Or were they footsteps that sounded the wood or her own breath come back to her as demons – the summoning of a disturbed mind? In her desire to escape, she found herself righting her body against the wielding plumpness of the duvet. The creaking, now in the passageway, forced her feet onto the timber floor with a thump sending the cold running like a deep current from her bare toes up to the hairs on her head. Though she dwarfed all she surveyed, and though she was there as a carer and daughter to help the old woman out, and though her childhood sweetheart was in the clink, she could gain no comfort. For all her ingenuity, she knew she wouldn’t fit into the cupboard, and that nostalgia – which smothered her here, though a powerful force, was not a weapon of self-defense. In the light of the moon from her window, she readied her hands in two puppy fists for whatever was going to come through the door. She prayed the prison service hadn’t failed her as the doorknob began to turn.