldn't cope with a pub full of strangers knowing the truth, then how could I tell anyone I actually cared about? That's not why I was angry with her. It was her insensitivity, her disregard of all the insecurities I had confided in her. I'd expected more of her and my heart ached with disappointment and hurt.

Time passed, and, lying prone on the sofa now, I began to wonder what she was doing, what she was thinking. Maybe she'd go into another pub and get drunk, find another girl who didn't mind kissing her in public. My heart throbbed with jealousy. Why the fuck had I expected so much of her? I'd not known her long enough to expect anything. The alcohol was wearing off and I was beginning to feel sick. I went to the kitchen and blindly poured myself a drink of water. Suddenly, I felt horribly alone, caught between two worlds and not really belonging to either, tormented by lies that had been so solid and a truth that now felt so fragile.

In my pocket, my mobile vibrated. I caught my breath. It couldn't be anyone else at this time of night. I pulled it out, my hand actually shaking with apprehension. I couldn't imagine what she would say to me now. I looked at the screen through blurred eyes.

Where do u live? Tell me the address. We need to talk.

That was all. No love or kisses, no affection. But she'd stood there in the night somewhere and sent me the message. She wasn't drunk or in bed with another girl. Despite myself, my hopes rallied. I replied, mirroring her cold tone,

OK. Flat 2, at 320 Winchester Street. Kno where I mean?

I wondered: was she going to come over now, or wait until tomorrow? The reply was very quick.

I do. I'll be there soon.

Tonight it was then. I didn't bother to reply this time. The thought of her coming here, to my flat, invading my territory, unnerved me. What would I say to her? I wanted to be angry with her still, but worried my resentment would fade when I saw her. Was she coming here to say she thought it wouldn't work between us, that she needed to be with someone more sure of herself? Clearly she had some insecurities; what if they meant she couldn't deal with mine too? The prospect horrified me. I sat on the edge of the sofa and stared at the threadbare patches of the green carpet, waiting, feeling sick.

Eventually, my doorbell rang, and expected though it was, I jumped.

She smiled weakly when I opened the door. 'Hi,' she said quietly.

'Hi,' I returned, not smiling. 'You found me then?' As I had known I would, despite myself, just seeing her I softened. 'Come in.'

She followed me through the small hallway and into the living room. I felt oddly conscious of how small and shabby it appeared in comparison to her house, but she only glanced about her slightly. Neither of us sat down, instead we faced each other standing on either side of the coffee table. 'You've been crying,' she said softly, examining my face. I wondered just how puffy my eyes were.

'Yes,' I admitted. There was a silence between us, not in the least comfortable. I wondered what I was supposed to say next. It was actually Aly who spoke, preceding her words with a deep sigh.

'Okay,' she began, 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.' She looked into my eyes and down at the ground. I didn't doubt her sincerity for a moment.

'No,' I responded, and wondered at my own will-power in sounding so unforgiving. I was pretty sure I'd already begun to forgive her. When she raised those deep, dark eyes to my face again, I felt all anger melting. She was here in my flat, I was alone with her, and I wanted her. So now I knew she wasn't perfect. Of course she wasn't. I didn't need her to be perfect.

'I just get so angry with losers like that,' she said by way of explanation, when I said nothing further. 'And I was drunk too.' Now she looked sheepish and I wanted her all the more. 'And, if I'm honest, I think I got all possessive. I didn't want him coming on to you.'

'Possessive?' I enquired, my tone losing its cold detachment. I hadn't considered it like that. I'd assumed she'd grown angry because of his insults, had wanted to show they didn't bother her. I hadn't guessed that it was his interest in me that had infuriated her.

'Yeah.' She shrugged awkwardly. 'Maybe a bit protective too. I could see he was bothering you.'

'Am I supposed to be grateful?' I think she sensed that my tone was lighter now.

'No,' she said. 'You're not supposed to be anything. I just want you to know that I was thinking about you, not just myself.' She looked more intently at me. 'I suppose I was thinking about you too much.'

I took this information in and felt the remaining hurt evaporating. Where I had been disappointed, I found I was now ludicrously pleased that she felt protective of me. I could forgive her words spoken in anger. We had both been drunk after all. 'Okay,' I said, 'I'm sorry too.'

'You don't need to be,' she said.

'Yes, I do,' I said fairly. 'I don't know you well enough to judge you like I did.'

'And I shouldn't have said what I did.'

'No.' Just something about her meekness made me want to laugh. It was so unlike what I had seen of her so far. 'You insensitive bitch,' I added.

For a moment she took me seriously. Then she caught my expression and I saw her shoulders relax. Our eyes met, then our smiles, and then our lips as she caught me to her and we kissed. I clung onto her with relief.

'Don't tell me part of you didn't like it though?' she asked, leaning back to look at me with a knowing smile on her face. 'I felt you kiss me back to start with.'

'You've got me there. You're sexy when you're angry,' I confessed, pushing my mouth back towards hers. I wanted to kiss her forever. Her hands crept onto my body and I responded to her, began my own caresses. I slid my hands over the tight fabric that covered her back, and lower, to the soft leather stretched taut over her backside. Her fingers were more urgent then, grasping the hem of my skirt and raising it to my hips as she pushed me back against the wall, sliding her thigh between mine and kissing me harder. I moaned at the heat that swept through my whole body as she pressed with her thigh. Our fingers locked together and our kiss deepened. Unbelievably, my desire for her seemed to have intensified since our night together. She stopped kissing me for a moment.

'So, I think I need a tour of your flat,' she said in a thick voice, heavy with arousal.

'Maybe later,' I breathed, eager for her mouth again.

'No, now, I insist,' she grinned darkly. 'We'll start in the bedroom.'

1808

Gilly, alive and well. Her own heart full of hope, despite the lack of knowledge of what the future held. Gratitude for the woman who locked the door on them every night. And the baby moving in her belly, her breasts swelling so that she would be able to nurture it.

For three days, there were only Gilly and Elizabeth in the women's gaol. Despite the shadows and the stench, they were happy and life seemed eternal suddenly. They spent the time sewing, with long companionable silences, or sitting in the small yard, their backs resting against the red brick. Recollections of their former lives were passing; contemplation of the future constant but unspoken.

In the night cell, they lay on the damp straw together, Gilly's arms around Elizabeth. The dark of the night, the rats, the echoes could not touch them. There was warmth, and there was life, there was the light of hope at last. They were still wrapped in their embrace when Mrs. Beckinsale opened the cell door in the morning.

Mr. Charles visited the women's gaol on the third day, having only just learned that the sick prisoner had been moved. Mrs. Beckinsale formed a broad wall between Elizabeth and Gilly and the man who stood gazing bewildered at them, as though he knew a trick had been played, only could not quite establish what it had been, or what the point of it was.

Elizabeth was not frightened of him now, though she resented his eyes on her, knowing the swelling of her belly was now discernible through her dress. And she shuddered. She felt the connection between the life in her body and him, as he looked, and found the triumph in it. He had wanted to kill her, and instead he'd given her further vitality. She reached for Gilly's hand and they stood strong together beneath his scrutiny.