Fields and pylons passed. Distant houses with crimson roofs. A far-away river with a castle on its bank. Oh, to be there. To have some destination. There was only London. And until then this woman.

‘Hurry up and give me a grandchild, I said to her. Oh Mum, she says,‘I’m only twenty. I had you when I was eighteen, I said. I expect you’re waiting for Mr Right,’ said the woman to Rachaela. ‘We’ve been together, my Martin and me, twenty-four years. A perfect match my sister used to say. I just wish, she used to say, I’d had your Martin, and your lovely children. What do you think you’ll like, dear, a boy or a girl, for your first? A girl’s best. Keep the boys in order. Like a second mum my Janet was.’

Rachaela stood up. The woman was not affronted. Her universe contained only one, the rest were bit players, successful or not.

Rachaela dodged her way to the lavatory.

The lock was whimsical. She got it shut, and leaning with difficulty to the jolting bowl, she vomited colourless fluids from her empty stomach.

Was this the truth after all, even so early, the proving of the facts? Not the train, not London, but this?

As her head cleared, Rachaela propped herself against the wall. She voided the lavatory, and ran cold water in the basin, laving her face, hands, wrists.

Too soon surely to panic.

It was only fear.

Chapter Ten

A poster on the wall showed a bleeding rose. Tetanus: it doesn’t have to be a rusty nail, the caption read. Beneath, a handwritten notice pleaded: ‘If you or your child feel sick, please tell the receptionist.’

The surgery was crowded, a plague ward. Children sneezed and cried and ran about in a fever. Men and women coughed and evacuated their noses, blue germs puffing from their mouths in the chilly room. The chairs were hard and the magazines few. You were not encouraged to come.

The buzzer went angrily. Who would dare to be next.

‘Miss Day? Go through please.’

Rachaela walked through into the doctor’s room, which was quite large, with netted windows over a garden.

The man wore a suit and tie. He was slim and fit with well-brushed thinning hair. He gave Rachaela a neat and ironed smile.

‘What can I do for you?’

Rachaela sat down on the chair he indicated.

‘I need an abortion.’

The doctor put his smile away and raised his brows.

‘Let’s not put the cart before the horse, shall we? So you think you may be pregnant. What leads you to believe this?’

‘My periods have stopped. I’ve been sick several times.’

‘How many periods have you missed?’

‘Two.’

‘Have you brought a sample of your urine taken first thing in the morning?’

‘I did a Predictor test.’