The challenge, great anticipation for many, had reared up in night dreams and impeded her concentration throughout Sara’s busy days.

Even the sight of daffodils, her favourite flowers, bursting into bloom with the promise of warmer weather had not alleviated her growing fear or tempted her outside into the garden.

Birds that she’d fed during winter, flew from fence to bird table as if taunting her apprehension. Preoccupied with her mental demons, she watched their aerial antics and courtships without her usual joy.

That morning, she rose, packed her bags, checked windows, electric points and cancelled the newspapers. Jeff, like an excited school boy, joked and larked about, telling her that soon they would be free from their work, interfering relatives and fractious siblings.

At eleven fifteen, she stood before a pretty young woman with dark hair drawn back from a well-made up face and, once Sara’s suitcase had trundled away behind thick plastic flaps, the young woman said, ‘Enjoy your holiday.’

In return, Sara let out an anguished sob and spun around, knocking her husband’s nose with a flapping hand. Elbowing him aside, she weaved an erratic course through a long queue that snaked past the public toilets, unaware of rising voices of astonished speculation.

On reaching automatic doors leading from Departures, she burst through into a late misty morning and, like a well-toned athlete, sprinted towards the airport’s long stay car park, deaf to the frantic shouts of her husband lagging far behind.