He cocked his head and held the car door open for her to climb in, saying, ‘In your condition you need to take more care. When’s the baby due?’

‘I have another eight weeks to go, so don’t worry, I’m not about to ask you to take me to the nearest hospital.’ She gave another trilling laugh which even to her ears sounding annoying and unconvincing.

‘Not long, then,’ he said, settling himself behind the wheel of the car. ‘Where to?’

She gave him the address and wondered how many more lies she would tell in the coming days.

‘Promise me you won’t tell anyone,’ Rick had said last night while tearing off a square of kitchen roll and dabbing gently at her bleeding mouth. He’d said again how sorry he was and repeated that she must have bitten her lip when his hand made contact. How reasonable he’d made it sound, as though it had been her fault that he’d hurt her.

Maybe it was. Maybe, as the taxi driver had said, she needed to take more care of herself. None of this would have happened if she’d had the sense not to stay out so late and give Rick cause to worry about her.

This morning when he was showered, shaved and dressed and had made her a cup of tea before he’d left for work, he’d helpfully suggested she put a cold compress against her eye and cheek. He’d then made her promise she would stay in for the day and reminded her of the promise she’d made the night before, that she wasn’t ever to tell anyone what he’d done. He’d said he wouldn’t be able to take the shame of anyone knowing. Well, that made two of them.

Of those two promises she’d made, she’d already broken one by leaving the flat. But then she suspected the promise Rick had made to her last night wouldn’t be one he would be able to keep. The blazing anger she’d seen in his eyes just before the first blow had struck convinced her that he had been itching to slap her for some time, and that until then he’d somehow managed to control himself. In that split second when he’d raised his hand, had it felt like an enormous and welcome relief to him? Had he momentarily relished the sensation of complete release, of letting go of the frustration and tension within him that had been building?

As confused as she felt by the mix of her own emotions, there was one that refused to quieten in her mind. Had she driven Rick to lose his temper? Had she pushed him too far with her carelessness and lack of thought? Had she, as she’d done before, brought this on herself?

Was this how Mum had felt? Had she blamed herself for those times when Dad had lost control and hit her? Willow had only witnessed it happen on a couple of occasions, both of them when she was very young. The first time had been when she’d woken from a bad dream and, unable to get back to sleep, and hearing a strange noise coming from downstairs, she had crept out onto the landing to see what was going on. Peering between the banisters, she had seen through the open door of the sitting room to where her father stood with his fist raised and where Mum was backing away from him, her hands covering her face. Frightened, Willow had fled to her bedroom and in the morning, she had convinced herself that she must have dreamt what she’d seen, because Mum and Dad were acting just as they always did at the breakfast table, smiling and chatting quite normally. If Dad had hit Mum, surely she’d be upset? And anyway, Dad wouldn’t do something like that, would he?