‘Hmm,’ she says, regarding me through her smart acetate spectacles. ‘It looks to me like you’re post-viral. You know these viruses can take a good few weeks to clear up. I think you need to rest today, Vanessa. Don’t worry about the meeting. I can email you anything you’ve missed.’

‘Honestly, Anne,’ I say, taking a long sip of water, ‘I’ll be fine in a few minutes, really.’

‘Vanessa, this isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order,’ she says, taking my jacket and bag from the back of the chair and handing them to me. ‘You still look ill to me and I wouldn’t be a responsible employer if I let you stay here in this state. Would you like me to book you a taxi?’

‘No thank you,’ I say, slipping my arms shakily into my jacket. ‘The fresh air will do me good.’

‘If you’re sure, darling,’ says Anne gently. ‘But do text me when you get back just to put my mind at rest.’

I nod my head and smile.

‘I know,’ says Anne as she guides me to the lift, ‘I’m a fussy old thing, but that’s what happens when you’re a mother. You just want to keep all your babies safe and well.’

Her words stay with me as I enter the lift and a sharp, razor-like feeling of guilt slices through me. Connor was right. I am the worst possible person.

The fresh air does seem to do me some good and by the time I arrive back at the flat my head feels a little clearer. I put the key in the lock but as I open it I hear something, the sound of muffled voices coming from inside.

My skin prickles as I stand at the door, not daring to go inside. Then I look up and see Connor standing at the top of the stairs with a towel wrapped round his middle.

‘Vanessa, what are you doing here?’ he says as I walk slowly up the stairs.

‘Anne sent me home,’ I say, pausing to hang my bag and jacket on the hook. ‘I wasn’t feeling very well. Who’s up there? I heard voices.’

‘Just the radio,’ he says, fussing with the cushions as I slump on to the sofa. ‘God, Vanessa, I told you it was too soon to go back.’

The air smells stale, like cigarette smoke. It catches in my throat.

‘What’s that smell?’ I say, curling into a ball, my hand clasping the fluffy cushion. ‘Have you been smoking?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ he says, hurrying into the kitchen where I hear him slam the roof-terrace door shut. ‘It’s the new people next door,’ he says, returning to the living room. ‘They smoke out on their balcony and the smell wafts over here.’

My eyes feel heavy though I know if I try to sleep the nightmares will come.