The affair with Martin seems irrelevant now, like a film she saw long ago, with an actress taking her part, playing a character she hardly recognizes now. It’s impossible to tell what thoughts lurk behind Eric’s brooding face opposite or whether he knows; only that he seems to have gone as far away from her as she has from him.

He brings Poppy into the ward after school; she’s allowed ten minutes at a time. Her chestnut hair and the bright splash of her freckles shine against the beige of walls and beds. Eve holds her, breathing in her health, her fresh air scent. Poppy doesn’t twist away any more but her glance moves rapidly over the immobile bodies on the beds around them; it takes in the drips, the catheters and machines, the electrodes placed on small chests.

‘Can I bring Noah to see Sorrel?’

‘I wish you could, darling, but things in here have to be very clean.’

‘Noah’s clean.’

‘I mean sterile clean, in case of germs; some of these children are very sick.’

‘Is Sorrel very sick?’

‘She’s tired. Too tired to wake up properly yet; she didn’t have anything to eat or drink for nearly two days, remember.’

‘Was she scared?’ The tone shifts higher.

The thought of Sorrel’s terror is like a flame that burns Eve’s mind. Those soft fingers scrabbling at the lid above her face, the despair as she wet herself, how her voice must have sounded as she lay calling for her mother in the dark. The admitting team told her there was no sign of sexual abuse, a life jacket in a sea of horror.

‘You know, Pops, I think she was asleep most of the time.’

‘You mean she was unconscious? Like now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did he do it – Izzy’s dad?’

‘I don’t know, darling.’ She looks at Poppy’s hands stroking Sorrel’s. Poppy’s fingers are ink stained and pink; Sorrel’s skin is yellow next to her sister’s, even her nails are pale. Eve touches Poppy’s hair gently; it’s longer now and falls forward as she leans over the bed. ‘We’ll probably never understand completely,’ she tells Poppy, ‘though we might find out more in court.’

‘Izzy’s still my friend, though,’ Poppy says, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘It’s not her fault. I feel sorry for her, actually.’