I wake with a fuzzy head and realise I’m lying on the sofa in the lounge, still wearing yesterday’s red dress, infused with the faint smell of vomit. I try to sit up and the whole of my right side screams in pain while the events of the barbecue tumble into my brain: Martin, the dizziness, the fall. And worst of all – I dropped Daisy! I actually dropped my baby!

‘Dom!’ I try to yell, but it comes out like a croak. My throat is raspy, my stomach hurts, I feel nauseous and my body is in absolute agony. ‘Dom!’ I try again, but it’s no good – I have no strength in my voice whatsoever.

I gingerly rise to my feet. Once I’m upright, I hitch up my dress to examine my body. My right leg is a mass of red and black bruises. My hip is swollen and tender to the touch. My arm is in the same knocked-about shape. I really took a tumble. But I can’t even think about that now. I need to find out if Daisy is okay.

Flashbacks of yesterday evening assault me like a stop-motion video. Dom telling me I was drunk, and bruised down one side, but not seriously hurt. I remember trying to explain that I wasn’t drunk, that I hadn’t even been drinking, but my words were slurred. I felt and sounded drunk to myself, so why would anyone else believe me?

I make my way into the kitchen to try to find my husband. To apologise and tell him that I wasn’t myself. That something else is going on here. Something I can’t explain. Every step sends a volley of sharp knives into my side, and every movement feels as though my brain is becoming dislodged, like it’s sloshing about in my head. Dom is not in the kitchen. The time on the cooker clock says 8.05 a.m. Early for a Sunday, but he’s an early riser. Perhaps he overslept. I rinse out an empty glass from the draining board and fill it with water. Take a few sips to ease my throat.

Everyone thinks I got drunk yesterday. But I didn’t knowingly have one single sip of alcohol. Could somebody have spiked my drink? I think back to the party. All I drank were a couple of bottles of alcohol-free beer that Rosa opened in front of me. I left one on the table behind me for a while. How long was it there? Could someone have slipped something into it? I don’t know. Could it have been an allergic reaction to something? I drain the glass of water and set it back on the counter.

Through the kitchen window I see that it’s another glorious day out there, a day for picnics and families and fun and relaxing. I can’t see my day turning out anything like that. I make my way up the stairs and enter Daisy’s room. My pulse quickens when I see she’s not in her cot. It’s okay, she’s probably in with Dom. I go to our bedroom next, but there’s no sign of either of them. He must have taken her out. I tell myself not to panic.

As long as Daisy is okay. But what if she’s not? What if that’s why Dom isn’t here? What if he’s had to take her to the hospital? She could have hit her head yesterday and had a delayed reaction. She could be in intensive care.

Stumbling out of the bedroom, I head back downstairs. I need my phone. I need to call Dom to make sure Daisy’s okay. But I can’t see my bag anywhere. I frantically search for it, hoping I didn’t leave it at the Cliffords’ place. There’s no way I’m going back over there to retrieve it. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to show my face in the street again. I pick up the landline handset and call my mobile. There! It’s ringing! I follow the sound of the ringtone into the lounge where, thankfully, I find my bag wedged under a sofa cushion.

I call Dom and he answers almost straight away.

‘Is Daisy okay?’ I pant.

‘She’s fine,’ he says tersely.

Relief floods my body and I sit on the sofa getting my breath back. ‘Where are you?’

‘Mel’s.’

‘Mel’s?’ A sudden chill coats my spine. ‘What are you doing over there?’

‘She messaged me this morning to see how you were. You were still asleep so I decided to come over here for a coffee.’

‘With Daisy?’

‘Yes, with Daisy. You were asleep. And anyway you were pissed out of your head last night. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to have you breathing your alcoholic fumes all over our daughter first thing this morning.’

‘You didn’t think it would be appropriate?’ My chest is thumping with anger, with outrage. ‘I wasn’t pissed, Dom. You probably drank more than I did.’

‘You were off your face, Kirstie. I saw you. Everyone saw you.’

‘It was non-alcoholic beer. You know that.’

‘It obviously wasn’t. And anyway, you were inside for ages. I wasn’t exactly keeping tabs on you. But whatever it was you did or didn’t drink, you were totally out of order. You could have done some serious damage to Daisy, dropping her like that.’

‘Someone spiked my drink!’

‘Who would do that at a neighbour’s barbecue, Kirst?’

‘I’m coming over there,’ I say, rising to my feet, my whole body trembling with rage.

‘Don’t bother. I’m coming home now.’

‘Bring Daisy.’ I end the call with a stab of my finger, throw my phone onto the sofa and pace the living room, trying to calm down, trying to work out how I can convince my husband that he’s got it all wrong. I know it must have looked really bad with me falling over, and slurring my words and vomiting all over him, but surely he knows me better than that? He knows how careful I am around our daughter. How I would never endanger her in such a reckless way.

I stand at the window, staring at Mel’s place, all yesterday’s warm feelings of friendship hardening into a frozen lump of hatred. How could she take Dom’s side in this? She didn’t even come over to see if I was all right. She just assumes that I’m guilty. Same as Dom. Like she’s so perfect. Like either of them are.

Finally, Mel’s front door opens and Dom steps out onto the pathway, like a toy figure. I reach out my hand as though to hold him in my fingers. Mel stands in the doorway wearing a short dressing gown, talking to him with my baby in her arms. How bloody dare she think she can keep hold of Daisy without my permission? I drop my hand back down by my side. She closes the door and Dom heads over this way without our daughter. My emotions bubble over.

I march outside, the morning air tinged with the scent of burnt charcoal. Dom is walking down the drive, and I stride up the path to meet him. ‘I thought you were bringing Daisy,’ I cry.

‘She’s with Mel.’

‘I know she’s with Mel, but she should be with me!’

‘We need to talk about this, Kirst. Let’s go inside.’ He takes hold of my good arm but I shake him off.

‘I’m not going inside. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got my daughter back.’ I try to push past him, but he bars my way with his body. How did it come to this? To me and Dom arguing in the street like this. Like people you see on TV soaps. We’re not those kinds of people.

‘Kirstie, please,’ he says, trying to sound reasonable, like I’m the one who’s out of line. ‘You haven’t been yourself. I know you’re anxious about things, but you can’t put our daughter’s safety at risk like that.’

His words come like slaps. ‘Me put my daughter’s safety at risk?’ I spit. ‘I’ve thought of nothing but Daisy’s safety for weeks!’ I’m trying to keep from screaming. Trying to stay calm, but it’s almost impossible; the volume rises of its own accord. ‘You didn’t seem bothered when I heard those baby snatchers in the monitor, or when I got that threatening phone call, or when I told you about Martin’s creepy basement. And even now, when I’m telling you that someone did something to my drink yesterday, you’re still not listening. You prefer to blame me than believe me.’

‘Look at it from my point of view, Kirstie.’ Dom inhales and releases a breath out slowly through his mouth. ‘You’ve been paranoid, anxious, moody… and yesterday you were out of control at that party.’

‘You don’t believe me,’ I say. ‘You actually don’t believe me.’

‘I want to believe you, Kirst. There’s nothing more I’d like than to believe you, but I don’t think that going along with your… delusions, is going to do us any favours.’

‘Delusions? Fucking hell, Dom. I don’t believe this.’ I sit on the path cross-legged, letting my head fall into my hands. My husband thinks I’m deluded. He thinks I’m crazy.

‘I’m sorry, Kirstie.’ Dom crouches down in front of me. ‘I hate seeing you like this. Honestly, it kills me. I sat up all night with you last night, making sure you were still breathing, making sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit. But I can’t tread on eggshells any more. I think you should go back to the doctor’s. Maybe… Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you’re depressed or something.’ His voice cracks.

My husband is a good man. He loves me, I know he does. Which is why I’m so gutted that he isn’t taking my word for what happened yesterday. He’s clearly upset, but I don’t know how to convince him that something else is going on here. That someone has it in for me. I just need to work out who.

‘Why did you invite Tamsin Price to the barbecue?’ I ask.

‘What?’ He frowns. ‘I would never invite her to anything. I saw her there, but it was nothing to do with me. And I didn’t even speak to the woman. Why would I?’

‘She told me you invited her.’

‘Is that what all this is about? Is that why you got so drunk?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, Dom, I didn’t touch any alcohol.’

‘Look, Kirst,’ Dom says gently, ‘I haven’t spoken to Tamsin in years, and I was as surprised to see her there as you were. I think it’s best if you take some time to get yourself straight. Go and see your doctor tomorrow. Rest, sleep. In the meantime, I’ll go and stay with my mum and dad for a few days.’ He pauses, ‘And, Kirst, I’m going to take Daisy with me.’

‘No.’ I snap my head up. ‘You’re not taking our daughter.’

‘This isn’t up for negotiation.’

‘She needs me. She needs my milk.’ Talking of which, I’m going to have to express all my milk and throw it away – God knows what substance was added to my drink yesterday.

‘There’s enough breast milk in the freezer for a week at least,’ Dom says, ‘and anyway, she’s eating more solids now so she’ll be fine. I can top her milk up with formula if I need to.’

‘You’re not taking her,’ I say. ‘I won’t let you.’

‘Sorry, Kirstie.’ He stands and heads into the house.

I scrabble to my feet and follow him. ‘What are you doing?’ I shout.

‘Getting some of Daisy’s things together,’ he replies calmly. ‘It won’t be for long. Don’t worry. I’m doing this for you as well as for Daisy. You need a break.’

He breezes through the house packing up her things as I shadow him, pleading, begging, threatening, yelling. Trying to sabotage his attempts at packing by childishly pulling things out of his hands. But he’s ignoring me now, grim-faced. I know I must appear deranged, but I’m so desperate that I can’t help myself. And I know the more I yell, the worse I sound, and the more likely he is to stick to what he believes.

I hoist up the bag he’s just packed – the one which contains all Daisy’s things.

‘What are you doing with that?’ Dom asks.

I don’t reply. I don’t tell him that I’ve decided to go to Mel’s and get my daughter back. He wants to take Daisy to his parents, well maybe I can take her to my mum and dad’s instead.

‘Kirstie.’ He follows me out of Daisy’s room and down the stairs. ‘What are you doing? Where are you going?’

‘You’re not taking her,’ I say, snatching up my car keys from the hall table.

‘You’re not driving,’ Dom says. ‘You’ll be way over the limit.’

I pause. Could he be right? No. I feel perfectly sober. Maybe a bit fuzzy headed, but certainly not drunk.

‘Kirstie, don’t get into your car.’

‘I’m getting my daughter.’

‘No. If you get Daisy, I’m going to have to call the police… and social services.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ I cry, turning back to face him.

‘They won’t let you take her,’ he says. ‘Not after what happened yesterday in front of all the neighbours.’

‘You bastard.’ I want so much to make him understand, to see that I’m not a danger to our daughter.

‘No,’ he says, continuing down the staircase towards me. ‘I’m not doing this to be a bastard. I’m doing it to protect Daisy and to give you a chance to get better. That’s all.’

I can’t allow him to call the police, and especially not social services. Dom knows he’s got me. There’s nothing I can do. I drop my car keys back onto the table, and let Daisy’s bag slide out of my hand onto the hall floor. Everything is slipping through my fingers, falling away. Maybe Dom’s right. Maybe my mind has come loose and I need help. I catch sight of my reflection in the hall mirror, and I’m shocked by the dishevelled, hollow-eyed woman staring back at me.