The kitchen was dark, it was empty, and she had the sensation that it had only recently been vacated, that whoever had been walking there had simply stepped outside, and might be waiting for her to follow. She switched on the lights, crossed the room quickly and tried the door; it was locked. The cold tap was dripping and she tightened it. Standing in front of the windows, she couldn’t see the bankside, and she was grateful for that at least. It was an ugly little patch of land, no good to anyone.

There was just her own reflection, pale and lonely where the drying ground should be.

Somewhere in the dining area, and slightly muted as if it was half hidden, a mobile phone sounded, and Nell turned. The ringtone was an old-fashioned bell, Chris’s phone. It wasn’t possible, of course, but her heart lifted for a moment, he was back, he was here.

The ringing was further away now, the hall, perhaps; the tone sounded once, twice more, then stopped.

But there was no one there. Behind her, out in the dark, the wind gusted briefly and the windows rattled.

The dull ache in her back had spread, and she ran her hand across her belly, as the first sliver of pain sliced into her.

Too much food, she thought, too much, too late in the evening; she should have been more careful.

Then she felt it, another spasm, deeper, and followed by a warm, sticky release, and as she doubled over, gasping, she knew that she was wrong.

*

It took ages to clean herself up, shaking and clumsy, rubbing at her thighs with dampened toilet roll, washing her hands and watching the rust-tinted lather swirl into the sink, then washing them again, fearful of staining the pristine towels, leaving evidence of yet another dreadful humiliating failure.

She opened the bathroom cabinet. At least she’d bought some tampons, at least she’d brought some paracetamol. The cramps were getting worse now, now she knew what they were, knifing through her, taking her breath away. She was done now; she wanted to go home, she wanted Chris. She wanted nothing more than to lay down and cry.

Front and centre, wedged between a box of plasters and a bottle of mouthwash, stood the familiar white and blue box, the pregnancy test she had bought and misplaced.

Early Detection.

Unmissable.

The sheer spite of it took her breath away.

Nell grabbed the box, and, looking for somewhere to dispose of it, finally settled for wedging it in the bottom of the bin, underneath used tissues and bits of cotton wool. The tears threatening to rise again, this was unbearable.

How would she tell Chris?

What would he say?

She looked in the mirror, pushed her hair back from her face, then she heard it again.

The soft hesitant footsteps.

One-two.

One-two.

Then silence.