“Greg sends his love.”

“Are you two in this together?”

I reassure her that the answer is no. However, if she’s banking on the thought that he’s going to rescue her—worst-case scenario—tomorrow, she may well try to hold out until he arrives, so I mention that he’s not sure of his latest arrival time.

“Camilla. Please. So we can both get some sleep tonight, just tell me what I need to know.”

“If you think I’m spending the night under the same roof as you, you really have lost it. What the hell is wrong with you, Marie?”

“I was pregnant. With Charlie’s baby. You stole the child that I should’ve had. Imagine what it feels like for me seeing Louise. You have no sensitivity, no awareness, no conscience.”

It goes silent.

“Now, will you tell me?” I say.

“I am sorry, Marie. Let me out first and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“No.”

The kicking starts up again. I’ve had enough for now. My back aches, my legs ache. I ease up out of the chair and walk to our bathroom. I run a bath. The water further muffles the sounds of Camilla’s escape attempts. She needs time to reflect and I need a break. The bathroom mirror mists. I wipe it and stare at myself. What have I done? How did I turn into this person? Why am I not at home, in my own bed?

I ease into the water and close my eyes. It lifts some of the tension immediately. I almost give into the tiredness until I hear the creaking sound of the bathroom doorknob twisting. Oh my God!

I jolt up and grab a towel to cover myself. The door opens but no one appears.

“Who’s there?” My voice cracks.

Silence, apart from the loud, rhythmic thudding of my heart.

“Camilla?” I call out.

I hear someone breathing. I freeze until I hear Camilla’s curt voice. Relief floods my entire body.

“You’re lucky you’re heavily pregnant,” says Camilla, still hidden from sight behind the wooden door. “Otherwise I’d do a lot worse. Where is my phone?”

My legs are still shaking as I clamber out, dripping water all over the bath mat as I rush to dry myself.

“Who let you out?”

“The lock broke. You’re paying for Greg to get the whole door fixed because I’m not. Now where is my phone?”

It’s still in the pocket of my jeans, which are crumpled on the bathroom floor. I pull her phone out, turn it off and slide it beneath the bath mat.

“Um...”

The door flings open and Camilla stands there. Her face is flushed, her expression is demonic. “Get dressed and give me my phone before I pull the whole place to pieces!”

She looks around, sees my clothes on the floor, picks them up and gives them a shake before slamming the door.

I dry myself too quickly. As I pull on the same jeans, they stick to my legs. I nearly fall over. I can hear Camilla in my bedroom, pulling open drawers and slamming them shut. I open the door.