Was she a prisoner? Were they plotting to keep her there and steal away her baby? Connie didn’t think so. Dorothy brought her food and drink. She helped her wash, sponging the blood from her legs. She helped her change her stained nightdress. She helped her to look after Sarah. From time to time, she went out, to collect or deliver laundry. The door wasn’t locked, or at least Connie didn’t believe it was. She could leave at any time, only she was too weak. She had lost what seemed like an awful lot of blood, but she didn’t know if that was normal or not.

She focused on recovering, eating everything Dorothy brought her. When Dorothy went out for provisions, Connie left Sarah sleeping and eased her legs onto the floor. When the room stopped spinning, she hobbled to the kitchen, drank water and felt better. She had two more nights. Then she would go to Paris.

The day passed and then another. Connie could keep track now. She was stronger, fitter. Better. The enormity of the task ahead still daunted her, but she was determined. The seventh of August came. The day she must leave.

In the morning, Dorothy appeared. ‘I won’t be long,’ she told Connie. She was dressed to go out, her handbag hooked on one arm. She had applied her make-up, bright as always with a thick slash of crimson on her lips.

Dread unfurled like smoke. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m meeting Barbara.’

‘I told you,’ said Connie. ‘I don’t want this to happen.’

‘I know and it’s hard, but you need to think more clearly. Imagine what your father will say when he finds out. Imagine how people will judge you.’

‘I don’t care.’

Dorothy adjusted her coat, seemed to consider. Then she leaned down, so close that Connie felt her breath on her cheek. ‘I was alone with Johnny,’ she said. ‘I know how it feels to have fingers pointing, tongues wagging.’

Connie stared at her. ‘But I thought Johnny’s father . . . I thought he . . .’

‘You thought wrong,’ she snapped. ‘Johnny’s father took off the moment I told him I was pregnant. He disappeared as quickly as this.’ She snapped her fingers.

‘So, who was the man who came here?’ Connie asked, remembering the man who had abused Mrs Kolinski when her mother had been alive.

Dorothy shook her head impatiently. ‘Not his father. My ex-husband. And he never thought of Johnny as his own.’ She stopped, as if she’d said too much.

‘Why did you marry him?’

‘Because I thought my son needed a father. It was a mistake. You have no idea what he was like or what I went through. So, listen to me. I know what it’s like to have a baby on my own and I am telling you it’s hard.’

‘But Johnny . . .’