Harper couldn’t say. She mirrored his panicked eyes, shrugged helplessly. Morgan had been the one on the left, she thought. But did the doctor put them back in the same places? She hadn’t been paying attention.

Patrick scrutinised them both, picked one up in his hand, turned him over. The baby’s arms and legs stuck out like a parachutist. He put the boy back down, picked up the other. No way to tell. They looked exactly the same.

Harper said, “Don’t they have moles, or something?”

“No,” said Patrick, “Yellow for Morgan. Green for Riley. Lauren wanted to paint their nails but I wouldn’t let her. Stupid, stupid.”

“You weren’t to know,” said Harper, thinking, yes, that was stupid, why wouldn’t you do that?

Patrick slid his eyes over to the scale, just to the right of the trolley. Of course, one would be bigger. They could check the notes, find out which one was which. Harper allowed herself to relax.

To the doctor, Patrick said, “Um, could you tell me their weights again, please, by any chance?”

The doctor tapped at her keyboard, scrolled down the screen.

“Oh, yes, funnily enough they both weighed the same. Four point six-two kilos. Amazing. You’d think one would be bigger and one smaller, even by point zero one of a kilo. Huh.” The doctor laughed, but when she caught sight of Patrick’s face she stopped laughing and stood up.

“Oh, no,” said the doctor, “can’t you tell—”

“Of course I can,” snapped Patrick, “I just, wanted to make sure. I think I know my own children, thank you very much.”

He picked up the one on the left. Decisively he began to dress the baby boy in the yellow vest. The doctor turned back to the screen and started typing again. Her cheeks had turned a shade of dark pink.

Well, thought Harper, even if that one isn’t Morgan, he is now.

Both babies were gazing coolly at her as their father struggled with the fastenings on now-Morgan’s vest. It was as if they knew what he’d done, and they wanted her to know that they knew.

Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The therapy room at the secure unit had been decorated with babies in mind. There were black and white patterned posters on the ceiling. Contrast stripes were supposed to be good for little babies to focus on. On one wall was a painted mural of a yellow bear, holding on to a red balloon. Lauren looked at the thick rug between the two chairs, and the crossed feet of the doctor in her low-heeled powder-blue pumps. Next to Doctor Summer’s chair, there was a small table with a clipboard and a pen. Next to her own, a bright red plastic box of board books and a yellow one of rattles and crinkly fabric leaves.

“What are you thinking, Lauren?” asked Doctor Summer.