I felt myself being softly shaken then, when I didn’t respond, pushed a little more roughly.

I was too deep, I didn’t want to surface. I just wanted to be left alone to lie here, on the nice soft, squashy cushions.

‘Mummy!’ An urgent voice broke through the fog. ‘Mummy, I’m hungry.’

I opened my eyes. Blinked. Closed them again.

‘Mummy, wake UP! I’m trying to tell you something.’

Evie shook me again, rocking her weight against my arm.

I opened my eyes and frowned against the splitting headache. My daughter’s outline flickered slowly into focus.

‘Someone knocked on the door,’ she said. ‘I didn’t answer, like you told me, Mummy. I hid.’

‘Good girl.’ The words sounded clear in my mind but left my dry, cracked lips as a croak.

Evie stood up and walked out of the room.

‘Wait,’ I tried again but my words were just a garbled mess.

Then Evie came back with a glass of water that sloshed and spilled over my arm. I pushed myself up to a seated position and she shuffled onto the couch next to me and pressed the glass to my lips. I took a deep draught of cool, refreshing water.

‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ I managed, battling the rush of nausea and heat that hit me once I sat upright. I felt desperate to lie back down and sleep for longer. But I didn’t. Instead, I focused on Evie’s tear-stained face. ‘You’ve been crying,’ I whispered.

‘I shouted very LOUD in your ear, Mummy, but you still didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t wake up.’

My stomach started to cramp when I heard her words.

‘I’m sorry.’ I slid my arm around her, pulled her close and kissed the top of her warm, silky head. ‘I’m so sorry, Evie.’

‘I’m hungry. Can I have some toast and then bananas and custard for pudding?’

The thought of dealing with food turned my stomach.

‘Give me two minutes to come round a bit, darling,’ I told her, smiling. ‘Then I’ll make you some tea.’

I glanced at my watch. I had been asleep for nearly two hours.

I remembered I’d taken two tablets. Two. When I’d promised myself I’d manage with just the one.

What if Evie had scalded herself with the kettle or fallen down the stairs? I had put my daughter, the person I loved most in this world, in danger.

I had to do something.

This had to stop.

---

It took me a bit longer than a couple of minutes to ‘come round’, as I’d promised, but Evie didn’t complain.

I sat like a zombie, staring at the pile of Lego bricks in the middle of the room, listening to my daughter explaining her latest masterpiece and how it was going to be some kind of ark for homeless animals.

I tried my best to give her the impression I was really listening, but from the way she kept scowling at me and repeating details, stretching the words out slowly, I think she probably guessed I was still out of it.

Finally, I felt up to standing and walked slowly into the kitchen make her toast.

The table was as I’d left it, home to two dirty mugs from Harriet Watson’s visit. As I picked up the mugs to transfer them to the sink, I caught sight of the calendar and it hit me.

I’d missed our appointment to look around Evie’s new school this afternoon.

I held on to the edge of the worktop and waited until the room stopped spinning. The consequences of taking that extra tablet just kept on coming.

I’d have to ring the school. I could tell them I’d been ill, and surely they’d be able to fit us in another day.

I glanced at the bills and documents I’d hastily piled on the side when Harriet had arrived. The newspaper was still open at the jobs page.

There was so much to do to get this house in order, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to even make a start.

I saw the flyer just as I was about to close the newspaper and set it aside for the recycling bin. I pulled it out to read it.

When I checked their location map, I found the town was just over three miles away from our house here in Bulwell. Even better, it seemed there was a direct bus to Hucknall that I could catch from the stop that was situated just at the edge of the new estate.

That was certainly useful to know, should I have to take the car off the road until I gathered together enough funds to replace the exhaust.

Assistant lettings agent was certainly a bit of a drop from the agency branch manager I used to be, but I really couldn’t afford to think like that. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ I could imagine Mum saying.

The advert gave a link for applicants to access the job description and person specification online. I pulled my bulky laptop towards me and piggybacked the 4G connection on my phone.

I’d already emailed the telephone and internet provider twice in the past two days, trying to organise a connection earlier than the engineer’s confirmed appointment next month. So far, I’d had no response.

I copied the link into the address bar and the details slowly loaded. The duties of the job were as I’d expected: compiling property details and arranging photographs to be taken; marketing and promoting properties to let; advising clients and helping tenants decide on suitable properties; taking details of any issues that arose with lets that the agency managed on behalf of private landlords.

My heart sank a little, despite my little pep talk about thinking positive. I could do this stuff with my eyes closed.

The spec stated: Previous experience would be preferred but not essential.

I was woefully over-qualified, there was no doubt about that. But hopefully they’d be able to see the benefit in hiring someone with so much experience, even if I wasn’t getting paid at that level.

I saved the online application form to my desktop and made a note of the closing date, which was only three days away. Looked like I’d spotted it just in time.

I felt stirrings of excitement in my stomach. It felt good to get a sense of control again.

For once, it felt like I was actually moving forward, doing something for me and my daughter instead of remaining stagnant and relying on my dead husband’s stolen tablets to function.