“Yes.”

“My name’s Jo Harper. I’m a police officer. I’m here to talk to you about last night.”

“Oh.”

Lauren’s gaze drifted down towards the baby in yellow, and then across to the other. They were identical.

She said, “I thought they called you. I thought they told you not to come.”

“They did,” Harper smiled, gave a little shrug, “but I came anyway. It’s my duty to investigate when there’s been a report of a serious incident. You called 999 at half past four this morning, or thereabouts? The report mentioned an attempted child abduction.”

Mrs Lauren Tranter’s face crumpled. Tears cleaned a path to her chin. “I did call.”

Harper waited for her to go on. A machine was beeping in the next bay. The sound of footsteps in the hallway, a door banging.

Awkwardly, Lauren wiped her nose with the back of a hand, getting a bit of wet on the yellow-dressed baby’s arm. “But they said it wasn’t real. It didn’t happen. They said I imagined it. I’m so sorry.”

“It must have been very frightening for you,” said Harper.

“Terrifying.” The word out came out on a sigh. Lauren searched Harper’s face, looking for an answer to some unasked question.

“You were right to call.” Harper laid a hand on the younger woman’s arm, not making contact with any part of the baby she held there, but the mother flinched at the touch and the sudden movement shocked the baby, whose eyes flew open, its arms and legs briefly rigid before they slowly drew in again as Harper watched. The baby in green on the other side rubbed the back of its head on its mother’s arm, side to side, yawning and rolling its tongue into a tube. The little eyes remained closed.

“Sorry,” said Lauren, “I’m a bit jumpy.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve been through a lot, I get it.”

“I’m really tired. I didn’t get much sleep, not last night, not since I had them. I’m not complaining though. It’s worth it, right?”

“Right,” said Harper, “they’re beautiful. When were they born?”

“Saturday night.” She nodded to the one in yellow. “Morgan was born at 8:17 p.m. His little brother came out at 8.21. He’s called Riley.”

“Lovely,” said Harper. She scrabbled for a platitude to fill the silence. “Well, you’ve certainly got your hands full there.”

Lauren turned her eyes on Harper. “Do you have children?” she asked.

Harper didn’t know why she didn’t answer immediately. All her life she’d been answering immediately, giving the same almost stock response, No, not me, I’m not the maternal type, said in a way that made it clear she didn’t want any more questions. Today was different somehow; Lauren wasn’t making small talk. She wasn’t implying, like some people did, that Harper’s biological clock was all but ticked out. She was asking Do you understand what just happened to me? Standing there in front of Lauren Tranter, so devoid of artifice, not just hoping but needing the answer to be Yes, yes I do, the truth was on her tongue. But she swallowed it.