I sit in the corner of the hospital day room, an item of lost property waiting to be claimed. From the newspapers and magazines that are scattered across the coffee table beside me I see that it is July 2017. Two weeks ago I woke up in a hospital bed with no memory of how or why I had got there. Today I will be discharged. I look down at the wedge of prescriptions that Dr Elms gave me this morning: four weeks’ worth of strong painkillers, enough to numb the physical and mental pain, if only for a few hours at a time; antiseptic skin cream that I must rub into my hands twice a day to encourage my nails to grow back; and finally, two sets of inhalers, one to strengthen my lungs, the other to help when I’m breathless. It seems I have everything I need to set me on the road to recovery – everything except my husband and child.

The door opens with a creak. An old woman walks in. She looks around the room, her face etched with confusion. Then she notices me and flinches, almost imperceptibly. She had thought the room was empty. And she might have been right. After all, I am no more than a ghost.

According to Claire, Elspeth’s funeral took place three weeks after the accident, once the coroner’s report had been returned. At that point they didn’t think I was going to come through and if I did they were certain that I would be in a permanent vegetative state. Elspeth’s body was released and then Sean organized a service at St Peter’s Church in Rodmell. Her friends from school attended. Everyone wore violet, Elspeth’s favourite colour. It was a beautiful sight, the vicar told Claire when he came to sit by my bed. A very fitting send-off.

But I never got the chance to say goodbye.

Elspeth was buried in the churchyard, in a peaceful spot away from the road. I know this detail because, according to Claire, after the funeral Sean returned to my bedside and told me all about it.

Then he left and never came back.

I try to imagine what was going through his head that night. Did he feel like I do now? Raw, exposed, sick with grief and pain? I still can’t remember anything, though I’ve tried and tried. I just have these recurring nightmares of water and Elspeth crying. I must find Sean. It’s the only thing keeping me going, the only thing stopping me from taking the pills they have given me all in one go and ending it. I have to find him. I have to find out what happened that night and whether I am to blame.