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She dragged her feet getting ready, knowing that the day was going to be an ordeal for her. She cursed herself for letting things happen this way as she splashed water on her face in the bathroom, and she cursed him for making her feel guilty as she tried to pull a brush through her long hair. She wondered if that was going to come next, a trip to the salon. She hadn't had her hair cut in two years. She yanked absent-mindedly at the knots as she remembered the conversation.

"I thought it would suit me like this." she had said, handing over the magazine.

"No Angela, it looks so much nicer long. I like it this way. Isn't that right Alice?"

Alice had just smiled in agreement, not really understanding or caring, and that had been the end of the discussion.

Martin's voice broke into her memories then, for which she was grateful. It still hurt to think of them. Alice would be needing her so badly right now, if she was still safe. If Alice had been hurt because she had run away...She couldn't stand to think about it, so she took one last dissatisfied look in the mirror before joining Martin downstairs.

They walked fairly slowly along the street, arms linked. He kept tight hold of her, ostensibly to give her support for her bad ankle, but she couldn't help but think it had more to do with preventing her from running away.

It was only a short stroll in the crisp winter air before they reached the cafe, and they were soon seated in the window, eating breakfast and watching people trickle by. It was a quiet street, so there weren't that many pedestrians to watch, but she kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the scene outside, unable to meet the enthusiasm in his eyes.

He could sense her reluctance and he could, to a certain degree, understand it. Clearly she was a very independent person, and her pride was sticking in her throat right now, but he was determined not to let that stop him. There was a bigger picture here. This was just one step on a journey he was going to help her make. He could help her reclaim her life, the life she had, for some reason, thrown away. He could picture her back in the classroom, rows of well-behaved children smiling behind her. He couldn't help but grin to himself about it. And it was that image he carried with him as he paid for their breakfast and lead them out of the cafe and further into town.

The morning was as painful as she had anticipated. They had been into shop after shop and argued in every single one. Every time he picked something up she would quibble over it - the style, the colour, more often than not the price, and it was the last part that made him irritated to the point of him threatening to send her back home in a taxi while he did the shopping without her.

They glared at each other, hidden behind clothes rails in the back of some boutique she had never heard of, conducting their argument in harsh whispers.

"Look," she said, tired of being dragged around like a doll, "Give me that stupid credit card and I'll go get what I want and meet you back here."

His fatigue was catching up with him as well, and with a quick glance towards the shop's smiling proprietor, who was hovering behind the till, he handed the small plastic card over.

"Alright, but if I don't think you've got enough I'm coming back tomorrow without you."

"Fine." she said, snatching the card out of his hand. "I'll see you back here in a couple of hours."

And with that she was out the door of the stifling little shop and back in the winter sunshine, heading for a less expensive part of town. She realised that she was living a lot of women's dreams come true right then. A nameless sum of money had suddenly been placed at her disposal, and she had basically been ordered to buy whatever the hell she felt like, but her practical side kept her firmly in check, more out of habit than anything. It had been over a year since she had "treated herself" to something she didn't really need.

In her teens and early twenties she had loved to shop, but she had since been taught how disgusting frivolity was. She stared into a shop window, but instead of seeing the mannequins she saw shopping bags snatched out of her hands.

"We can't afford this. We need to save for a rainy day."

She had tears in her eyes, but she nodded, and faithfully turned over every paycheck from that month on.

She wondered if Martin needed to worry about rainy days as she walked into the shop. She browsed the racks with increasing frustration. Despite being only in her late twenties, her tastes had become conservative - plain clothes in muted colours, nothing that would draw attention, and certainly nothing tight, short or low cut.

Eventually she checked off everything on the mental list of items she had made and began a very slow walk back to meet Martin, her ankle beginning to throb again.

When she arrived, he was standing in the shop, chatting away to the woman behind the counter in a very friendly way. In fact, she wondered if he had left at all. But when he saw her, complete with bags, a pleased grin lit up his face.

"I guess I just have bad taste then?"

"Appalling." she countered. Sighing with relief as he removed some of her burden.

He said a cheerful goodbye to the woman behind the counter, who smiled at both of them, but most of the genuine emotion leaked out of it when she turned her gaze to Angela, who shrugged it off as annoyance at her not spending all that money on her overpriced clothes instead of someone else's.

They took a taxi back, since she didn't think she would manage the walk. Martin spent most of the journey peering into her bags. Eventually he stopped and peered up at her, smile firmly in place.

"Now that wasn't so bad was it?"