‘Can I have my bra?’

He found it and passed it to me, dangling it from one outstretched finger.

I stood. What was on and in me started rolling downwards.

He started stripping the sheets from the bed.

‘What are you doing?’

‘This mattress is new,’ he said. ‘There’s no protector.’

He pulled the sheets back and frowned at the colourless stain at the centre of the mattress. He left the room, and returned with the vinegar and baking soda they used to clean everything in that house, along with a child’s tiny toothbrush. He scrubbed for a couple of minutes, then bundled the sheets in his arms.

‘You should maybe sleep on the couch tonight,’ he said.

I lay on that couch and heard the washing machine gurgle and churn. Beneath that I could hear things moving outside, through the darkness.

The next day I was woken by the sound of Marc dragging the mattress down the stairs.

‘Would you mind?’ he asked.

I helped him drag it into the garden.

‘Sunlight is the best thing,’ he said.

Upstairs Lee started crying.

‘I’m going to take the baby out,’ I said.

This time I followed the path into the trees. They didn’t seem so wild once you were among them. The silver foil of chip packets glinted in the undergrowth. The bins were studded with wads of gum.

October could still be a cool month in those hills. It was warm in the sunlight, but as I followed the path, moving deeper into the shade of the trees, Lee must have sensed a drop in temperature, must have sensed the blocking of the light.

She started fussing. Then she took one of those huge inhales that meant she was going to scream. For some reason, though I had spent so many weeks listening to her screams, this time it was impossible to endure them. This presented itself to me as a fact: I couldn’t tolerate them any longer. I needed to make them stop.

Please understand that the baby survived. I hardly hurt her. I didn’t hit her or shake her.

Please understand that everyone left alone with a small child has wondered what they might get away with.

All I did was reach into the pram and pinch her tiny nose shut.

For how long?

Say two seconds?

Say five at the most.

There was sudden quiet. I watched the wrappers flapping in the breeze. I heard the sweep-rush and scrape of leaves flittering along the bitumen.

When I let go she looked at me like she was really looking at me, like she could recognise me.

‘Let’s go home,’ I said.

The weather started to feel more like spring. The sun was brighter, harsher. I would sit by the window while Lee slept and watch my arms turn pink.

Soon her mother would return.