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‘Who is it?’ I call, voice shaking.

A familiar voice comes from the other side of the door. ‘It’s me. Stuart.’

‘I’m a bit upset, Stuart. Now isn’t a good time.’

‘Let me in,’ Stuart calls, voice deep but soft.

I don’t answer.

‘Lizzie, I heard shouting. I need to make sure you’re okay.’

‘I’m okay,’ I call back.

‘If you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it down.’

‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’ I go to the door, put a hand to it, then slowly turn the Yale lock.

Stuart fills the doorway with his tall, broad frame, and for a moment I wonder what it would be like being his girlfriend instead of Olly’s.

Stuart is handsome, like Olly, but with a broken nose that kinks in the middle. He’s a little older – nearing forty – and his brown hair recedes slightly at the temples, which I think is why he often wears hats.

‘Doll.’ Stuart’s eyes crinkle with sadness. ‘Are you okay?’

I give a stiff nod.

‘Did he do this?’ Stuart touches the long, linear bruise on my arm.

I nod again, looking away.

‘I’ll kill him. This has to stop.’

‘No. Please, Stuart. He’s getting better. Truly.’ I don’t know if I believe this. All I know is Iwantto believe it.

‘Where’s the baby?’

‘Olly took him out. They’re visiting his mother. Margaret.’

Stuart puts his arms around me. ‘You deserve so much better. Don’t cry. You’re too pretty to cry.’

I give a half-hearted laugh.

‘That’s better. So what happened? Do you want to talk about it?’

‘What’s there to talk about?’

‘You. Olly. The future. You can’t go on like this.’

‘He’s a good father. He does things to hurt me, but he loves Tom.’

‘Are you sure about that? How can you be? I hear some of the things he says. Blaming you for his bad leg. Calling you names. A man like that is capable of anything.’ Stuart takes my face in his large hands, and I feel tiny – a little girl beside a giant. He has coarse, brown stubble and lovely white teeth. And really, he’s very kind.

Stuart kisses me gently and then with increasing pressure. He pulls my body tight to his. Perhaps I should say no – he’d back off, be a gentleman about it. But I don’t. Olly is right. I don’t plan. Things just happen to me. And right now, this tenderness feels wonderful.

‘Run away with me, Doll,’ Stuart whispers. ‘How many times do I have to ask?’ He lifts me into his arms and carries me out of the flat and downstairs to his own ground-floor apartment.

Anyone could see us. Olly. Anyone.

But they don’t.