Another bird chirped, then more. The overhead glow became a radiant brown, then gleaming ochre.

It was tomorrow.

But I was still trapped in last night’s horror.

I returned to the hospital. Helen’s bleeding had stopped, she was ready to be discharged and the mood was upbeat. I drove her home, arriving just as Artie got in from Geneva.

After a shower and coffee at their place, I went to work. It was a busy day, a productive one, where a long-awaited breakthrough with one of my most stubborn ducklings finally happened.

There were times I was really good at my job. About once a year, I actually impressed myself and today was one of those days.

But it was all taking place a long way away, as if I were watching everything from a small, dark room.

After work, I went to an NA meeting and tried to explain my dread. Then I visited poor Nola and talked in rambling circles until I’d exhausted her. After going to a second meeting, a late-night one, I went home, managed to have a chat with Kate and Devin where I must have appeared normal, and went to bed.

But I couldn’t sleep, still trapped in a place where I’d just experienced the most appalling loss.

Nola’s instructions were to keep coming back to the facts. And the facts were that it was seven years later, I’d survived and my life was good.

Even so, I’d ended up back in this long-forgotten, liminal place where nothing felt real but everything felt terrible.

Finally I slept. Two and a half hours of blissful nothingness were mine, but at around 5 a.m., a jolt of adrenaline thrust me back into my waking hell.

When the birds began to announce the day, I knew I couldn’t go to work. I could wing it on one sleepless night but not two.

In quiet despair, I thought—again—about calling Luke, but it was probably too late, it was one in the morning his time.

Unexpectedly, I felt a pang for Mum and Dad. I wanted to be minded even though I knew that they—that no one—could fix anything. But being in the family home might soothe me? It was worth a try.

Parking outside, their bedroom curtains were still pulled. Nine a.m. and they weren’t up yet. No judgement from me. I let myself in, went to the kitchen and automatically began boiling the kettle. I’d try a mug of mint tea.

‘What are you doing here!’ Mum had appeared, impressively spectral in her rollers and pale billowing nightdress.

‘Nothing. Just, I can’t sleep.’

‘You gave your poor father the fright of his life!’

‘Sorry, Mum.’

After treating me to a good, long stare, she said, ‘Why can’t you sleep? Did Helen give you a scare? Are you thinking about your baby?’