mouth and I could see right down her clean pink tunnel of throat to her tonsils. She gave a single thin yell. 'No?' I said. 'Well, that's not surprising, really. I'm not sure I remember me either.'
'What on earth's happened to you?' asked Sadie. She pulled Pippa more firmly towards her and jiggled her slightly, in that instinctive way that all mothers seem to have. 'You look'
'I know. Awful.' I put the globe on the kitchen table. 'This is for Pippa.'
'What can I get you? Here, sit down. Move those baby clothes.'
'Can I have a biscuit or a bit of bread or something? I feel a bit wobbly.'
'Of course. God, what's been going on with you?' Pippa began to grizzle and Sadie lifted her up higher until she was bunched under her chin. 'Sssh, it's all right now,' she crooned in her new sing-song voice, which none of us had heard until Pippa was born. 'There, there, my little poppet.'
'You need to deal with her. I've come barging in at just the wrong time.'
'She wants her feed.'
'Go on. I can wait.'
'Are you sure? You know where everything is. Make us both some tea. There are some digestives, I think. Have a look.'
'I brought wine.'
'I'm breast-feeding, I shouldn't, really.'
'You have a glass and I'll manage the rest.'
'I'll just change her, then I'll feed her in here. I want to hear everything. God, you're so thin. How much weight have you lost, anyway?'
'Sadie?'
'Yes?' She turned in the doorway.
'Can I stay?'
'Stay?'
'Just for a bit.'
'Sure. Though I'm surprised you want to, really. It's just the sofa, mind, and the springs are gone and you know how Pippa wakes in the night.'
'That doesn't matter.'
'You said that last time, until it happened.'
'Last time?'
'Yes.' She looked at me strangely.
'I can't remember.'
'What?'
'I can't remember,' I repeated. I felt so tired I thought I'd fall over.
'Look, make yourself comfortable,' Sadie said, 'I'll be back. Five minutes, max.'
I opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. I took a sip from mine and at once felt dizzy. I needed something to eat. I rummaged in the cupboards and found a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, which I ate standing up, cramming them into my mouth. I took another cautious sip of wine, then sat down on the sofa again. My head throbbed, my eyes burned with fatigue and the cut on my side was prickling. It felt so wonderfully warm and safe in here, down in the basement, with baby clothes draped over radiators and a big vase of dark orange chrysanthemums on the table, like flames.
'OK?' Sadie was back. She sat beside me, unbuttoned her shirt and undid her bra. She held Pippa to her breast, then sighed and settled back. 'Tell me, then. It was bloody Terry, wasn't it? Your poor face, it's still bruised. You shouldn't have gone back. I thought you'd gone on holiday.'
'Holiday?' I repeated.
'You said you were going to book one,' she said.
'There was no holiday,' I said.
'What did he do this time?'
'Who?'
'Terry.' She peered at me. 'Are you all right?'
'What makes you think it was Terry?'
'It's obvious. Especially after what happened last time. Oh, Abbie.'
'What do you mean, 'last time'?'
'When he hit you.'
'So he did hit me.'
'Yes. Hard. Abbie? You must remember.'
'Tell me anyway.'
She looked at me, puzzled, wondering if this was some kind of joke.
'This is weird. You argued, he hit you, you left him and came here. You said it was over for good this time. You were very determined. Almost excited, really. Happy, even. So you went back?'
'No.' I shook my head. 'At least, I don't know. But it wasn't him.'
'You're not making sense.' She stared at me, frowning, and then turned back to Pippa.
'I got hit over the head,' I said. 'Now I can't remember things. I can't remember leaving Terry, or coming here, or anything.'
She made a whistling sound between her teeth. I couldn't tell if it was shock or incredulity. 'You mean, you were concussed or something?'
'Something like that.'
'So you really can't remember?'
'I really can't.'
'You can't remember leaving Terry?'
'No.'
'Or coming here?'
'No.'
'Or moving out again?'
'Did I move out again? I suppose I must have done nothing of mine's here, is it? Where did I go?'
'You really can't remember?'
'No.' I felt tired of saying it.
'You went to Sheila and Guy's.'
'So I went there on the Sunday?'
'I guess. Yes, that must be right. Days of the week seem to merge for me at the moment.'
'And you didn't see me again, till now, I mean?'
'No. I thought you were away.'
'Oh, well.'
'Abbie, tell me what happened. The whole story.'
The whole story: I took a sip of my wine and looked at her, while she whispered endearments to her baby. I badly needed to talk to someone, to pour it all out, everything that had happened, the terror in the dark, the shame, the horrible, terminal loneliness, the sense of being dead. I needed to tell someone about the police and the way they'd taken all those emotions and turned them back on me and I needed that someone to be solid as a rock in their faith in me. If they weren't ... I drained the wine in my glass and poured myself some more. If not Sadie, then who? She was my best friend, my oldest friend. I'd been the one she'd turned to after Bob dumped her, when she was eight months pregnant. If Sadie didn't believe me, who would? I took a deep breath.
I told Sadie everything. The ledge, the noose, the hood, the bucket, the wheezy laugh in the darkness. How I knew I would die. She listened without interrupting, though occasionally she made little sounds of amazement or muttered expletives. I didn't cry. I had thought I would cry and she would hold on to me and stroke my hair the way she stroked Pippa's. But I felt absolutely dry-eyed and dispassionate and told my account calmly, right up to this moment. 'I'm not going mad, am I?' I finished.
'They didn't believe you! How could they not believe you? The bastards!'
'They thought I was in a vulnerable state and fantasizing.'
'How could you make up something like that? Why would you, for God's sake?'
