I make the decision to lie to him. To my husband. To my partner of twenty-seven years. He won’t like it. He’ll hate it, in fact, but I’m thinking of him behind the wheel of his car. His eyes tired. The salt and pepper of his hair increasingly erring on the side of salt. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes. The commute is starting to take a toll on him. But he won’t admit it. Nell describes him as a stubborn old goat.

‘Yes,’ I blurt. ‘I was just wondering. Nothing urgent. I’m going to call round to hers. Just have a need to see her. Why don’t you call in on your way home?’

It’s a ridiculous lie. A cruel lie, I think, as I imagine him arriving at her house and her not being there. Maybe the police being there instead. But as bad as things are, I need him with me. She is as much a part of him as she is of me. We are tied together by her.

‘God, Marian, I’m tired and this is going to be a bastard of a drive. I just want to go home.’

‘Please,’ I say, and how I keep the wobble from my voice I don’t know.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ he sighs. ‘If it’ll get you off my back, I’ll call in. But it’ll be a flying visit.’

My stomach tightens at his tone. I can feel the pulse of a headache behind my eyes.

‘Thank you,’ I say and tell him we’ll see him soon. We. As if I’m sure Nell will be there, which of course I’m not.

To my surprise, I find that I’m tearful. I’m never tearful. It’s not the kind of person I am. I’m not the kind of mother who dabs away tears of pride at school concerts, or who weeps over baby pictures. I have an ability to remain focused and logical in my approach. I had to be that way when Nell was little.

But now? It’s as if something in my very core knows something is wrong.

The emotional umbilical cord I thought I didn’t have is connected to my child after all, and it floods me with all the emotions, all the moments that are now just memories. A feeling there may be no more memories – not good ones anyway – to be made.

I put my hand to my stomach. I don’t know why. It’s as if I hope to feel a movement. To feel a kick. To feel a sign of life. But of course, I think, shaking my head and trying to focus on the drive ahead of me, that’s absurd. It’s not going to happen. It was never going to happen.