She’s not going to understand about time. When I say it was because of time, she’ll think I left the baby on the road because I had to go somewhere, or I was late; or that I left the baby on the road because I didn’t have time to look after it. There’s a form to fill in. The lady slides the form across the table. She’s got a wrap dress on and I’ve seen it in a magazine: ‘Who doesn’t look good in a wrap dress?’ Her eyes are pointed down so she won’t have to look at me when I talk. What I say doesn’t matter; it’ll make no difference. The lady pokes her telephone and looks into it. Her lips slump over her teeth. ‘It’s after five,’ she says. I’ve missed Judge Judy. You can have a wrap dress that shows off your tits or you can have a lacy collar, but you can’t have both.

The next day the lady takes the history and I tell it all up until indoor cricket. I tell her that Darren has a bag you could fit a bale of hay in with his pads and his bat and his blue drink. He’s in men’s south-eastern division three. The sponsor is Scoresby Meats so they have a chop on the back of their shirts with their nicknames and you can hear them slap each other’s hands and say ‘Go the meats’.