I go upstairs and into the bedroom, reach up and pull my rucksack from the top of the wardrobe. Stretching for it sends a shooting sensation down the side of my stomach. Calm down, Lizzie. Think of the baby. Think of the baby.

Who else can I phone? Why haven’t I made any friends here yet? I’ve been so complacent. So utterly reliant on Ross. Think, Lizzie. Think.

I unzip my rucksack and start flinging things in. No wonder Ross looked so appalled when I told him about the pregnancy. He looked shattered. Undone. I put it down to shock at the time. But he was shattered. A baby clearly wasn’t part of the plan. But what the hell is their plan?

Whatever it is, I’m in danger. I have to get out of here and find somewhere safe. A hotel, maybe? A B & B? There’s hardly any money in my account, just what Ross transfers over to me each month for shopping and bits and pieces, but it should be enough for one night in a Travelodge or somewhere like that, maybe even two. It’ll tide me over till I speak to Mum and Dad and they come home.

I open drawers and stare at the contents. How do I know what I’ll need? I’ll need everything, surely. How can I ever come back? But there’s no way I can pack everything. I have to focus on the most important things. A change of clothes. Some toiletries. My glasses. My phone and charger. My meds. Should I take my personal documents? Shit! This is going to take longer than I thought. It’s like one of those anxiety dreams where I need to pack really fast and I can’t think where to start or what I’ll need.

Except this isn’t a dream. Something terribly wrong is happening here.

It’s only when I’m pulling out the box file under the bed where I keep all my admin, and riffling through it, that the perfect solution pops into my head. A wave of relief washes through me. I’ve still got my front-door keys for the house in Dovercourt. I meant to give them back to Mum and Dad the last time we visited, but I completely forgot. Thank God I did!

I’ll get a bus to Woolwich and take a train into town, go to Liverpool Street and from there to Dovercourt. When Mum and Dad get home from New York, we’ll work out what to do.

I zip up my rucksack, pausing in the doorway for one last look. And that’s when the tears finally break. When the full horror hits me in one vicious blow. My whole life with Ross has been a sham. How many lies has he told me? Has he ever loved me at all?