Now, it was agonising he wasn’t around to talk to about the situation she was in. But, really, what wisdom could Remy have offered? There were doctors who had upped a dying patient’s morphine dosage, knowing it would suppress their respiratory system and hasten death. You could consider that to be a doctor killing a patient. But that was nothing like this.

She felt spikes of childish temper. If Remy hadn’t been snatched away from her, she never would have done this. If Matt hadn’t murdered Stacey and the children, she never would have done this. If Ian Ferguson had not happened to come into the surgery so soon after Rochelle’s visit, during a week Dr Lang was away at a conference, on the day after Paula learned about Matt’s phone video, she never would have done this. But Paula had never been a person who indulged in if only things were different thinking and she didn’t approve of shifting blame to other people or circumstances to wriggle free of responsibility for her own actions. She’d done what she’d done.

After that initial rush and then dizzy panic, Paula hoped she might settle down, regain her equilibrium. But she was surprised to find she was growing worse, unravelling inside, however normal she appeared outside. Why should it surprise her? Surprise was ridiculous. She had zero experience of the progression of a person’s mental state after they’d committed murder, had no knowledge or case histories to draw on. Now she was increasingly anxious, gullet scalded with reflux and abdomen burning, as if the remorse was her own bile eating away her stomach lining.

At the juice bar, the blender started whirring and Paula was hit by the smell of creamy yoghurt and strawberries mulching up for a smoothie. She feared she might vomit up the toast she’d eaten earlier.

By the time she made it into the ladies the nausea had passed. She stood at the basins to splash her face with water and regarded herself in the mirror, droplets of water hanging off her nose and jawline.

She had killed a man. She had murdered someone. She was not this person. The universe was out of kilter because she had done this thing. It wasn’t superstition. It was a simple matter of right and wrong.

She must face up to what she’d done, go to the police and confess.

She shivered, dry-mouthed with fear, cortisol flooding through her system. She didn’t want to face the police all on her own. So, she would admit everything to Anita first and ask her friend to accompany her to the police station. Anita knew how such things worked and would guide her, as well as being the emotional support she needed.

She texted Anita.

Hi. I know you’re busy but can we meet up this evening? V. important thing to tell you. P xx