I was a normal woman leading a normal life. Admittedly on occasions I’d read one of those magazine articles about people having these incredible life-changing adventures and briefly think, Is this it? But then I’d look across at David sitting next to me, sharing the sofa, a bottle of wine and a takeaway and he’d smile at me; older, familiar, but still just as handsome, and the feeling would pass just as briefly. I felt content. Secure. Lucky.

After everything that had happened in my childhood, my life now was pretty uneventful and that’s how I liked it. No big surprises. No chaos. No heartache. Everything was trundling on.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

‘After the initial shock and disbelief, you will begin a journey that will take you through a series of complex emotions . . .’

The distinctive voice of a famous Oscar-winning actress is playing on the car stereo. She’s narrating an audiobook I’m listening to, in an attempt to stay awake. Stifling a yawn, I roll down the window to let in some cold, fresh air. I’ve been driving for hours. Darkness has long since fallen, and my headlights pick out the cat’s-eye reflectors, guiding me down the narrow country roads in the Yorkshire Dales. I’m used to a city’s light-polluted skies, but above me now the skies are dark and vast and London seems a long, long way away. Skeleton trees loom towards me, while on either side of the drystone walls it’s open fields, wild moorland and sweeping valleys. There’s nothing to see for miles around.

That’s if I could see properly over the drystone walls. I’ve rented a Fiat 500, which seemed cute and nippy in the capital’s traffic, but now seems ridiculously small and vulnerable in the dark, open countryside. I switch on the full beams as the road curves and steepens, and hunch forward over the steering wheel, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Hopefully I’ll be there soon. Surely it can’t be much further.

What’s that?

I swerve sharply as something shoots across the road. It’s gone before I’ve even had a chance to register it, but it looked like some kind of wild animal. With my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, I brake sharply as the wheels hit a grass verge. The car stalls. And now anxiety starts up like percussion.

This is the first time in ages that I’ve driven anywhere. Living in London, I always used public transport and, whenever we went abroad, David always drove the rental car. I take a few deep breaths. I used to be such a confident driver when I was younger. But then I used to be more confident about a lot of things.

Shakily I start the car. The engine springs to life. And, with it, the stereo.

‘. . . denial, pain, guilt, anger, depression, loneliness . . .’

Great, lots to look forward to then.

Quickly I go to turn it off. I’m jackknifed across the road. If something comes round the bend, it will crash right into me. I need to concentrate. Only I’m not familiar with the stereo system and accidentally turn up the volume instead.