As I leave Vanessa’s office I am deep in thought. She doesn’t believe me. And now, I am doubting myself. Last night, as I’d read up on other recipients’ accounts, I’d been so certain tissue could retain memory but like Vanessa said, I suppose we are all on the same medication. Could we be experiencing similar side effects? Stepping off the kerb to cross the road, brakes squeal and a horn blasts. I’m frozen in place as a man sticks his furious red face out of his car window and yells ‘watch where you’re going you stupid bitch’ as he swerves around me. Suddenly, a middle-aged woman yanks me back on to the path.

‘Are you OK, dear?’ she asks.

Panic rises as she continues to hold my arm. The feeling of being restrained hitting like a punch as though it has happened before. Did this happen to Callie? Or am I delusional? I pull away from her grip but I can’t breathe properly. There’s not enough air. Everything seems too bright. Too loud. My underarms prickle and I’m hit by a desperate need to get away. I feel alone. Utterly, hopelessly, irrevocably alone, and there’s only one place I want to be.

* * *

Sam’s car is outside his mum’s house. He’s been staying here ever since we split up. I hover outside the garden gate, my fingers gripping the cool metal latch but I don’t lift it. I haven’t seen Kathy since Sam and I separated, and I’m not sure what sort of welcome I’ll get.

A thumping on the window draws my gaze upwards. Harry, Sam’s half-brother, waving from his bedroom, and the nerves I feel at being spotted are dampened by a flood of relief that I can’t just go home now.

The front door swings open. Sam, wearing his suit trousers, sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, and I know his tie will be stuffed in his jacket pocket. He can’t have been home long or he’d be in T-shirt and jeans. His big toe pokes through his black sock, and I feel a tug of sadness as I realise if things were different I would have been his wife, looking after him, darning his socks. Chiding myself for romanticising I try to pull myself together. I’ve never darned anything in my life.

‘Hey you,’ he says.

‘I’ve brought your fleece back. I know it’s one of your favourites.’ I fiddle with the drawstring toggle at the bottom but I don’t make any move to take it off.

‘Do you want to come in? Say hello to Mum?’

I hesitate but I’m yearning for a semblance of normality, even if it’s only for an hour, and I step inside. I’m barely through the door when Harry torpedoes himself into my arms. Resting my chin on the top of his head I inhale the scent of his lemon and lime shampoo.

‘I’ve missed you, Jenna.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’

‘Then you should have come to visit.’

‘I should. Stupid, aren’t I?’ Stepping back, I pull a face and he giggles. Harry is only seven and was the result of Kathy’s brief relationship with a younger man who hasn’t wanted anything to do with her or his child.

In the kitchen, Kathy is on her knees, twisting the dial on the oven and pressing the ignition button and there’s the whoosh of a flame. My stomach rolls as she stands and faces me. I tense as I wait for her reaction, but although exhaustion is imprinted onto her face and there are creases around her eyes that I’m sure weren’t there a few months ago, she looks genuinely happy to see me.

‘Stopping for dinner?’ Kathy asks as though it hasn’t been months since I have seen her.

‘I’d love to.’

‘Roll your sleeves up then, girl.’ She grins and it’s like old times. Harry measuring out orange squash into glasses; Kathy rummaging through the freezer pulling out random bags of things that might make up a meal. Smiley face potatoes and toad-in-the-hole. Sam opens a can of baked beans, and I hold a frozen chocolate gateaux over a bowl of warm water, hoping it will defrost a little quicker. ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ blares out of a radio that’s always tuned to a ‘hits of the 80s’ station. It feels like home. As we squeeze around the tiny kitchen table it occurs to me I haven’t thought of Callie once since I got here and there’s a flash of guilt as I realise it’s a relief.

We chat through the meal and after we’ve eaten the edge of the gateaux – the middle is still ice – Sam washes up, and Harry tells me he’s now collecting Lego Star Wars and he thunders upstairs to fetch his models.

Kathy and me move into the lounge. She yawns. Tendrils of hair have escaped her ponytail and she tucks them behind her ears. ‘Harry wants to meet his dad,’ she tells me.

‘Oh.’ I’m not quite sure what to say. She’s never talked about him to me before, and Sam almost never mentions him; if he does, he calls him ‘The Tosser’.

‘It had to happen, of course, but the odd question has turned into an almost constant demand.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I thought it only fair I text him, loser that he is, and let him know his son was asking questions. I thought I’d test the water but he didn’t reply and he stopped paying maintenance shortly after. He used to always let me know when he was going to stick some cash through the letter box – he doesn’t do banks.’ She makes quote marks in the air with her fingers. ‘He was always careful Harry wasn’t around to spot him. I don’t think he ever thought Harry might want to meet him. Maybe he’s done a runner.’

‘Have you called him?’

‘Yes. For weeks, the number rang and rang and now it’s disconnected. I’ve had to take on extra cleaning work to make up the money. I’m knackered.’

‘What have you said to Harry?’

‘What can I say? I can hardly tell the truth. His dad was just a stupid fling. He didn’t want a baby. He acted like a child himself. I’ve seen him in the past driving around in a convertible with a girl practically young enough to be his daughter in the passenger seat. They stopped at a red light and he snogged her face off. I felt like telling her she could do better. To his credit, at least he’d always provided financially for Harry, even if he didn’t want a relationship with him. But now…’

‘Isn’t there an organisation that collects child support? Have you contacted them?’

‘There’s no point. He’s always said he’s self-employed. An entrepreneur. If there’s no employer to collect from there’s little they can do.’

Before she can say any more Harry staggers into the room, arms laden with models, and I sit cross-legged on the floor to admire them all and help rebuild the pieces that fell off as he carried them down the stairs. Harry’s beaten me at Dr Who Top Trumps three times when I tell him it’s time for me to leave.

‘Can I come and see the animals at work again, Jenna. Pleeassee!’ Harry wraps his arms around my legs.

‘Is that OK?’ I ask Kathy.

‘Of course.’

‘Sunday morning?’ I know we’ve got a couple of weekend stays booked in.

‘Lovely. I’ll see you then.’

‘I’ll drive you home,’ Sam says.

‘It’s OK. I’ll walk.’ I can’t risk being in the car alone with Sam again. Kissing him. It isn’t fair. To either of us.

On the doorstep, we stand awkwardly before leaning forward and giving each other a one-armed hug, trying not to let our bodies touch.

I step outside and I’m alone again. The clouds blacken and scud across the sky. There’s a bite in the air and I’m glad I have forgotten to give Sam his fleece back.

* * *

I’m halfway home when the heavens open and I’m pelted with cold, fat raindrops. Inside the flat I scoop an envelope from the doormat and carry it into the bedroom, pull Sam’s sodden fleece over my head, peel off my jeans, dropping them in the overflowing laundry basket in the corner of my bedroom. Sitting on the corner of my bed I rip open the envelope that arrived in the post.

By the time I’ve read the letter twice I’m shivering. Pulling open my wardrobe to find some dry clothes I can’t help taking out the wooden box and cradling it to my chest. How do Tom and Amanda cope with the loss they’ve experienced? The box is closed, the wood is thick, but I don’t have to open the lid to see what’s in there. I do that every time I close my eyes. What would Sam say if he knew what was inside? I can’t imagine. Kneeling, I carefully put the box away, covering it with one of my scarves.

Another evening in. On the kitchen table I line up my tablets the way I’d once have lined up shots, and I swallow the first dose of the ridiculous number of pills I need to make sure I stay alive, washing them down with a glass of tepid water. Callie stares at me reproachfully from her photos that cover the walls. I don’t know what to think. I’d been so sure before I talked to Vanessa that this heart – her heart – must feel some of the things she felt.

It’s hard to settle. In the lounge, I light a coconut candle, which always conjures images of lying on a golden beach, trickling hot sand between my fingers. Ben Howard sings ‘Only Love’. I’m sketching as my thoughts run free, my fingers flying across the page almost of their own accord, and as I glance down at the paper I am shocked to see I have drawn a girl, her knee is raised, and her opposite arm, bent at ninety degrees, is thrust forward as though she is running. She’s twisting her head to look behind her and on her face is a look of absolute horror. That isn’t what has shocked me though, it’s the fact the girl looks just like me.