The Tube journey from Clapham Common to Oxford Circus should have taken thirty minutes maximum. Sometimes, if you timed it right at Stockwell, it could be done in twenty. But everything seemed against me today. There was some issue at Stockwell, meaning the station was closed so I had to continue to Elephant and Castle and then get the Bakerloo line to Oxford Circus. I kept looking at my phone to check the time. I was going to be late, no question. When it turned eleven o’clock, the time of my appointment, I was only at Charing Cross. The Tube was busy and hot; it was making my heart beat faster.

When I finally surfaced at Oxford Street, I was a whole ten minutes late for the appointment already, and it was still about a ten-minute walk to the Elemis spa. I checked my phone, half hoping Jason had been frantically trying to call me, so I had a legitimate reason to explain why I was late – maybe they would take pity on a frazzled new mum. It didn’t help that my breasts now felt like watermelons. I felt another surge of milk, just thinking about this. I was glad I was wearing breast pads because they would certainly be leaking any moment. I stood in the middle of a crowd of people waiting to cross the road. Everyone looked so purposeful. Eyes fixed ahead or focused on their phones. People rushing along the pavement. Why was everyone so busy? Shoppers and tourists were moving around as though they didn’t have a second to waste. I had been living a relatively sheltered life in recent weeks, pottering around the flat with Joni and straying no further than the Clapham area, from coffee shop to the common; from one supermarket aisle to the next.

I had almost forgotten about the world beyond, the always on the move, hectic pace of city life. It had not slowed at all. I felt disorientated, like I didn’t belong here any more, like I didn’t know who I was. I felt sweat appear on my forehead and my breathing quicken as I debated sprinting down to Elemis to see whether anything could be salvaged of my appointment, or whether to just call them and cancel it. I looked across the street to the big store opposite – if I cancelled, I could spend a whole hour browsing Topshop instead. At any other time of my life, this would have been my idea of heaven. Not any more. I didn’t know what size I was now, and it seemed pointless picking out clothes that would be suitable for breastfeeding when I’d only be doing it for a limited time. And I couldn’t think of a single impending event that I needed a dress for. I had lost my former identity. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted Joni. I needed to feel her warm body next to mine. Only she could provide the comfort I craved in this moment.