“Let’s get you plugged in,” said the nurse, who had bad teeth and sewage breath. She brandished two plastic funnels attached to lengths of tubing, with collection bottles underneath.

The breast pump began to hum as it sucked, and the let-down was quick; the pressure was released. In no time she’d filled up the bottles.

“We’ll need to chuck this,” said the nurse. “Hang on.”

“Why are we chucking it?” asked Lauren. “It’ll be fine for a couple of hours.”

“It’s the drugs they gave you, flower. It comes out in the milk.”

Drugs. Her eyelids were still drooping. How long until she could feed them again? That was supposed to be her job now, to feed those boys. It was the whole of her. Her body cried out for them. But then she thought of the babies that had come back. The idea of letting those changelings suckle her was repugnant.

“The babies,” said Lauren, experimentally, “the ones Patrick’s bringing. Do you know if they’re the same ones they found at the river?” The moment the words were out, she regretted it: Don’t say that, Lauren. It sounds insane.

There was a pause before the answer came. “Of course. Your babies, Lauren. Riley and Morgan, right? There aren’t any other ones.”

Two new bottles were soon attached to the machine, which carried on pumping, whoosh-whoosh, suck, suck. The nurse reached into a pocket for a notebook and pen. What were they for?

“Oh, yes,” said Lauren, “I know that. Sorry. I’m really tired, and all the drugs and everything. I don’t know what I’m saying.” She tried to laugh but it sounded forced.

Pauline flipped the notebook open. She’s not just a guard. She’s a spy.

“You don’t have to write that down, do you? What I said, I mean.”

Pauline turned her vulpine eyes on the prisoner.

“Sorry, petal. You’re under observation. I have to write everything down.”

“Yeah, but, not that. I know they’re mine. Morgan and Riley. I can’t wait to see them. I don’t know why I said that before, it wasn’t what I meant.”

“Sorry,” said Pauline, pen to paper.

“Please,” said Lauren, begging. But it was no use. Every stroke of the pen was further evidence against her. The doctor would read it, and decide she was mad.

The nurse finished writing and put her notebook away. She smiled at Lauren with a closed face, reaching over to rub Lauren’s shoulders as she sat there being milked. Lauren’s back was rigid and wouldn’t be loosened. She couldn’t tell what Pauline was thinking, this gaoler, this enemy dressed up as a care worker.