Opening the heavy door, I cough again as more dust fills my lungs. Behind me, Joe stirs. I turn and watch him. He’s lying on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Then he closes them, turns on his side and starts to snore again. I swallow my cough down and turn back to the wardrobe.

Through the murk I see a row of camouflage-patterned overalls hanging from the rail. There must be a dozen of them. To the left are a couple of shelves. On the top shelf sits a pair of shiny hobnail boots, man size. There’s a strong smell of mothballs in here and it sticks to the back of my throat. I can’t breathe. I need air. I go to close the wardrobe but as I do I notice a mirror running the length of the inner door. As I step closer I’m shocked to see a strange face looking back at me. Pale with blackened eyes and shorn dark hair. It looks spectral, monstrous. But then I realize with despair that I’m staring at my own reflection.

I think back to three days earlier. Holed up in my rented room, I’d set to work transforming myself with the help of a boxed hair dye and a pair of cheap scissors. The new start had to be just that. I could leave no trace of the woman who had existed before. She was gone. In her place was a dark-haired, responsible person who was heading to a house in the countryside for a nice break with her sweet little boy. As I look at this new person I see Mark standing behind me as he used to when we were first married and I would brush my long blonde hair in our immaculate bathroom. His hand resting on my shoulder, watching my every move. ‘Promise me you’ll never cut your hair,’ he’d whispered, his mouth so close to my ear that it made me shiver. ‘Promise me you’ll always be mine.’

The memory of that moment strengthens my resolve. I’m not under his control any more. I got away from him. I close the wardrobe then go to the window, pull aside the net and look out. It’s getting dark now, though without my phone I have no idea what time it is. The hills in the distance change shape as the light shifts and for a moment I stand mesmerized, a strange sense of peace descending on me, loosening my muscles. I turn from the window and go to gently wake Joe. If he sleeps too long now he’ll be up all night.

He scowls as he comes to, then yawns and rubs his eyes.

‘Daddy come?’ he says, looking up at me.

The peaceful feeling dissipates when I hear that. No matter how much I try to tell myself that I’ve done the right thing, Mark is still Joe’s dad and he misses him. I can’t change that.

‘No, Daddy hasn’t come,’ I say, lifting him off the bed. ‘It’s just us two for a little bit. But we’re going to have a lovely holiday. I promise you that, Joe.’