Hey God, she began, as her tears fell, I’ve let you down; I’ve let my mum and dad down; I’ve let myself down. Is this your plan? I am so scared, so very scared . . . I know what I’m going to do is a sin, but I think I might die if I have to have a baby. I really do. I was going to ask for your help, but I guess this is not the kind of thing you help with, and I understand. I just don’t know what to do and I don’t have anyone else to talk to . . . Please forgive me and tell this little baby that I’m sorry. I’m sorry and I think I always will be. And not only sorry, but a part of me will always love it, this little thing that I’m going to say goodbye to. It’s me, by the way, Bessie Worrall.

Checking the coast was clear, she scampered from her bedroom to the bathroom, where only twenty-four hours earlier she had sat with Michelle and shaved her legs. She turned on the hot tap and watched the steam rise, adding only the smallest amount of cold water so the temperature was hot, but bearable. Steam fogged up the mirror. Bessie slipped her nightie over her head and placed the bottle of gin on the side of the bath. Gingerly she stepped in, sinking down into the water and feeling the flash of heat on her skin as it touched everywhere sensitive. Holding her breath, her discomfort eased as she got used to the temperature and the water cooled a little.

Reaching for the bottle, she unscrewed the lid and inhaled the slightly floral scent of gin, something she had never drunk before. It smelled disgusting. Her stomach heaved, and this was before she had taken a sip. Holding the bottle to her mouth, she was about to take her first swig when a sharp knock on the door made her lower it, checking the bolt was across. It was – thankfully.

‘Bessie?’ her mum called through the door.

‘Just having a bath, Mum,’ she sighed, laying her head back and wishing her mum would leave her alone to finish her task.

‘Righto, lovey. I just . . .’ Bessie heard the squeak down the paintwork of the door as her mum took a seat on the floor of the hallway. Bessie could see her shadow through the small gap at the bottom of the door. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m worried about you and I hope you’re feeling a bit better today. Your hair will grow – it’s only hair.’

Bessie touched her fingers to the short-haired, stubbly side of her head, not caring a fig about it, not with so much else to occupy her thoughts.