I hear someone call my name and I run across the zebra crossing, the red-and-blue tube sign of Warwick Avenue station looming ahead of me.

When I get to the other side I have to weave my way through a procession of schoolkids clutching clipboards and following their teacher.

‘Excuse me,’ I cry, pushing them aside in my agitation. ‘Please, I have to get past.’

I hear the teacher say something about bad manners as I finally extricate myself and hurry towards the station.

The sun is blazing into my eyes as I pause to cross another side road, the white stucco houses rising ominously in front of me. I put my hand up to shield my eyes and as I do someone grabs me from behind.

I try to scream but they put their hand over my mouth.

My eyes fix on a tabby cat lolling on the ground. I hear the grumble of the trains beneath my feet as I’m pushed towards the cat. The hand presses tighter. I can smell something, a sharp chemical scent, and then all is black.

31. Then

I stand on Georgie’s doorstep hammering the door with my fist, the image of Connor and Sara lying naked in each other’s arms imprinted on my mind.

‘Georgie, it’s me,’ I cry, tears obliterating my vision. ‘Open the door.’

I ring the doorbell again, keeping my finger pressed down on it. A light goes on in the hallway then I see the tall outline of Jack walking towards me.

‘Good grief, Vanessa!’ Jack says in his clipped public-school voice as he opens the door. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

He’s dressed in a pair of navy-and-cream striped pyjamas, his salt-and-pepper cropped hair sticking up on the top of his head. I have no idea what time it is as I’ve spent most of the evening walking around Clapham in a daze, but I guess I’ve woken them up.

‘I need to see Georgie,’ I whimper, my lip trembling. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Of course,’ says Jack, ushering me inside. ‘She’s sleeping but I’ll go and wake her. Why don’t you go into the living room and get yourself comfortable. I won’t be a moment.’

I watch as he stumbles up the stairs, his hand gripping the sleek banister, then I head to the living room.

I step inside and look around, as if for the first time. The soft, squishy sofas draped with thick cashmere throws, the delicate glass lamps pouring soft light on to the rug-strewn wooden floor, the reassuring warmth of home. Only, it’s not my home.