Free Lifeboat by Zacharey Jane

with my work enquiries. I wished he had come in his work clothes.
    I stared at the files in front of me, taking none of them in. I’d met men at university; there were a few with whom I was on first-name terms, just for the comparison of notes on lectures and group work for tutorials. None had attracted me as I had hoped they would. At school we’d had no contact with men except for the priests.
    Who would fall in love first and with whom had been an almost constant topic of conversation in the dormitories after lights out. Some of the more forward girls made ribald jokes about the priests, which I found embarrassing, although I would never show it. I had planned to get a boyfriend when I was at university, but only in an abstract way, like I planned to find a hobby and try curling my hair; I thought about holding hands with someone, kissing someone. I gave no thought to the actual type of someone, and when it came to talking to a man in the real world, I found myself lost for the small talk that tugs the more weighty craft of conversation into safe waters.
    I managed to smile at boys, but no more. My roommate told me this made them consider me shy or disinterested. She suggested I have a few drinks to relax and invited me to some parties, but my real shyness and a budget that did not allow for the buying of party dresses, stopped me.
    I sat at my desk and thought about what I would wear next time I went to the library, which embarrassed me all over again. I chastised myself for wasting time and turned my attention back to the safety of work.
    *
    I wrote to the publisher immediately. I could only hope that my letter would receive the priority I requested and that a positive return would be forthcoming before the two-week deadline was up.
    HAPPINESS
    In a cold country he warmed his heart on love, planting his feet to spread root-like into the soil of their life.
    She beat her wings against his enclosing hands, until he slipped her into his pocket to nest.
    They shared their memories of sunshine and vast spaces like rationed chocolate, in a tiny flat decorated with plans of the future that his engineer’s heart designed for her.
    Happiness floated on the top of warm baths, spread itself over toast and rained like a blanket from the sodden sky. It rolled in sleep to wrap itself around them, turned her lions into fat cats curled by the fire and built a ramp up to his knotted heart.
    When he went to war she stayed alone in their room. She lost herself in his clothes, hiding inside his coat like a child beneath the bedclothes in the dark.
    The days ticked away until she discovered someone hiding with her. Then her hideout became a nest and she thought: so late in life I have become the lioness, guarding our young while he is away defending his pride. She wrapped herself around her belly as it grew and her heart swelled accordingly to encompass three.

DAY FIVE
    The woman barely acknowledged the news when I told her about the biography. Not even knowledge of the writer’s suicide elicited a response. He exhaled his disapproval and said: ‘Such men I have no patience with. There are many ways to die, but what is so good about death that one would go to it willingly?’
    The guard had brought them in late that morning – she had been difficult to wake, he said, and suspicious of the wardens, despite having seen them every day since her arrival. She refused to leave her room until the man was brought in from the other cellblock. She also refused breakfast and was now hungry.
    I quelled my feelings of annoyance at her contrariness and agreed to continue our work at the café.
    The guards left them in my care with a shrug – although they had seen all types, it was obvious they considered her unusual.
    We walked slowly to the café, not speaking. She seemed frail. He held her arm, supporting her in a gentlemanly fashion. After choosing a table in the sun he gently helped her into a chair and, whilst I