It is six weeks since the night of the burlesque club and I still haven’t had a period. There must be some explanation for it, I think to myself as I sit at my desk trying to focus on the presentation I’m preparing. I press save on the document, pick up my phone and search ‘missed period not pregnant’. There is a list of possible reasons, from stress to sudden weight loss to polycystic ovary syndrome. I search the latter. It can’t be that because I don’t have any symptoms. I haven’t lost weight either. Stress? Well, the last few weeks have been a bit fraught, though I wouldn’t say I’ve been so stressed as to cause my periods to stop. The only plausible reason would be pregnancy but that is impossible because Connor told me he’d stopped when he realized I was so drunk.

I miss Lottie more than ever now. She’s the only person I could be completely open with. Though I know Georgie would want to know, I still feel a bit like she’s my mum – like she’d be disappointed in me somehow. I try to imagine what Lottie would say. She’d probably suggest I get a pregnancy test to rule it out. That would be the sensible thing.

I close down my computer, grab my bag and jacket and head out to the King’s Road. When I get to Boots, I take a quick look round to check that there’s no one from the office milling about. I know some of the younger staff still buy their cosmetics from here despite their 10 per cent discount on Luna London products. Thankfully, the shop is quiet. I quickly grab a testing kit, take it to the counter and pay. When I get out into the fresh air I feel light-headed. I take deep breaths as I slowly make my way back to the office.

The test stays in my bag for the rest of the morning. I’m aware of its presence as one would be of an unexploded bomb. Finally, as most of the staff troop out for lunch, I grab my bag and head for the disabled toilet at the far end of the first floor.

With shaking hands I rip off the foil wrapper and follow the instructions. As I wait, a heavy feeling descends on my shoulders. My periods have been as regular as clockwork since the age of thirteen. A no-show like this can mean only one thing. But still, when the two minutes are up and the word ‘pregnant’ appears on the digital screen my heart feels like it has been ripped from my chest.

I’m terrified, not just because I’m pregnant but because now I know for certain that Connor lied to me.