My, don’t you look pretty. Back to your old self again. And doesn’t Dove Letter bring out the blue of your eyes. Perfect.

22. Then

July 2018

The sun is already blazing though it’s barely 7 a.m. As I sit here on the roof terrace I look out across the sparkling rooftops of South London and try to clear my head.

Today is my first day back at work since the abortion, the first step back into ordinary life. Though it’s been ten days since the procedure I still feel delicate, like I’ve lost a vital part of myself. Maybe I have.

‘So, you’re definitely going back then?’

I look up and see Connor standing in the doorway. His hair is wet and he’s holding a mug of coffee.

‘Yes,’ I say, trying to sound upbeat. ‘I couldn’t keep putting it off. Besides, the team needs me.’

‘Your baby needed you,’ he says, his voice barely audible.

‘Please, Connor, don’t do this,’ I say, getting up from the bench. ‘I really don’t want an argument on my first day back.’

‘I’m not starting an argument,’ he says, standing aside to let me pass. ‘I’m simply stating a fact. I know you feel guilty about what you did, Vanessa, but I told you I forgive you.’

‘What I did?’ I cry, my cheeks reddening. ‘I think you played a part too. You told me you’d stopped.’

‘And I did,’ he says, placing his mug on the draining board. ‘But we’d had sex countless times that month, before that night. One of the condoms must have split. That’s the only explanation.’

I look down at the floor, a familiar panic engulfing me. If only I could remember that night, but I still have no recollection of it. The one image that returns to me again and again is that of Connor guiding me into a taxi on Sloane Street, then nothing else. But maybe he’s right, maybe I got pregnant before that night. Maybe a condom ripped without us realizing it.

‘Look, you took matters into your own hands without even consulting me,’ says Connor, following me through the living room as I go to get my bag and coat from the hook. ‘What kind of person does that? Just sneaks off without letting their partner know. If I hadn’t found those leaflets on the doorstep I’d still be none the wiser.’

‘I was scared,’ I cry, my head tightening. The morning I returned to the house I’d been sure I’d thrown those leaflets in the bin, but I was so woozy and exhausted I must have dropped them. I try to imagine how Connor must have felt, seeing them on the doorstep like that.

‘Scared?’ he shouts, his face beetroot red. ‘Yeah, well I bet our baby was scared when you murdered it.’