But in my numb state I had confused adoration with obsession, competence with control, and as time went on, Mark’s behaviour became more and more cloying. Joe’s birth had left me physically and mentally drained. In those early months I felt anxious all the time, my nerves were frayed and I was living in a constant state of fear. Everyone around me was a potential threat, that’s how I saw it. Beth realized that I was struggling and told me to go and see the GP, thought maybe I was suffering from postnatal depression. Her sister had suffered with it and she recognized the signs. But when I raised this with Mark he told me that Beth was overreacting, that I was just tired and needed to rest. So he drew up a timetable where I was made to go to bed at 6 p.m. and stay there until morning. He wouldn’t let me come down to see Joe or to eat together. I was forced to stay up there while he brought me trays of ‘calming’ meals: mashed potato with butter, mugs of warm milk, chicken soup. It was like I’d regressed, become the child he’d always wanted me to be. After weeks of this I couldn’t take any more and a few nights later I fought back. I will regret that decision for the rest of my life as that was the night I lost everything. But I only regret the violence, not the fighting back. What I should have done was get out of that bed and calmly tell Mark that it was over, that he couldn’t control me any more. But I was weak then and my head was full of rage and fear. It’s different now. I’m different. I’m stronger and no man is going to tell me what to do any more.

‘I said I’d like you to leave,’ I repeat, my voice firm and clear. ‘Now.’

He gets to his feet and picks his clothes up from the floor.

‘Lisa, I don’t understand,’ he says, pulling his trousers on. ‘Last night? You were … it was … it was so lovely, I –’

‘Please, Jimmy,’ I say, getting frustrated. ‘Can we just leave it?’

‘Leave it?’ he exclaims, grabbing his jumper and pulling it over his head. ‘After what happened last night?’

I have no idea what he means. My memory of the previous evening is sketchy to say the least.

‘Look, I just need to see to Joe now,’ I say, glancing towards the open door that leads out to the hallway.

‘I understand,’ he says softly. ‘You’ve got a child. It’s complicated. And you’ve been through so much.’

He comes towards me and places his hand on my shoulder.

‘Get off me,’ I cry, grabbing his arms. I push him away from me. He staggers and almost loses his footing.

‘Lisa, what is this?’ he exclaims. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Just leave me alone,’ I shout. ‘Do you hear me? Get out!’