The next day, at 3 p.m., I administer the second pill and wait. At first, nothing happens. I turn on the TV and, as the opening credits of Bargain Hunt begin, start to feel a dull ache in my stomach. I take the painkillers that Helena gave me and get into bed. The pain gradually increases but it’s bearable. What isn’t bearable is the voice inside my head, telling me that I am a bad person, that I am killing my own flesh and blood, that I don’t deserve to ever be happy again, that by doing this I have brought bad luck down on myself for ever. I put my hands over my ears to try and block the voice out, but it gets louder and more insistent. When, finally, the pain reaches a crescendo and I run to the loo just in time to feel the baby leave me, the voice is screaming.

It’s still screaming as I slump back to bed and sleep a dead, dreamless sleep and it’s still there when I wake up at 7 a.m., dress and make my way back to the flat.

I reach into my bag to retrieve my keys and as I do I bring out the leaflets Helena gave me at the clinic. ‘How to cope after an abortion.’ ‘Contraception advice.’ ‘Having sex again after an abortion.’ I feel sick as I read the words. I don’t want any reminders of what I’ve just done. Scrunching the leaflets into a ball, I throw them, and my appointment card, into the wheelie bin outside the flat then make my way inside.

Thankfully, Connor is not there and I dump my coat and bag in the hallway and head into the living room where I curl up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over me, still bleeding but no longer in pain.

I wake to someone vigorously shaking my arms. At first I think I’m dreaming but as I come to I see Connor standing by the sofa. His face is red and his mouth puckered. He looks furious. I blink my eyes and panic floods through my body. He is holding the appointment card from the clinic and the follow-on leaflets Helena gave me. How has he got them? I know I threw them away.

He puts his face to mine and hisses in my ear.

‘What the hell have you done, Vanessa?’

21. Now

‘Fancy a bit of brunch in the village?’

I look up from my phone and see Georgie standing in the kitchen doorway. She looks much better this morning. Her face is clear and bright, and she has washed and blow-dried her hair.

‘No worries if you’re busy, though,’ she says, gesturing to the phone.