The midwife cut the cord and the baby gave a lusty cry. Over at the window, Molly felt the sting of tears. It was alive then, this baby. It lived.

Briony picked up the precious bundle and gave it to Kerry, Bernadette was crying softly, and Briony, Kerry and Bernie all bent over the tiny scrap of humanity and admired it.

Kerry’s voice was incredulous. ‘Briony, she’s nearly white! Look at her, she looks white!’

Molly heard the words and turned from the window.

‘Mum, Mum, look at her. She’s beautiful. Oh, she is beautiful.’

Kerry’s voice had the tired pride of many a woman before her. The midwife carried on cleaning her up, acting deaf as she heard the exclamations around her about the lightness of the child’s skin. So that was what all the secrecy was for. The big wad of money she had been promised. Kerry Cavanagh had stepped way out of line if the father was a black man. Well, the child was dark enough to cause comment. Not that anyone would say a word to their faces, of course.

Molly stepped gingerly towards the bed, and as she caught sight of the child, let out a long slow breath. It was dark, but it wasn’t black. It could be a Jewish child, or an Italian. She nearly smiled at the grim irony of an Irish Catholic over the moon for a child that looked like a Jew. But that’s how desperate she had become.

‘She’s lovely, Kerry, a very beautiful child indeed.’ Molly’s voice came out much happier than she had expected. It was the relief. The relief of seeing a nearly white child that had done it. And the little girl was beautiful, she was one of the most beautiful children Molly had ever clapped eyes on, and when Kerry pushed the child towards her she took it instinctively.

But as she looked down on the baby’s features, the child yawned, its mouth a pink hole in its dark face, and the revulsion she felt was almost tangible. So deep was her dislike for this innocent child, it took all her might and willpower not to throw it from her physically. Instead, she passed it to Briony who took the small bundle tenderly. Laying it on the bed beside its mother, she unswaddled it from its blanket and kissed the tiny hands and feet, even though they were still bloody.

‘Oh, Kerry, I love her to death already. She is beautiful, wonderful. I could kiss her and eat her!’

Bernadette and Kerry laughed.

‘You’re bloody mad! Oh, Kerry, she is lovely though. Look at those great big eyes, she’ll break a few hearts when she grows up.’