Eventually I gave up trying to work and I opened a bottle of red wine. I thought I would toast Patrick’s new baby.

That was my mistake. I’ve never been much of a drinker.

Ellen dreamed.

Her dreams were vivid and endless and exhausting. She knew she was dreaming and she kept trying to wake up properly so the dreams would stop, and every now and then she would find herself back in the reality of the dark room, turning over to readjust her pillow, nudging Patrick to stop him snoring, but then before she could stop herself, she’d find herself falling asleep again, toppling headfirst into a canyon of swirling thoughts and faces and sounds.

Her mother and her godmothers were running along a beach, naked, laughing in that schoolgirl way that always made her feel left out.

“They’re showing off,” she said to her father, who was sitting on the beach next to her, fully dressed, thankfully, in his suit and tie. He had sauce from his Moroccan chicken wrap on his lip.

Ellen said, “The daughter’s relationship with her father is the model for all her future relationships.” She felt proud, as if she was making some sort of incredibly subtle, ironic, witty point.

Her father was reading the newspaper now. He glanced up at her with an expression of pure disgust on his face. “This article is about you,” he said.

“It’s not true,” said Ellen, filled with shame and hurt beyond belief.

“It is true,” said a girl who was sitting in front of Ellen patting a sandcastle into shape with a yellow spade.

“Colleen!” said Ellen. She was going to be extremely nice to her because that was the sort of person she was. “How are you?”

She tried to think of a topic of conversation that would interest Colleen. “I hear that you sewed your own wedding dress,” she said. “You must be so talented!”

“You’re being condescending,” said Julia. She was sunbaking on her stomach and lifted her head from her towel to speak.

“She should never have got pregnant,” said Colleen to Julia. “That was unethical of her.”

“Probably,” yawned Julia. “But she means well.”

“It was unethical because he’s still in love with me,” said Colleen complacently.

“But you’re dead!” cried Ellen, suddenly remembering and filled with the injustice of her accusation.

“You’re a very pretty girl,” said Ellen’s father to Colleen.

Colleen tilted her head. “Thank you, David.”

“Well, I’m so sorry for getting pregnant,” said Ellen. She knew she was acting petulantly because she was jealous of her father complimenting Colleen, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She began to fling handfuls of sand at her own face. “How can I redeem myself? What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Ellen. Stop it. You are making an absolute fool of yourself,” said Madeline, who was sitting on the old couch they had when they shared a flat.

“Did you hear something?” said Patrick. Ellen woke to see Patrick sitting up next to her in bed, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s just the wind, I think,” said Ellen.

Outside, the wind was howling, making the windows rattle. She sat up and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table.

“Sorry,” said Patrick. He lay back down.

Ellen tipped back her water glass. It was empty. She didn’t remember drinking it. She looked at the clock: only four a.m. This night would never end.

“I’m having all these peculiar dreams,” said Ellen.

There was a bang as a branch or something landed on the roof.

“Me too,” said Patrick. “It’s the wind.”

“You said something when I was doing your relaxation,” said Ellen.

“Mmmm?” said Patrick.

“About Colleen.”

She waited. Patrick snored.

Ellen lay back down and instantly dreamed again.

This time she was walking down the aisle on her wedding day, wearing her grandmother’s dress. She was carrying the baby in the palm of her outstretched hand. The baby was the size of a bead and it was rolling back and forth across her palm.

“Keep your hand flat! You’ll drop it!” said one of the wedding guests. Ellen turned her head to see that it was her client Luisa, wearing a big hat. “You don’t even know how to look after a baby! I should be the pregnant one! Give it to me!”

“I gave you your money back,” said Ellen briskly. “There is nothing more I can do. I am a good person.”

She kept walking. She could see Patrick at the end of the aisle, facing away from her. He turned around to look at her, and Ellen smiled at him, but his face changed.

“Stop following me!” he yelled. His voice echoed throughout the whole church. “It’s over! Can’t you understand? I never loved you!”

Ellen was mortified. “Patrick, it’s not Saskia, it’s me!” she called out. She tried to keep her voice light and cheery, because it was a wedding after all, but loud enough for Patrick to hear right down the other end of the aisle, which had become as long as an airport runway.

“Leave me alone!” shouted Patrick.

“Darling, I don’t think he loves you anymore,” said her mother. She and the godmothers were dressed up like bridesmaids from the eighties, in pink taffeta dresses with giant puffed sleeves.

“Men!” said Pip. “Who needs them? Let’s get drunk.”

“You’ll meet someone else,” said Mel.

“I never really liked him much anyway,” sniffed Ellen’s mother.

“He thinks I’m Saskia,” said Ellen. “I’m sure it’s just a mix-up.”

But actually, she wasn’t sure. Had she been the one stalking Patrick all along?

“You hypnotized me into moving those boxes!” shouted Patrick. “You manipulated me!”

“I’m sorry!” cried Ellen. He was breaking up with her. This relationship was going to end just like all her other relationships. She was going to have to bring up this baby on her own and it was so teeny-tiny! She closed her hand carefully around the baby-bead and began to run, but as soon as she did her legs lurched sickeningly, as if she’d run off a cliff.

She opened her eyes.

She couldn’t tell if it was morning or night; the bedroom seemed to be filled with a strange, eerie orange-yellow light.