I’d been writing a novel for years, and never thought anything would come of it, but this year, high on New Year’s resolutions, I had got it into my head that I would finish it. Most people would have said it was a waste of time, particularly as I don’t have a qualification to my name. But once I started taking it seriously, I found I couldn’t stop. Writing was the only way I could keep the dark feelings at bay. The novel was a fictionalized account of Virginia Woolf’s time in Rodmell. It explored her hopes, dreams and fears which, strangely enough, were similar to my own. I found that pouring the emotions I’d always kept hidden into the novel made me feel better; lighter even. And soon, getting to my desk and writing the next chapter became an addiction. If I couldn’t do it I became irritable and depressed.

So on the day of the party I told myself that I’d only write for a couple of hours. But, as usual, I got too caught up in the story and before I knew it the clock was telling me it was 4.30. The party had finished at 4.00. I jumped in the car and drove like a maniac all the way to Lewes. When I got there Elspeth was standing on the steps with Sophie’s mum. Her face was swollen with tears and she was clutching her party bag to her chest. I’d apologized profusely to Sophie’s mum and when we got in the car I promised Elspeth that I would make it up to her, that we’d have fish and chips in town or go and see a movie, but she just sat beside me in silence, gulping down her tears, all the excitement of the party evaporated.

I’d failed her again. Let her down when she needed me. Why did I need anything other than her? In the darkness that had been my life up to that point, having Elspeth was like the sun finally coming out. If I could do it all over again, I would take her hand and march into Sophie Bailey’s party with her. I would laugh and whoop as she danced with her friends. I’d eat cake and chat with the other mums. And when it was all over I would look at the happiness on her face as we drove home and I would be content. There are so many things I’d have done differently. But it’s too late now. There will be no more parties; no more sunshine.

‘We’re a bit early but I’m sure they’ll have your room ready,’ says Amanda, opening her door. ‘Maggie?’

I can’t move. The seat feels like it’s clamped tight around me. My whole body is shaking.