Checks done, I continued up the stairs to my studio while Alfie watched from the landing, inscrutable. I’d left the window open and everything not weighted down had been disordered by the breeze. Over at the easel, I looked again at the colours I’d mixed. There was a kernel of excitement knotted in my belly about this portrait. When it was done, it could be quite possibly the best thing I’d ever painted.

I reached out and touched the now-dry paint on the paper and the palette, my fingers tingling with the anticipation of continuing, of laying down the frame and the colours on the canvas itself. Something bubbled inside me, giving me a sense of potential I hadn’t felt in years. I knew, quietly and calmly, that this would be one of a series, that there would be more. This was it. This was what I’d been waiting for and, for better or for worse, Grace would be the one I had to thank.

The temptation was there to sit at the easel, to close my eyes and let the portrait come, but I also knew I mustn’t rush it. I did a quick scan of the upstairs windows, making sure they were locked and the keys accessible. In the bathroom, I reached up to the top cupboard, lifted down the old Nivea pot in which I hid my contraceptive pills, and popped one in my mouth.

Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019

‘You mentioned earlier that you thought Abigail might be pregnant. Had you talked about starting a family?’

‘Yes, we had. [pause] We both want a child. We’re on the same page about that. [pause] It’s what every couple wants, isn’t it?’

‘Yet it wasn’t happening? Did you talk about it then?’

‘No. We just kept going from month to month like a rollercoaster; you know, the hope and then the disappointment, and the hope again that next month would be the lucky month.’

‘Had you considered any sort of intervention?’