In the moments before the door opened she’d been ready, she thought, but the sight of the stroller winded her. That fluorescent green she’d chosen, suddenly the colour of river-weed. And there was Patrick, usually so confident, seeming hesitant and uncertain; his frightened eyes tore away her mask. She thought she could feel them, the things in the stroller, wanting her, wanting something and she couldn’t stop herself trying to get away from them; the reflex was too strong to fight. But, a split second later, when the door closed and she felt the shards of paint under her fingernails from where she’d been scrabbling at the window bars, she knew she’d made a huge mistake.

She heard the babies crying outside in the corridor and the sound was not Morgan and Riley. When her own babies cried, the frequency of it was so hard-wired into her brain that it tugged her from her thoughts, and milk would immediately begin to leak from her nipples. This new sound was high and hard, the same sound twice where Morgan and Riley were each distinctive. It sharpened her thoughts instead of muddying them. Her breasts remained indifferent. It was confirmation: they are not my boys. My mind knows, and so does my body. But both had betrayed her in the moment, as she’d panicked and screamed and clawed at the barred and bolted window, trying to flee when she should have been pretending all was fine, smoothing things over, allowing the staff to believe she ought to be released.

The crying sound faded as it got further away. Then Pauline was telling her, in a very parental tone, to calm down because everything was all right. Lauren stopped crying very quickly and sat back down in the chair. I’ve blown it, she thought, desperate to collapse inwardly with despair. But no. She had no time for that. Morgan and Riley were still missing. And she was not mad, no matter what they thought.

“What was all that about?” asked Pauline.

“I don’t know,” said Lauren, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to see your babies, Lauren?”

“Yes,” she said, “I do. More than anything.” It was true. She thought of how much she wanted to see Morgan and Riley, and she started to cry again, hopeless, helpless tears, before stopping herself abruptly. To see them again, she would first need to see the imposters, to appear to accept them as her own. She had to make this woman believe, so that she could convince the doctor. “I don’t know why I did that. Will Patrick bring them back? I really want to see them. I do.”

“Let’s give it a few minutes, shall we? They’ll go up to the nursery, and when you’re ready we can have them brought down again. OK?”

“OK. But not too long?”

“You need to be calm, petal. Babies can pick up on emotions.”