Welcome to Case Closed.

You're listening to Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney, narrated by Stephanie Racine.

Let's pick up where we left off last time.

Then, Friday, 23 December, 2016. Morning. I flush the toilet, then wipe my mouth with a thin

strip of recycled paper. I rub my lips harder than I need to, letting the rough edges sand my skin. I take a moment to breathe,

grateful that none of my colleagues have seen me like this. It's the last show before the Christmas

break, just one more day to get through, then it's done. Just a few more hours. I can manage that.

I take a breath mint from my handbag and pop it in my mouth.

I'm well practiced at hiding hangovers, but that isn't what this is. I checked my diary on the train

this morning. Thirteen weeks and I hadn't even noticed. It isn't like we do it very often and I

just presumed that this was never going to

happen. All that time we spent trying, and now, when I'd given up, now I'm pregnant. It doesn't

make any sense, and yet somehow it does, and I'm sure that I am. I'll get a kit after work.

That's what I'll do. I feel certain that I already know I'll get a kit after work. That's what I'll do.

I feel certain that I already know, but I need to be sure.

I can't hear anything, so I flush the toilet once more and open the cubicle door.

I think I'm alone, but I'm wrong.

There you are.

Are you quite all right?

asks Madeline. I feel my cheeks redden.

I've never seen her in here before. Seems out of place somehow. I thought she had a commode under her desk or something. What have you done to your head? she asks, staring at my forehead. I look in the mirror and brush my

hair over the bruise with my fingers. I tripped over something in the hall when I got home last night.

...