* * *

Patrick brought vegetable sushi, fruit and dark chocolate. “Thanks,” she said, without gratitude. She didn’t fancy anything but white-bread toast.

“You need something with nutrients in,” he said.

She stuck her lip out. She ought to be able to eat whatever she felt like. “All food has nutrients in. Sugar is a nutrient. So is alcohol.”

“Alright, clever clogs. You need something with vitamins. Tell me what you want, I can go to the supermarket and bring you something else this afternoon at visiting time. Avocado?”

The thought of avocado made her nauseous. She wanted crisps.

Patrick took photos of Lauren holding the twins as they slept, and then turned the screen for her to see. In the images she was both gaunt and bloated, her smile weak and her hair greasy.

“Don’t put that online. I look terrible.”

Patrick looked up from his phone. “Oh, I, sort of already did.” The phone started pinging with notifications as comments came in. He tilted the screen to show her:

Congratulations!

Glad you are all well!

Hope to see you soon!

Soooo beautiful!!!

Wow well done you guys can’t wait to meet the boys Xxx!

Later she took matching photos of him, holding the twins while he sat in the vinyl-covered armchair next to the bed. His appearance was just the same as always. Maybe he seemed a bit tired, perhaps as if he had a mild hangover, but there was no radical change. He’d lost a tiny bit of weight recently and people—friends of theirs—were saying how much better he looked for it. Where was the justice in that? They were both parents of twins now but it was her body that had been sacrificed.

Patrick put both babies back into the cot. He was handling them with less trepidation than before, putting them down as if they were fruits that bruised easily rather than explosives that needed decommissioning. He sat down but he kept one hand in the cot with them, counting fingers, self-consciously trying out nursery rhymes he could only half remember.

“Round and round the garden, like a dum de dum. Like a … what is it like?”

“Like a teddy bear,” said Lauren.

“Is it?”

“Yes. I think so.” She pictured her mother’s finger, tracing circles on her palm. The anticipation of the one step, two steps, tickle you under there. More rhymes came to her then: Jack and Jill, Georgie Porgie, a blackbird to peck off a nose. It was like lifting the lid on a forgotten box of treasure. These gifts, not thought of for years, there in her memory all this time, waiting for her to need them, to pass them on.

“Teddy bear?” said Patrick, still sceptical. “Well, that doesn’t make sense.”

Lauren put her hand in the cot, too. She stroked Morgan’s cheek and for a few seconds there was peace. It was such simple joy to feel the grip of a miniature hand around your thumb.

“Are they breathing?” said Patrick.