I parked in the car park, which was exorbitantly priced – for the first time in my life I was experiencing the unsettling feeling of worry about my bank account. The moment I entered the hospital, the noise of the place assaulted me. Lights, running feet, TVs blaring, patients everywhere. The snow had caused a rise in both accidents and flu. I saw several people with legs propped up on chairs, looking cross and tired.

I knew from Eddie that Patrick had worked as a finance clerk in the obstetrics and fertility department – that bit at least was true. The irony of it wasn’t lost on me. But instead of delivering babies and performing life-saving surgeries, he had charged people for private room hire and calculated the doctors’ expenses. A cashier, essentially. I walked up there, bracing myself for the soft, cow-like bodies of the pregnant women. Suzi had joined their ranks, thanks to him, but I likely never would. I told myself it wasn’t a big loss. The world was full as it was, and at least by having no child I had ended my family’s terrible legacy, their twisted genes. But my body didn’t understand that, and wanted to cry as a toddler ran up to me, seizing my leg to hold himself up.

‘Tyler!’ His mother, pregnant and lumbering, came up. ‘Sorry. He’ll grab on to anything these days.’

‘It’s alright.’ I had to turn away from his bright laughing eyes and starfish hands. Try to find the anger again, the thing that had sustained me for so long, living side by side with the woman carrying Patrick’s baby. All I felt now was a sort of bone-deep loss. So many lies. Even more than the ones I thought I knew about. Would I ever get to the end of them?

‘Can I help you?’

My aimless wandering of the department had drawn the attention of a receptionist, swinging a lanyard like a weapon.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I just – my husband used to work here. Patrick Sullivan?’ Not Dr Sullivan, as I had long imagined. No wonder he wouldn’t let me phone the ward. I remembered, dimly, ringing up once when I couldn’t get him on his mobile. Who? There’s no Dr Sullivan here. And his anger. Some silly temp. They have enough to do without taking domestic calls, Elle. Don’t do it again. And I hadn’t.

Her face softened. ‘Oh yes. We were very sorry to lose him, Mrs Sullivan.’ She had liked him, I could see. Women usually did.

‘I was hoping I might be able to see his office. You know, so I can picture where he worked. Collect whatever things he had.’

She hesitated. Tears sprang to my eyes – unfeigned, as it happened. ‘Of course, Mrs Sullivan,’ she said. ‘Just follow me.’