That startles him out of self-pity and he grabs my arm, steering me towards the sofa, just in time to stop me falling. ‘It’s OK, I’ve got you.’

I try to will myself not to faint. I need answers. Now. But there are so many unknowns that my head spins trying to work out where to begin.

‘What have you done, Tim? The hospital . . . there was a patient . . . your consultant said . . .’ The words come but in the wrong order, and the harder I try the more stars I see, and even though I’ve never fainted in my life before, I know the blackness is coming and a part of me welcomes it.

Chapter 47: Tim

7 February 2006

The call handler recognizes her name.

‘Our Kerry Smith?’

My Kerry Smith. Did I do this to her?

‘Yes. She collapsed and I’ve got her on the floor, in recovery position but I think . . . I think she’s going into shock. She’s borderline tachycardic at ninety but her BP has been dropping and she’s in and out of consciousness.’

‘We’ve got a vehicle en route. Is there external bleeding? Vaginal, anal?’

I look down at her groin. No sign of discharge. I should remove her trousers to make sure but doing that here, in Maria’s living room, seems indecent.

Get a grip, you stupid bastard. I begin to fumble with her belt . . .

‘Tim—’ Kerry’s mouth goldfishes and I lean in.

‘The ambulance is coming, Kerry, it’s going to be OK.’

‘I came here . . . went there . . . to tell you . . .’

‘It can wait. Don’t try to talk, focus on breathing.’

‘No! Listen to me!’ She grimaces from the effort.

‘Where is the pain? Show me.’

As she gestures up towards her shoulder, I try to work out what it could mean. ‘Just that side?’

She nods.

Shit. Her vital signs tell me this has to be more than a muscle injury. Referred pain, then? It suggests internal bleeding, but where and why? Think.

‘Tim. I’m . . . pregnant.’

At least, I think that’s what she says. I repeat. ‘Pregnant?’

The call handler repeats it back to me. ‘Kerry’s pregnant? OK. How many weeks?’

‘It’s what I needed to . . . why I came,’ Kerry says breathlessly.

I close my eyes. Mine? Obviously, it’s mine. I think about the last time we had sex. ‘New Year?’

She nods.

‘Early,’ I tell the operator, ‘no more than five weeks.’

There is a long pause and I think the call handler must reach the same conclusion as me at the very same moment.

‘They’ll be with you very soon. I’ll let them know what to expect . . .’

The surgeon steps into the room. ‘Is Mr Smith here?’

‘That’s me. Kind of.’

Miss Eliades does a double take. ‘Shit, it’s Tim, isn’t it? I’m so sorry but I’ve forgotten your surname.’