‘It’s easy for a doctor.’ You rolled me over, and then you were on top of me and then inside me. I groaned. I wanted you to fuck it all out of me: Damian, the alley and even Nick. ‘We have power over death. We can make it look like an accident, a heart attack or a stroke – anything.’

A few days later, I went upstairs to the bathroom. I had my phone – I’d got into the habit of always taking it with me, safer that way. I put the phone on the floor while I peed, and idly glanced at Facebook.

I had to stay friends with Damian on there, of course. If I’d blocked him, he might have hit back. I knew every one of his wake-boarding festival-going beer-drinking photos. He’d done a status update. It said: Car windscreen smashed up. Paintwork wrecked. WTF! Supposed to be a ‘low crime area’.

I had clicked out of FB and wiped the history, hands shaking. It seemed a huge coincidence, after our conversation in the Travelodge. Had you? Taken a brick or something and attacked his car? How would you even know where he lived? I hardly dared believe it. I clicked into our secret email. You never emailed in the evening – too risky. I messaged. Damian’s car. You didn’t?

I hadn’t expected a reply, but suddenly one winked in, making me start. Don’t know what you mean ;). Goodnight, darling.

‘Suzi?’ Nick’s voice. Right up against the door. ‘What are you doing?’

The tap was still running. ‘Just cleansing.’

‘That wastes water, you know.’ Pause. ‘Five minutes and I’m putting the light off.’

I closed my eyes. ‘OK. I’ll be there. Promise.’

I already knew I wouldn’t.

When my taxi pulled into our drive, Nick’s car was there. I dragged my shopping in.

‘Sorry. I’m sorry. The trains – I left hours ago.’ Tears welled up in me. ‘I’ve just – I’ve had a horrible journey, OK, so please don’t have a go.’

To my surprise, he spoke mildly. ‘I wasn’t going to. Are you alright? Sit down.’ He took the bag of food, only one raised eyebrow commenting on the fact I’d been planning to feed him a ready-made dinner. ‘This is why I didn’t want you going, see. There’s so many delays just now, it’s not good for the baby.’

‘Or for me,’ I muttered.

‘No. Not for you either. I did say.’ He bustled about, putting things away, turning on the oven. Somehow, the kindness made things worse, and that, combined with my exhaustion, with seeing Claudia and Damian and all those memories stirred up again, broke me. He said, ‘Did you text? I’ve lost my phone, or it’s been nicked maybe. So annoying. I’ll get a new one tomorrow, but in the meantime . . . What’s wrong?’