But she’d frozen, in disbelief, and didn’t respond.

“Lauren.” He squeezed her arm, and she blinked.

“Can you hear that?”

“The milk, Lauren. What do you think? Can they have it now?”

“Test it,” she said, “on your wrist.” She listened again, desperate for it not to be real. But the words were there.

Patrick squirted a bit of the milk on the inside of his wrist. He shook his head, too hot. Then, his face lit with an idea.

“Get some cold water in the sink.”

She ran the tap until the small basin was half full. They plunged both bottles in.

“Try them now,” he said. Still much too hot.

She covered her ears with her hands. It couldn’t be. But the plea got in, the creatures’ plaintive, desperate message. In the mirror, in the harsh light of the windowless bathroom, her eyes were bloodshot. She looked away towards the bottles, floating slightly and steaming in their bath of cold. Come on, cool down, she thought. Once they’re feeding, they’ll stop.

Surely Patrick could hear it too, but he showed no sign, he hadn’t noticed. She took hold of his arm. “Listen,” she hissed.

He tried to take his arm away saying, “Ow, that hurts,” so she squeezed it tighter. He shook her off and she grabbed for him.

“No, really listen.”

The boys were screaming, screaming. He shook his head.

“What? All I can hear is screaming.”

“They’re saying words.”

He frowned, searched her face, almost laughed but stopped himself. If he just listened, it was clear, revealed in what one moment before was just a jumble of long purposeless sounds. She mouthed the words to him as they screamed them, and his face changed. He heard it then, she knew he did. The screams, and Lauren’s mouth, formed the long, drawn-out shape of the words help us, over and over, sad and panicked and pitiful.

“You hear it?” she breathed.

Patrick stared at her, his lips tight.

He checked the milk again. “It’s fine,” he said, and he whisked the two bottles out of the basin and charged into the room, handed one to the nurse, one to Ruthie. The babies’ mouths were plugged. Sweet silence relieved them all. Lauren’s ears whined in the sudden quiet, and she went to the bed and sat down. Ruthie and the nurse settled themselves in the two chairs.

“Thank heavens for that,” said Ruthie. “They’ve got impressive power, those little lungs, haven’t they?”

“That’s better, isn’t it, Morgan?” said the nurse. She glanced up at Lauren. “You OK, love?”

Lauren drew a long breath and nodded, smiled at the nurse. She held her hands together so they wouldn’t shake. “I’m fine, yes, thanks.”

“Do you want to feed him?”