“Get out,” I say.

“I’m not getting out of my own car in the middle of nowhere.”

“Fine. I’ll call the police and tell them that I had to stop you drunk driving. I want you out. You have your handbag, stay the night here, order a cab, I don’t care. But I’m not driving you back.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” I say, as a surge of rage gives me strength when she makes no effort to get out.

I unclip her seat belt, open my door, stride around the back of the car and yank open the passenger door. She tries to pull it shut again but isn’t quick enough. She leans away from me as if she’s planning on climbing over to the driver’s side, so I pull hard on her arm.

I realize just quite how drunk Camilla still is as she loses her balance and half stumbles, half falls out of the car. She staggers slightly before putting out her arms and reaching for the side of a nearby truck, leaning against it for support. I reach inside for her bag, throw it down on the ground beside her and slam the door.

I rush back round, slide into my seat and shift the gear to Reverse. I pull away, driving slowly enough to check the rearview mirror and see Camilla pick up her bag, briefly rummage through it, then disappear through the entrance to the pub. I pick up as much speed as possible, given my surroundings. The growing distance between us is a welcome relief.

I grip the steering wheel. I’ve no idea where I’m going, only that it will do Camilla good to have some more time to reflect. The area is unrecognizable in the darkness, of course it is. I must go back, this is madness. I am directionless in the middle of nowhere.

I pull over to set the GPS, when a wave of pain knifes my stomach. Feeling sick, I open the door and lean out. Cold, harsh realization hits as the second pain forces me to get out and pace up and down the deserted road.

As soon as it eases, I call Stuart. It goes to voice mail. Icy fear ups my indecision a notch. Do I try to drive back to the house? Call an ambulance? Camilla. God, why did I think it was such a good idea to leave her behind? Even her drunken, horrible company is better than being alone right now. I take some deep breaths.

I feel better, much more in control, as I restart the car. Think. I must come up with a proper plan: return to Camilla, tell her we’re even (we’re not, but now is definitely not the time). She can drive me to a hospital if the pains worsen to get checked out; it’s too early for the baby to come. I turn the car around until I remember that Camilla is in no fit state to drive.