I don’t remember either of the other two being born. I’d like to say I was too young, but obviously that would be bollocks. I was still with Maddison then, and she was ridiculously excited that I had a new niece. I went to the Bristol Royal Infirmary the day Ruby-May was born. Amy was in a ward on the fifth floor, her bed next to the window. She was as white as PVC, but had this sheen, like she was so happy… I swallow uncomfortably as I remember. Matt looked knackered, but ecstatic. He took the kids to the cafe, promising them juice and biscuits, leaving the three of us alone. Two babies were wailing, a woman was sobbing quietly, people were talking, the TV was on in the corner, nurses banged in and out with metal trolleys. I couldn’t image how anyone slept there.

Ruby-May was in a Perspex box on wheels, next to Amy’s bed. She was curled up on her front, with her bottom in the air and her fist in her mouth. I could imagine my father exclaiming: She’s bald as a coot.

‘You can hold her, if you want,’ Amy said.

She looked improbably tiny. I was about to say, Nah, you’re all right, and then I realized I did want to.

‘I might drop her.’

‘Don’t be an idiot. Of course you won’t,’ said Amy, smiling at me. Her voice was like sandpaper, as if she’d been yelling at a football match. ‘Just support her head. She can’t hold it up by herself.’