I prised myself out of bed. Felt around the wall for the main switch, then searched the floor for my dressing gown and headed to the kitchen for some water. Light shone through the gap under Dale’s door. I was aware more than ever of the security that brought me. And the panic I felt at losing it.

In the kitchen, I kept the tap running in an attempt to get rid of the usual metallic taste. Filled a glass and gulped it down. Then filled another to take to my room. The air cooled my sweat and I was shivering. But it wasn’t only from the chill. It was the physical manifestation of anxiety.

As I made my way to my room, I remembered that night at Rupert’s. Holding on to Blusha. How I’d felt. The aloneness I’d felt. And I knew I was returning to that.

I’d intended to walk on. I did. I swear. But somehow I’d stopped and was knocking on his door. He must have known it was me but delayed opening it to make me suffer.

‘What’s up?’ he said.

I didn’t know what to say at first. But when he looked at me, so cold, distant, as if he’d already left, I knew there was only one way I could stop myself feeling like this.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘OK.’

Everything changed after …

Everything changed after that night.

For a start, I was Dale’s girlfriend.

If I am about to tell you this, you cannot judge. I’d accept judgement from those whose relationships only ever had pure love at their core. Where no other dynamics have ever entered the equation. Not security, or money, or filling holes left from other losses. Not sex on tap or biological time bombs. Loneliness. Duty. Status. Not for the sake of the children accidentally or purposefully conceived. From those people, and God, I’d accept judgement. But not you.

Besides, I had approval.

When you’d called me into your office on the Monday after the party, I was so terrified I could barely make the journey from my desk. My legs belonged to someone else. My mouth, spit-free. I had no choice but to visit the toilet first.

In the confines of the cubicle, sat on the cold seat, my insides falling from me, I closed my eyes, put my hands together and did something I hadn’t done since my last night with her. I prayed.

Dear God, I know I have done some terrible things, but if you let me get away with this one act, I will promise to be good from now on. I promise to let Samuel go. Amen.

‘Close the door, Constance,’ you said. Your chair faced the entrance, awaiting my arrival.

I hung on to the handle to stop me falling over and gently pressed the door shut, prolonging the turn towards you.