I wait for her to nod. ‘I’ll text the number to your mobile – if that’s safe?’ When she nods again, I add, ‘Why don’t you call them before you leave here? They can help.’

‘I doubt it.’ She sounds defeated.

‘Elise.’ I wait for her to look at me. ‘This, right now, is the low point. But however impossible it seems – and as I said, I know how that feels – there is a way out. For Niamh’s sake – don’t you think you have to try?’

Our conversation ends prematurely when my phone buzzes. As I walk back to my car, I have a flashback to when I reached my own rock bottom. My husband’s abuse had been daily and at that point, I had no contact with my family as he’d destroyed the remaining links I had with them. The future had seemed utterly bleak, and without hope, just as it must for Elise right now. I can remember it like it was yesterday, and I know that it wouldn’t have taken much more to push me over the edge.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Elise

I call a taxi from the hospital and hide my swollen face from gawping eyes behind dark glasses and a large scarf, as I clutch a bag of newly prescribed painkillers. It’s midday by the time I get home and the first thing I do is pour myself a large vodka, taking it upstairs with me. Back in my own bedroom, I examine my face in the large mirror in daylight. The bruising looks uglier than ever. Taking a mouthful of vodka, I start applying my heaviest makeup to hide the worst of it.

Even when it’s done, there’s a bluish pallor through the thick layer of foundation, but it’s enough for now, and there are other matters to attend to. Firstly, the rent Andrew told the estate agent that they could keep, which I need back. They’re reticent when I call them, until I remind them that it was my signature on the rental agreement and that they had no authority to act on what anyone else told them. I kick up a fuss, threatening them with legal action until eventually they refund it all and ask me not to contact them again. After calling them fascist bigots, I hang up.

Composing myself, my next call is to my airline, to whom Andrew has also spoken. Deliberately and patiently, they tell me that my doctor has suggested a referral for mental health problems and that I’ve been suspended from flying duties. Managing to keep my calm, I tell them that my doctor is my abusive husband, who has an axe to grind as I’m about to leave him, and that I’ll contact them as soon as I have a second opinion. After hanging up, I drink the rest of the vodka before hurling my glass at the wall.