I hummed the David Bowie song to myself as I carried a food tray to my bedroom.

I’ll bet you feel so lonely, you could die.

Michael was entertaining journalists in the lounge, so I’d been told to stay out of sight.

‘It’s not the right time to show you off. I still haven’t finalized the divorce. We’ve got to keep you a secret just a little bit longer …’

I’d been in the gym room all morning and was about to undo all my good work by eating potato chips and chocolate fudge cake, washed down with Coca Cola. Michael hated me eating junk food, but he still kept cupboards of it in the kitchen for himself. Comfort food. In the absence of love, food would have to do.

Michael hadn’t visited my bedroom since Annalise came to stay.

Yes, Annalise was still here. Days had turned into weeks and now months. I could hear her at night, sometimes singing in a nightingale voice, sometimes moaning. She was moaning because she was sick, Michael said.

As I reached the landing, I noticed something – Annalise’s bedroom door was open. It was never open.

I set my tray down, stuffing a handful of potato chips into my mouth. Instinctively, I glanced at the stairs in case Michael was watching.

‘Annalise?’ I knocked softly on the open door.

Annalise was on the bed, her back to me, looking out of the window. She was staring at the large concrete hole that was destined to become a swimming pool, and the acres of fir tree woodlands beyond. Her room was a mess – piles of chiffon dresses on the floor, books, underwear …

Annalise was a mess too. Her long, brown-blonde hair was unwashed and unbrushed. She’d put on weight – which pleased me. Her middle was round and large, something I knew Michael would loathe.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked. ‘I heard you making noises again last night. Michael says you’re sick.’

Annalise didn’t answer. Just sort of gawped at me, staring with her big, dumb fish eyes.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I get it. I’m not Lord Michael. Only Lord Michael is good enough to waste your words on. But listen, you can’t stay here forever. Don’t you think it’s time to pack your bags and go home to your mother? Michael’s getting tired of you being here. He … he told me.’

A lie.

As I turned to go, Annalise said, ‘I’m not going home. I’m going to stay here with Michael. We love each other. We’re having a baby. And when the baby comes, Michael says we’ll all be one big happy family.’

I put my hands on my hips. ‘What are you talking about? What baby?’

‘Michael and I are having a baby.’