Across the landing I hear Georgie and Jack’s muffled voices. She will be telling him what has happened. They are so close; they tell each other everything. That’s what I wanted, what I thought I’d found in Connor, but it was all an illusion. As I lie here in a borrowed bed I feel like the last person on earth. Georgie has Jack and the kids, my dad has Lynda, Connor has Sara, Lottie is hundreds of miles away. The only person who could make me feel better is dead. Maybe that’s it, I think to myself, shivering despite the heat of the evening, maybe I need to go find Mum, maybe that’s the only way I will stop this hurt.

My eyes fill with tears. Never, even in the terrible days and months after her death, did I ever think I wanted to die. I’ve always loved life and I wanted to bring my mother back to it, not end mine to join her. But now I look at my life and just see a series of fuck-ups. I have no boyfriend, no job, no home. There is nothing worth living for.

My phone bleeps from inside my jeans, which are lying on the floor. It will likely be Connor, I think to myself as I get out of bed and take the phone from my pocket. He’d called me six times as I sat on the train from Clapham Junction to Wimbledon. I’d ignored all of his calls. There was nothing to say. I’d seen his deceit with my own eyes.

I look at the screen. Sure enough, there are five more missed calls and a text.

Please pick up the phone, Vanessa, I can explain everything. You can’t just throw it all away like this.

My chest tightens with a mix of anger and grief. After all he has done, he’s still blaming me, telling me that I am throwing it all away. But behind my anger, even now, there’s a small part of me that agrees with him. That wants to do what he says.

There are two more notifications on the screen. One is a text from my mobile provider, the other from the Dream Properties app: ‘One new property for you to see.’ After the disastrous eco-house viewing I know I should delete the app but I’m too upset to sleep. I need a distraction to stop me from doing something stupid.

I click on the notification and as the image fills the screen I almost drop my phone in shock.

There it is, displayed in thirty-seven high-res photos: a place I haven’t seen since childhood, the house depicted in the book my mother bought me just hours before she died.

‘It can’t be,’ I whisper as I scroll through the pictures. ‘It’s impossible.’