I sit on the edge of the sofa, my eyes swollen and raw from crying. The sun has just come up and I can hear Connor in the kitchen. As I sit here I try to piece together the events of the previous evening: Jackie holding my appointment card, the anger that rose up inside me when Connor told me I needed help. It had felt like they were coming at me from all sides, pressing down on me until I couldn’t breathe. And the flashback? It had been so clear, so real, but now I’m not sure whether it was just my mind playing tricks on me. In the cold light of day I can see that Connor was right. I haven’t been myself these last few months. It’s like I’m spiralling into some terrible abyss with no chance of salvation.

‘You’re awake then?’

I look up and see Connor standing at the living-room door. He looks terrible. His face is pale and drawn and there are dark circles under his eyes. He comes into the room tentatively and perches on the edge of the armchair, keeping plenty of distance between himself and me.

‘I’m so sorry, Connor,’ I say, trying to stop myself from crying. ‘I really am. But you have to believe me, it was an accident. I didn’t see your mum standing behind me and then …’

‘That’s just it, Vanessa,’ he says, clasping his hands together. ‘You don’t see, do you? You didn’t see how terribly you behaved at the boxing night and you didn’t see how appalling it was that you accused me of having sex without your consent or that you went behind my back and had an abortion. I’ve put up with your behaviour all this time and I’ve tried to help you but, fucking hell, hitting my mother is something else.’

I shudder, recalling the blood that had dripped down her cheek from where my engagement ring had cut her. So much blood, down her smart top, spotting the carpet.

‘How is she?’ I ask, recalling how Jackie and Connor had fled the house while I was still raging. ‘Did she get the train okay?’

‘Yes, she got the train,’ says Connor. ‘It’s a three-hour journey back home and she had to do that with a gash across her face. Christ, Vanessa, she’d travelled all that way to help us.’

I nod my head. I feel sick with guilt. I have never hit anyone in my life.

‘She has every right to press charges,’ says Connor, his eyes blazing. ‘But Mum’s a good woman. She can see you’re troubled and, like me, she just wants you to get some help. Proper help.’

‘I will, Connor,’ I say, the tears I’ve been trying to hold back rushing forth. ‘I promise you I will.’