‘Poor Katie,’ Olivia said, coming over to put her arm round me. ‘And poor old Douglas. But still, you must do as they tell you,’ she went on in a silky voice. ‘You need time for your body to recover. Don’t let him push you into it, will you, before you’re ready?’

‘Don’t worry.’ I was laughing now. I was supposed to be the Health Visitor. I leaned against Olivia. ‘I’m sorry to be so soggy – and I’m so glad you’re here. This would all have been very lonely without you.’ We smiled, our eyes meeting, and I thought Livy looked happy.

‘D’you feel better?’ I asked.

‘I think so.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t want to keep examining it. I just want to be here, with Anna – and you.’

I remember that month, its fractured nights, its intensity and blossoming of new feelings, only as a blur now, like a kind of illusion. There was sunshine, bright green leaves on the trees, walks pushing you in the huge, heavy pram in which I myself had lain as a child and which my mother produced in magnificent condition from where it had been stored, swathed in canvas, in the cellar. There were quiet times sitting in the park, light shimmering on the water; there was watching Olivia’s face at the sight of you and feeling that you were healing her; and my own contentment: your eyes wide over the top of a white sheet, reflecting sky.

But there was also Douglas’s discomfort with our new state, his absence and immersion in work, always his resort. There was my mother’s stiff detachment from us. And then there was the day when I heard you screaming downstairs while I was resting, leaving you in Olivia’s care. On coming down I found you beside yourself with frustration, and Olivia’s face all red, her hands grabbing at the front of her blouse which was open to reveal her breasts. I stood staring with an icy fury of which I barely knew I was capable.

‘I just thought I might be able to do it,’ she said, in that stupid, childlike voice again. ‘To save you the trouble while I’m looking after her.’

Trembling, I snatched you from her without a word, and ran upstairs, holding you close, so tight and close to me.

Chapter 27

‘We thought you’d gone off us,’ Lisa said, when I arrived that Sunday afternoon, baby in arms. Don and the boys were out.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve been dying to see you.’ As I spoke I realized just how true that was, how Olivia’s company weighed on me. I had had to get out, to have a rest from her. I’d managed to be away from home most of the day by going to church in the morning.

Lisa and I sat side by side with cups of tea on the table and babies on our laps. Lisa had her little girl, Alice, who looked small at the side of my Anna, but whose face was full of character, her nose cheeky and snub. Daisy, a quaint, fussing little thing now in a dress at least a size too big, hovered around us.