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Mrs Dudley glares. ‘I can assure you thateverychild in this school knows how to behave.’

I swallow tightly.

‘Miss Riley? Do we understand each other?’

I give a quick nod.

And once again, I feel that sharp pang. The one that tells me I’m not strong enough to do this alone.

I chase the thought away.

Iamstrong enough. I am agoodmother. And Iwillget answers.

Lizzie

‘It’s chaos in here,’ Olly shouts, and I stiffen, bracing myself for the onslaught. Olly used to love me. He caught me when I fell. Now, my many weaknesses are abhorrent to him.

This is how it goes: peace for a while. Then a flare-up, followed by heartfelt apologies. One big cycle. Only the cycle is getting tighter.

I keep telling myself he’ll change when the baby comes. Only a few weeks now. Or it might come early. They say stress does that.

Sometimes, I think about leaving Olly, but I know I’m not strong enough to have a baby alone. My mother has drummed it into me since my own birth. How weak I am.

So I’m trapped.

We’re in Olly’s apartment and it is a mess. It’s hard to tidy because I never know where Olly wants anything and he keeps buying new things – vinyl records, an electric toothbrush, a Velcro strap for his leg, snowboarding DVDs.

It’s worse than usual, the stuff. And for my part, I’m struggling to throw anything of my own away.

The terror I feel at being pregnant has made me verge on hoarding. What if we need those magazines when the baby comes? What if we need those leaflets about double-glazing?

Even things that are clearly rubbish, like the many takeaway pizza boxes littering the flat, give me a sort of hysterical feeling. If I tidy those, what else will I need to organise? The kitchen? The bedroom? My life?

Right now, I’m standing at the island sink, paralysed, not knowing where to start, how to begin to tackle this mess.

‘I’m trying,’ I tell Olly, my heart beginning to race.

‘You’re at home all day,’ says Olly. ‘Doing nothing.’

But I’m not doing nothing. I’m thinking obsessively, worrying about when this baby comes. The anxiety is crippling. So much so, I can barely get out of bed some days. Doesn’t he understand how his behaviour affects me?

‘I’ve tried to get a job in a hospital,’ I say. ‘But it’s hard now I’m pregnant. And since I didn’t finish my training …’

Olly limps into the kitchen area. ‘Meaning?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I know it’s tough,’ says Olly. ‘Time for both of us to grow up, right? You’re a wife now.’

We’re married now, did I mention?

Olly took me to a 1960s diner in Soho, then kneeled in front of my half-eaten Caesar salad and offered me a turquoise diamond ring.

I said yes.

Of course I did.

How could I say no in front of a restaurant of people?