The only thing I wanted was a baby. But I couldn’t get pregnant, no matter how hard we tried. Later, Howard blamed his impotence on my constant nagging desperation. Later still, I went out looking for young studs in local bars. One afternoon, Howard came home to find me riding a twenty-year-old called Chesney, trying to fill myself with his sperm. I continued to fuck young Chesney even as Howard writhed on the floor, the heart attack killing him right there in our bedroom while Chesney tried to get out from under me.

I still wasn’t pregnant.

With Howard’s money – some of which I had to give to Chesney to keep him quiet about the circumstances of Howard’s death, in case his family tried to contest his will – I was able to pay privately for IVF. But it didn’t work. After the third attempt the doctors told me I needed to accept it, that I should get on with my life, which could be rich and fulfilling without children.

I went home, stocking up on booze from the supermarket and pills and weed from my dealer on the way.

Six weeks later, I awoke from my solo bender on the patio beside the pool. I was naked. My inner thighs were bruised and there was blood in my hair. The booze and drugs had run out. I couldn’t remember the last six weeks at all, just fragmented snapshots of flesh and water and the taste of bourbon and weed.

But I knew what I had to do.

It was time to go home – to England.

Finding Sean was easy: fifteen minutes searching on the internet and I knew where he worked – he had his own business now – and where he lived. I flew to Heathrow via Dubai, and took a train to Richmond.

I had plenty of money so I rented a hotel room. But I didn’t like it – it made me feel trapped – so I bought a camper van, a classic VW, a vehicle I’d dreamt of owning when I was a girl. I would park it on Sean’s street sometimes and watch his house, making sure he didn’t see me.

I watched the teenage Alice come and go. I expected to feel a rush of maternal longing for her, but I felt nothing. She was almost an adult, a stranger. She wasn’t what I wanted.

I saw Sean – he had gained weight and lost hair but was still as handsome as the day we’d first met; part of me wanted to drag him into the van and watch him gasp as he realized who I was. In my fantasies he would be thrilled, and he would undress me slowly like he used to, whispering my name, telling me he didn’t care, it didn’t matter, we couldn’t and shouldn’t fight it . . .

That could never happen.