‘You followed her home from the cinema. You dragged her off the street. You kicked her unconscious.’
‘I didn’t rape her.’
‘I didn’t say anything about raping her. Is that what you intended to do?’
Liam shakes his head, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. His eyes are focused on the far wall, as if watching some invisible drama being played out on a screen that nobody else can see.
‘You once told me that Zoe wore a mask. You said a lot of people wore masks and weren’t genuine. Do I wear a mask?’
‘No.’
‘What about Dr Naparstek?’
The mention of her name makes his skin flush.
‘N-n-no.’
‘How old are you now, Liam?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Tell me about your dreams.’
He blinks at me.
‘What do you dream about?’
‘Getting out of here. Starting a n-n-new life.’
‘Do you masturbate?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe that’s true, Liam.’
He shakes his head.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You shouldn’t talk about stuff like that.’
‘It’s very natural for a young man. When you masturbate who do you think about?’
‘Girls.’
‘There aren’t many girls around here. Most of the staff are men.’
‘G-g-girls in magazines.’
‘Dr Naparstek is a woman. How often do you get to see Dr Naparstek? Twice a week? Three times? Do you look forward to your sessions?’
‘She’s been good to me.’
‘How has she been good to you?’
‘She doesn’t judge me.’
‘Oh, come on, Liam, of course she judges you. That’s why she’s here. Do you ever have sexual fantasies about her?’
He bristles. Edgy. Uncomfortable.
‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘About her.’
‘She’s a very attractive woman, Liam. I’m just admiring her.’
I look over his shoulder. Dr Naparstek doesn’t seem to appreciate the compliment. Her lips are pinched tightly and she’s toying with a pendant around her neck.
‘What do you prefer, Liam, winter or summer?’
‘Summer.’
‘Day or night?’
‘Night.’
‘Apples or oranges?’
‘Oranges.’
‘Coffee or tea?’
‘Tea.’
‘Women or men?’
‘Women.’
‘In skirts or trousers?’
‘Skirts.’
‘Long or short?’
‘Short.’
‘Stockings or tights?’
‘Stockings.’
‘What colour lipstick?’
‘Red.’
‘What colour eyes does she have?’
‘Blue.’
‘What is she wearing today?’
‘A skirt.’
‘What colour is her bra?’
‘Black.’
‘I didn’t mention a name, Liam. Who are you talking about?’
He stiffens, embarrassed, his face a beacon. I notice his left knee bouncing up and down in a reflex action.
‘Do you think Dr Naparstek is married?’ I ask.
‘I d-d-don’t know.’
‘Does she wear a wedding ring?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe she has a boyfriend at home. Do you think about what she does when she leaves this place? Where she goes? What her house looks like? What she wears to bed? Maybe she sleeps naked.’
Flecks of white spit are gathered in the corners of Liam’s mouth.
Dr Naparstek wants to stop the questioning, but the judge tells her to sit down.
Liam tries to turn but I lean forward and put my hands on his shoulders, my mouth close to his ear. I can see the sweat wetting the roots of his hair and a fleck of shaving foam beneath his ear.
In a whisper, ‘You think about her all the time, don’t you, Liam? The smell of her skin, her shampoo, the delicate shell of her ear, the shadow in the hollow between her breasts . . . every time you see her, you collect more details so that you can fantasise about what you want to do to her.’
Liam’s skin has flushed and his breathing has gone ragged.
‘You fantasise about following her home - just like you followed Zoe Hegarty. Dragging her off the street. Making her beg you to stop.’
The judge suddenly interrupts. ‘We can’t hear your questions, Professor. Please speak up.’
The spell is broken. Liam remembers to breathe.
‘My apologies,’ I say, glancing at the review panel. ‘I was just telling Liam that I might ask Dr Naparstek out to dinner.’
‘B-b-but y-y-you’re married.’
He noticed my wedding ring.
‘I’m separated. Maybe she’s available.’
Again, I lean forward, putting my cheek next to his.
‘I’ll take her to dinner and then I’ll take her home. I bet she’s a dynamite fuck, what do you think? The prim and proper ones, all cool and distant, they go off like chainsaws. Maybe you want to fantasise about that.’
Liam has forgotten to breathe again. His brain is sizzling in an angry-frantic way, screaming like a guitar solo.
‘Does that upset you, Liam? Why? Let’s face it, she’s not really your type. She’s pretty. She’s educated. She’s successful. What would she want with a sad, sadistic fuck like you?’
Liam’s eyes jitter back and forth like a shot of adrenalin has punched straight into his brain. He launches
