Is Ross worrying, too? He’s made a good show of reassuring me so far, but is it all just a ploy to keep me calm? I cast my mind back to when I first told him, that fleeting expression of panic on his face. Had a termination crossed his mind, too? Should it have crossed mine?

If ever I needed one of my girlfriends to confide in, it’s now. But the truth is, ever since I met Ross I’ve been drifting apart from them, not making an effort to see them. I shouldn’t have let things slide, but that’s exactly what I have done.

Catherine’s card flashes into my mind. I remember the worry lines on her forehead when she asked if we could call a truce, the way she clasped my hand, could barely bring herself to let it go. There were tears in her eyes. Tears in mine. She’s a nurse practitioner. She must have loads of experience with pregnant women. She’ll know something about epilepsy, too. But no, it’s unthinkable. Reaching some kind of understanding about the past is one thing. Becoming friends is quite another.

An odd sensation washes through me. A sense that something inside my head has shifted, almost as if I’m revisiting a familiar old memory. My knees buckle. Oh God, I know what this is.

25

A slab of light bathes my right cheek. I squint and try to turn my head, but the effort involved is too much. There’s an abrasive sensation on the left side of my face. I try to lift my head but only manage to raise it a few inches. I’m lying on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. I clamber onto my knees and touch my left cheek. It’s sore from where it’s been pressed onto the carpet.

Tears come then, coursing silently, hotly, down my cheeks.

It’s happened again. After all this time.

I heave myself up onto the sofa and slump back against the cushions. Somewhere, a long way away, a phone rings. Why doesn’t anybody answer it? I force my eyelids open. The slab of light has now gone. The room is chilly. I ought to get up and go to the toilet, put a jumper on. If only I could swing my legs over the edge of the sofa, but they’re blocks of lead.

A wave of nausea surges up to my chest. I clamp my hand over my mouth and curl up on my side in a tight little ball till an overwhelming tiredness swallows me up and drags me back down into darkness.

—

“Lizzie?” Ross’s voice wakes me. “Lizzie, how long have you been lying here?”

I try to speak, but my mouth isn’t working.