‘Nancy!’ I almost don’t recognise Lisa’s mum. Her face sunken, grey skin stretched over her skeleton.

‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ Her words spill out with a gasp, and I don’t know if she means because of what’s taking place now, or what took place then. The last time I saw her we sat on her sofa, and I remember the feel of her hand in mine. ‘What’s happened?’ she had asked. ‘Between you and Lisa? It breaks my heart you’ve fallen out. Tell me everything.’ She didn’t know then what I had done. Neither of us knew what the fallout would be. She was so kind to me once. My eyes search hers but I can’t tell what she is thinking.

She sinks onto a chair and when she speaks again she sounds exhausted, not angry. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that magazine. Katherine White, bit of a change from Kat Freeman, isn’t it? You’ve obviously done well for yourself?’ There’s an edge as she speaks and it sounds like an accusation, and I want to tell her that however far I move away I haven’t been able to forget.

‘You’re married then.’ She nods at my ring. ‘Family?’

She can’t know about the surrogacy, and I hesitate. ‘Not yet. I thought I was going to be a mum but—’

She raises her hand to silence me, and I press my lips together, keeping the words I want to say inside.

We stare at each other wordlessly, uncomfortably, until my drink is slopped in front of me, coffee thick and dark, and she speaks again.

‘Treasure what you have, Kat. When you’ve lost everything like me…’ She shakes her head, and I want to tell her she hasn’t lost everything. She has a daughter.

More than anything I want to reach out to her, but I don’t; instead, I start to ask: ‘Lisa?…’, but Nancy says: ‘I can’t do this, Kat…’, and heaves herself to her feet as though she is far older than she is. As she reaches the door she turns and after a beat says: ‘Take care.’

And I so want to believe that she means it, that she wishes me well, but it sounds like a threat all the same.

Seeing her has stirred up so many emotions. How stupid to think I could just come here to find Lisa. I need to say sorry. I need to make amends. I need to start with Jake.

The car park at the bottom of the hill is full of potholes. Weeds push through ground that was once covered with gravel. It’s been so long since I last saw Jake. There are so many things I want to say. Things I want him to know, but now I’m here I don’t know if I’ll be able to speak. The black wrought iron gate creaks as I push it open and coax my reluctant feet to step forward. I’m feeling edgy now I’m here. Uneasy. Constantly looking over my shoulder. There’s a sense of being watched. Clouds scud across the darkened sky and there are shadows everywhere. I tell myself the only thing following me is my own guilt. Still, I speed up my pace, striding up the incline, my feet sinking into damp, overgrown grass. I don’t care my suede boots will probably be ruined now. I don’t care about anything except finding Jake. Telling him how sorry I am.

By the time I reach the path at the top I am breathless. I hunch forwards, my hands on my thighs, waiting for my heart rate to settle. But it’s not just the exertion that’s making my pulse race. It’s unfathomable I haven’t been here before. My eyes scan the crematorium. Emotion ping-pongs around my chest. The wind chimes dangling from the tree above the children’s section sway in the breeze, tinkling a lullaby that can never soothe. The headstones surrounding me are moss coloured, names and dates faded. I head to the back where the memorials become glossier, crosses replaced by angels and elaborate designs. The flowers here are freshly laid, the plots neatly maintained. I tiptoe between the rows, watching where I tread.

Seeing Jake’s name on a black marble rectangle is like a punch in the gut. I sink to my knees as my bones turn to dust. My lungs tighten painfully as I rock back and forth in silent anguish, my ‘sorry’ stuck in my throat. Now I’m here I can’t believe it’s so real, so raw. I knew he was dead, of course I did. After all, I was there, but I was still in hospital when he was buried and, missing the funeral, never coming back here, made it easier to pretend somehow, that he was still here. Still happy.

The wind whips up and from behind me I hear the chimes in the tree, but other than that, there is silence – it’s not a comfortable silence, the air feels thick. Threatening, almost. My fingers are numb with cold and I stuff my palms under my armpits to warm. Now I’m here I’m not sure what to do. I wish I’d stopped and bought flowers to lay, something bright and colourful, because no matter where he went, Jake was always the most vibrant one in the room. I look around at the other plots, the drying wreaths, the silk bouquets; there’s even a helium balloon floating high with ‘Happy 40^th Dad’ on it. The thought of a family crowding around a plaque, blowing candles, cutting cake, is devastating.

There’s a movement to my right, and I twist my head. At first, I can’t see what’s caught my eye. I squint into the gloom looking for a rabbit. A twig snaps. The bushes rustle. I crane my neck. What’s there? Shuffling, leaves move and there’s a flash of pink, a shape – a hand? Who’s there?

‘Hello?’ I call. The wind howls. The bush shakes. I can’t see anything but dark green leaves and shadow, but there’s a sense of eyes on me. Unease crawls under my skin.

‘Hello?’ I ease one foot forward, ready to run. There’s a crash behind me, and I flinch, looking over my shoulder but there’s nothing to see except the swinging gate.

I turn my attention back to the bush. There are shades of light now where dark patches were, and I think whoever was watching me has gone. I know there was somebody there. Unnerved, I reach out and trace Jake’s name as though he can calm me. Simultaneously a twig snaps behind me, and I jerk my hand away, start to stand, but it’s too late. A hand has already clasped my shoulder, forcing me back on my knees, and it all comes flooding back.

* * *

Fingers dug into my shoulder and a hand lay heavy on the small of my back forcing me forward. I tried to dig my heels in, stretching out my arms for something to grab hold of but my fingertips closed around air.

‘Please.’ My voice was high and shrill. My skin slick with sweat. ‘Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.’

There was a grunt behind me, the sound of heavy breathing, and I did everything I could to make it harder for him. I stiffened my body and struggled. There was a second when he released his grip, when I was free, and just as my mind was processing there were no longer hands on me, there was pressure on the top of my arms and I was shaken, hard. My brain rattled around my skull. I bit my tongue and swallowed down my fear and the metallic taste of blood.

My vision grew hazy, the ground beneath my feet felt soft, as my body grew limp. I had the sensation of falling before I was yanked back and thrust forward, landing heavily on my hands and knees. My head banged against something hard and solid and rockets of pain shot through my arms and into my neck.

Dazed I almost didn’t hear the slam behind me. The click of a lock.

‘No! Wait!’ I leapt to my feet. Nausea rose as the world seemed to rock. I blindly reached out, trying to find the door. The blackness was all-consuming. Suffocating. My hands shook as I slapped my palms over the walls, spinning around until at last I found it. I gripped the door handle but my hand was clammy and it took me three attempts to twist it, and when I did, it confirmed what I already knew.

I was trapped.

* * *

The memory has gone in a flash and again I’m kneeling on the damp grass, fingers pressing hard into my skin.