I feel disorientated as I walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table, like I’ve been floating above everything and am only now coming down to land. I watch as Isobel takes a box of matches from the shelf under the window.

‘This will take a few minutes to get going,’ she says as she lights the stove. ‘Gosh, it’s like an ice box in here.’

I look down at my palms. They are hot and clammy. My head feels wet with sweat. How can that be when it’s mid-December and I’ve spent the night in an unheated house?

‘I was worried when I saw Joe at the door,’ she says, smiling nervously. ‘The fact that he’d opened it meant it was unlocked. It was a relief to see that you were okay.’

My cheeks redden with shame. How could I have been so stupid as to leave the door unbolted? I shudder as I think about what could have happened. What if it hadn’t been Isobel at the door? Christ, Joe could have been taken or he could have wandered off. What a fuck-up I am, what a complete and utter fuck-up.

‘Anyway, let’s get you that cup of tea,’ she says, turning back to the stove.

I watch as she makes the tea, wondering what she must think of me. A frazzled mother who leaves the door open? Isobel can only be a few years older than me but I feel like an incompetent child next to her. That’s certainly what Mark thinks. And I’ve tried to prove him wrong but I just keep slipping up. Again and again and again.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Hey,’ says Isobel, putting the kettle down. ‘Don’t be silly. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. God, if forgetting to lock the door were a crime then I’d have been banged up a long time ago.’

She smiles then sits down at the table next to me.

‘I’m just so ashamed,’ I say, putting my head in my hands. ‘I really am. You must think I’m a complete idiot.’

‘No, I don’t,’ says Isobel, placing her hand on mine. ‘What I think you are is a mum. A mum who’s trying to look after a boisterous little lad all on her own and who would rather die than ask for help. Am I right?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper, tears welling in my eyes. ‘It’s just been so … so …’

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ says Isobel. ‘We’ve all been there. Divorce, separation, whatever, they take their toll, mentally and physically. It’s why my dad, bless him, counsels young couples for months before they get married. He wants them to be sure they’re making the right decision because, if not, it’s a hell of a battle getting out of it once you’ve tied the knot. I’ve seen women lose their mind over it. Throw in a little one and the stress alone is enough to kill you.’