Inside the pill box there were only two tablets: not enough to send a mouse to kingdom come, but with a gas fire turned on and a towel stuffed by the locked door, she would know nothing about it.

She would leave no note so nobody could be blamed or little Ray shamed. Just a tragic accident. Perhaps she had better not block up the door, though… It was the only solution. Netta could not go on living with this constant pain in her heart. She was tired of struggling, of failing, of making mistakes. Why not clear the decks and leave them all to it? Time to sleep for eternity. If she were lucky Rae would be waiting for her.

Netta swallowed the tablets with the brandy and sucked away the bitter taste with chunks of chocolate. She closed the curtains and turned on the fire, sank into the pillow and all her sorrows rose over her head. How easy it was to go to sleep when you are tired of living, was her last thought.

*

Somewhere far away there was a banging and a crashing. Voices and rough arms were pulling her this way and that, dragging her out into cold air, walking her away from the warm bright tunnel of light. She was gasping for air, gulping down draughts, vomiting, choking, and the urge to keep breathing grew stronger, but still she cursed them wildly. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Mrs Hunter… Mrs Hunter, can you hear me? Come on, young lady, wake up. For the love of Allah, wake up! Take some deep breaths, damn you! Wake up!’ Netta opened her eyes, a strange and yet familiar voice echoing in her ears. ‘Let me go back to sleep,’ she muttered, going limp.

‘Just keep her walking, let me check her pulse… The ambulance will be here soon. Poor woman.’ Somewhere there was a screech of wheels and the ring of a bell, a stretcher and the slamming of doors and then darkness once more.

Netta woke up in a hospital ward, contained tightly by stiff sheets, feeling sick, her head thumping. This was not heaven and the nurses who clomped past her bed tutted as they passed her by. ‘Whatever possessed you? You should be ashamed of yourself, taking up a busy bed. It’s a sin against God to commit such a crime. Think of all those poor dead soldiers who gave their lives for us, and you try to waste yours!’

Netta’s mind was racing with the fear they might shut her away in an asylum again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she kept whispering. ‘It seemed the only way to ease the pain.’

In her heart she felt such a failure. She could not even take her own life. Yet there was a strange relief that someone had rescued her in time. If someone had bothered to save her, perhaps she was not meant to die yet.