I stationed myself on the pavement opposite. I’d put on sunglasses and had taken care with my hair and clothes to create a radically different look from the one that Matthew knew. Until the last minute, I wanted to be able to choose whether to go in or not. I didn’t want to risk him taking the initiative, or for him to see me before I’d decided I wanted him to.

He was there. Alone. Poring over his smartphone. I thought he looked old. He had aged more than his online photos had showed, the previous day. I breathed in and breathed out. Three times. Then three more times. I crossed the street and pushed open the door, and an ancient little bell rang. Matthew looked up at me. He blanched. He’d recognized me at once. He muttered my name, and simply said, ‘What are you doing here?’ Then he smiled. I was flung back fifteen years. No, he wasn’t so old. He was still very attractive. I looked down for a moment and asked myself whether Louis had been conceived on that cold floor. Memories came flooding back. Bitter. Beautiful. And terribly vivid.

My mobile vibrated. I ignored it. Not now. I’m busy. I have to tell the father of my child that he has a twelve-year-old son. A superb adolescent who’s the spitting image of him. And he is in a coma. Two days away from a potentially tragic sentence.

I hesitated. Cold sweat ran down my back; I started breathing faster. I suddenly became aware of the cruel absurdity of the situation. What kind of woman was I, for heaven’s sake? Could I really spill out the whole unfiltered story, now? Despite all the hurt Matthew had caused me, could I announce these two things, one on top of the other, after thirteen long years? What did I know of his life now? How would he take it? Maybe he had a heart condition, maybe I’d kill him if I threw all this in his face. Would I be able to look my son in the eyes afterwards?

I leaned against the handle of the glass door. Louis wanted to see his father, just once. I’d seen him. My mission was accomplished. I went hot and cold, I felt my knees about to give way, but they held out. I said nothing. I backed out of the door. Matthew took a few steps forward. I retreated further. My feet reached the pavement of Portobello Road. I ran. A light drizzle misted my face and the sunglasses I was still wearing. Matthew came out into the street and called after me several times. He tried to catch up with me, but I knew he couldn’t leave the gallery unattended and would soon abandon the chase.

My mobile vibrated again. Not now; I’m busy running away from my life, once again.