Before that I had been alone with Marc for a long time; doubt had started to creep in.
What if the genes that meant Aurelia and I both felt no cold and retched at the idea of meat had delivered us something darker in common too?
Did I really message Steffie that odd text because I was in labour, and my husband was threatening to take the baby from me? Or was it more to do with what was happening in my mind?
But when Loll’s message arrived, the doubts ceased.
Another surge. Another.
‘I need to get out,’ I had said. Something about fresh air.
Because hadn’t he picked us the perfect spot for a night-time walk?
And so we headed off into the Alpilles.
I remembered Loll’s messages as I watched him climb. As I watched him stand, so arrogant, a belief that he was infallible. Hand on hip, mussed-up hair. Pleased with himself.
Designer trainers, no grip.
I remembered Loll’s messages as I watched him fall.
I remembered Loll’s messages as I stood there and realised that nothing had changed.
That man had already become a body to me, gone from my life a long time ago now, when the honeymoon period ended; when he started, seemingly, to hate me.
When it was my fault he couldn’t afford a stag do. When he boiled over like a pot. There are some deep dents in my walls since I got back; I shiver when I think what would have happened if he’d found me that day, not plasterboard.
Do not come for my sister.
He pummelled my mind the hardest. Imagine being a person who could do that to another person, make them doubt their own mental health, simply because it suited your agenda.
I shiver again now.
Do not come for my sister.
If you could do that purely so that then people wouldn’t blame you for your wife’s disappearance, hours after she has given birth to your daughter? Panic, grasp and come to that of all things.
So they would pity you, not blame you. Because you were so into your newfound adult popularity, Marc.
Perhaps he even convinced himself it was true. I don’t know. Never will.
The doorbell rings to snap me out of my thoughts.
It’s only 8 p.m. but I fear visitors now at any time.
Police?
The doorbell will get this response from me, I fear, for the foreseeable future.
Flight is a fine prospect except for when you have a newborn. The instinct to flee may be strong but the need to pack a giant holdall with nappies, wipes, Sudocrem, formula, a steriliser, bottles, eighteen babygrows and vests, and a couple of Elmer books is stronger.
Fight it is this time then.
Henry has his head resting on the side of the sofa but gives a side-eye glance at me. I return it. Reluctantly – go on then, if I must – he follows me.
I place a hand down on his soft, sleepy head as I take the lock off now and open it an inch, the green paint I applied so haphazardly coming into view. I spot the streak that ended up on the tiles; we never did get round to cleaning that off, did we, Marc?
I open the door.
Draw a sharp, horrified intake of breath.
You.