Game

‘Do you think they’re being used as evidence right now?’ I muse. ‘Military police swabbing them for DNA to find the identity of the Buckingham Palace drive-by knicker-thrower.’

Lloyd chuckles. ‘Yeah. It was an opportunist crime, they’ll say. Is it a one-off or is she a serial offender? They’ll have you down in the barrack dungeons if they ever get hold of you.’

‘Oh God, do you really think so?’

‘Of course. There’ll be an interrogation, but they’ve got you bang to rights, haven’t they? If the knickers fit …’

‘Like a lingerie-based Cinderella.’

‘But there’s no ballroom dancing with Prince Charming. Instead, you’ll be convicted and sentenced.’

‘To?’

He holds my eyes for a second. I watch his pupils skitter from side to side.

‘What do you think you deserve, prisoner at the bar?’

Ah, I know and love this game: crime and punishment, without the crime. Just the fun part.

‘Isn’t it your role to pronounce sentence, Your Honour?’

‘Well, I do believe it is. Wait there while I find my black cap.’

‘Death? That’s a bit harsh.’

‘Hmm, you could be right. I might commute it to three hundred and seventy years of sexual slavery.’

‘Penile servitude?’

‘I wasn’t going to say it …’

‘But you were.’

‘Yeah.’

Chapter Five

My skin looks like silk and my hair isn’t the colour I always think of it as being and I had no idea the gap in my teeth was that prominent.

But none of these things jump out at me half as much as …

‘Look at your eyes, Soph. Look at the way you’re looking at me.’

I can’t think what to say. Instead, I laugh self-consciously. ‘Velociraptor.’

‘No, not that. Well, partly that. But there’s something so …’

‘I need to tone up my arms.’

He puts the photograph on the desk and stares at me across the broad walnut surface. ‘That’s not all you need,’ he mutters, picking up the envelope full of proofs and emptying the rest out.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I pick one up, one of me masturbating, and cringe at myself. ‘What do I need?’

‘A reality check.’ He snatches the snap from my hand and waves it in front of my nose. ‘What are you seeing here, Sophie? I don’t think it’s the same as what I’m seeing.’

‘You really want me to answer that?’ I feel sulky, as if I’m being told off. I slump in my chair and push out my chin.

‘Yes, I do. Tell me what this is a picture of.’