‘No. No. I didn’t.’

She pushed my hair from my forehead. ‘Your baby died. I know you don’t want to remember. She’s a little angel, now.’

‘Stop saying that about angels. It isn’t true. I want my baby.’

‘Holly, my love. I am so sorry. But it is true.’

‘Make them bring her.’

‘I need you not to go far away from me, even though you want to.’ She reached down, and came up with a pale pink box decorated with white butterflies. ‘Do you remember? We talked about the memory box.’

I stared at the white sheets. There was a spot of dried blood at the top.

Peggy moved to the edge of the bed, helped me to sit up, put an arm over my shoulder, let my weight fall sideways onto her soft, solid body. She lifted the lid of the box and pulled a photograph out. ‘We’ll look together.’

She was wrapped in a pale pink blanket, and surrounded by white lace pillows. On each side of her was a matching stuffed teddy bear, ivory and no bigger than my own hand. ‘See how beautiful she is,’ Peggy said.

‘Why haven’t they dressed her? Why isn’t she wearing proper baby clothes?’

‘I asked them about that. They said they didn’t have anything small enough to fit. She – her growth wasn’t what it should have been, they think for the last couple weeks. I brought the blanket in for her, while you were still in the intensive care unit. It was Milly’s.’

Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was a perfect rosebud in her pale face. She had so much hair, for someone so tiny. I imagined myself brushing that hair. It was the same copper as mine, but it was light, almost white, in the centre.

There was a cry coming from somewhere, a sob that repeated again and again, and at first I thought it was a baby. I wasn’t sure how long the noise had gone on before I realised that the sound was coming out of me.

And then I understood the important thing. My mouth shaped itself into a smile, though it was tremulous, uncertain as a child’s when they couldn’t decide if they should be happy or sad. ‘It’s okay. Peggy, it’s okay. It isn’t true. She’s not dead. She’s sleeping.’

‘Holly,’ she said. ‘Zac told me – the nurse told him – when you, when you kissed her, you said your kisses would make her warm again. It didn’t work, my love. They told him you became so distressed, when it didn’t work. They wanted to take her away then, but you wouldn’t let them. You had her with you for hours. You kept refusing to let them take her away. You had her with you for as long as you could. You’re such a good mum.’