It was the last one that did it. There was a hiss as she buzzed me in, but I was too slow and I missed my chance and had to press the bell again.

By the time I’d climbed both flights of stairs, dragging myself up by the handrail and huffing and puffing, pausing every few seconds to catch my breath, Milly was standing on the landing, one hand on a hip. ‘Tell me you haven’t gone into labour. Because you’re breathing as if you have.’

‘I’m twenty-nine weeks – I breathe like this all the time these days.’

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘You’re on your own?’ She narrowed her eyes as if expecting to see Zac pop out from behind me.

‘I made a steak sandwich for Zac’s lunch and surprised him with it at work before I came here. He’s definitely at the hospital.’

‘Cunning.’

‘Yes. That Girlfriend of the Year award is sure to be mine. He was deeply touched, given the fact that I’ve barely spoken to him lately, but way too busy to stop and eat it.’

‘Did you get lots of attention from all the nurses?’ She looked as if she wanted to smile as she pictured this, but wouldn’t let herself.

‘They were lovely, and happy for me, and probably extremely relieved that I’m no longer working there and messing things up. Scarlett made me sit down and put my feet up and she fed me chocolates – can I come in, Milly? I need a glass of water. I’ve been on bed rest the last week and this is my first day out.’

She appeared to think about it, then she turned her back on me and walked through her door, leaving it open so I could follow her in.

The floor was protected by a plaster-powdered and paint-spattered tarpaulin. There was a ramshackle collection of tables and carts of different shapes and sizes, covered in works in progress and tools of varying degrees of sharpness. Beneath the tables were tubes of acrylic, jars of brushes, buckets of sand, tubs of glue, and plastic boxes overflowing with fluffy pom-poms and wires. A blob of grey clay on a pottery wheel matched the smear on Milly’s cheek.

The one comfortable piece of furniture was a single bed. It was covered in a bright patchwork quilt that I’d made for Milly on her sixteenth birthday. Along the side of the bed that was pushed against the wall she’d arranged cushions to form a kind of makeshift sofa. The cushions were taken from her childhood room.

‘Can I sit down?’

‘I thought you needed to pee.’

‘I lied so you’d let me in.’