As she arrives home, Beth’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and her mood instantly plummets. It might be Simon, she hopes, but she knows that’s just wishful thinking. Because her phone has done this every day since Saturday; the one problem that is refusing to go away this week. She burrows her trembling fingers into her coat and pulls it out. The name lit up on her screen isn’t a surprise, but a feeling of dread still grabs at her insides. Eddie. She concentrates on breathing as she pushes open the door, craving the privacy of an empty house. She’s alone, so she could answer the call without any risk. But she doesn’t want to. She knows that’s selfish, but she hates being reminded of the invisible leash that tethers her to a life she walked away from.

Beth stares at the screen until it eventually clicks into voicemail. There won’t be a message – Beth made that a condition early on – but they’ll call again, and again, until Beth picks up. If only it was coming from a mobile number rather than a landline, Beth would have plenty of options then – text, audio, even video messaging – but sadly it’s not to be.

Thankfully Luna is exhausted after her groom and flops into her daybed like a Renaissance muse. Beth wishes she could switch off like that. Even when she’s doing something relaxing, a spa day with her girlfriends or a cosy night in with Simon, she’s tense with the effort of performing relaxation to a high standard. The only time she feels close to calm is when she’s either scrubbing her house to oblivion, or succumbing to one of her pills. It’s a sad existence, she supposes, but she refuses to regret the choices she’s made. She only has to look around her large, spotless kitchen to see what she’s achieved.

Her phone buzzes again and she stares at it. She’s only putting off the inevitable, and for what? To see if her heart might actually explode this time? She needs to be stronger, face up to her past. With one hand holding the work surface for support, Beth accepts the call and raises the phone to her ear. ‘Hello, Mum.’ She says it with as much lightness as she can manage, but the response is a short gasp followed by the sound of someone softly crying. Tears form in Beth’s eyes too and she fights an animal urge to fling her phone across the kitchen. ‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ she pleads. ‘Sorry it’s taken me a while to pick up. I’ve been busy.’

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ her mum whispers, her voice staccato between the sobs. ‘I don’t want to disturb you at work. Or wake you up. What time is it there?’