Momentarily lost for words, Matron gazed appealingly at Dora, who continued. ‘It’s like this, sweetheart. I’m sure they will turn up very soon, but the truth is they didn’t go home last night.’

‘Didn’t go home?’ Rosie cried, as she struggled to get out of bed. ‘Where have they gone? Who’s taken them?’

Holding her firmly while trying her best to keep her calm, Dora tried to explain. ‘The police think they’ve gone on a little adventure, they think –’

But she got no further. Throwing Dora’s arm from her shoulder, Rosie struggled to stand upright. ‘I’m going to find them!’ she cried.

Matron hurried forward to prevent Rosie from getting out of bed. ‘No, dear, you’re in no state – please stay calm and think of the baby.’

With both nurses on either side of her, Rosie started to scream hysterically. ‘I’ve got to find them! I’ve got to find my children!’

Before Rosie fell to the ground in a dead swoon, Matron and Dora caught her and, between them, they got her back in bed. Stroking the lank hair that fell over Rosie’s damp brow, Dora prayed with all her heart: ‘God help this poor woman, God help her.’

Completely unaware of the drama that was unfolding on the ante-natal ward, Sybil was picking some sweet peas in the garden to make a little posy for Rosie, whom she planned to visit after her exercise class.

‘Odd.’ Sybil smiled as she stood on her tiptoes to pluck the blooms that were fragrantly flowering against the old red-brick garden wall. ‘Instead of picking Rosie’s brains, I’m picking flowers for her. It’s just nice to see her and keep her company.’ Then she thought ruefully, ‘Or maybe it’s Rosie who’s keeping ME company.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘If she were ever to find out it was me who got rid of her kids, Rosie would never speak to me again.’

After eating her lunch, Sybil left the dining room as usual, swinging her handbag, barely giving her fellow residents a backward glance. Picking up the fragrant little posy from her room, Sybil made her way to the ante-natal ward, where she was stopped in her tracks by a stony-faced Sister Mann.

‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.

Annoyed by her haughty manner, Sybil bridled. ‘To see Rosie,’ she snapped, as she all but thrust the posy in Sister Mann’s moody face.

‘I’m sorry, but Mrs Pickles is in no condition to receive visitors,’ Sister Mann barked, and she stood in front of Sybil, blocking the entrance to the ward.

Seeing she was going to get nowhere, Sybil turned on her heel and retraced her steps. Worried sick, she thought to herself, ‘Heavens! What’s happened to Rosie now?’