She gave the nurse a cheerful smile. “I’ve come to see my sister. I know it’s late . . .”

After signing the visitors’ book she headed towards the lifts, as directed. The woman in the wheelchair called out, “Thanks for the matches!”

“That’s all right, love. Good night, now!”

The corridor was deserted. Jane checked each room, peering through the little windows, until she found the right one. She could see Pam through the glass, holding the new baby, Tony’s arm resting lightly around her shoulders. Although it was way past their bedtime her two little boys were there too, spick and span, swarming over the bed and admiring their new little sister.

Watching them, Jane’s hand tightened on the door handle, but she found she couldn’t turn it. They formed a picture of a family in which she had no place. She turned away and walked slowly back down the corridor.

She headed automatically towards the river, needing quiet, space to think. It was an ordeal to cross the King’s Road; she found herself shrinking from the traffic, from the faces passing her in their shiny cars; happy faces, drunken faces, all going somewhere, all with a purpose, with someone . . .

She found herself in Cheyne Walk, beside the water. Tonight the Thames looked like a river of oil, sluggish and smooth, and she could not shake off the feeling that dead and rotting bodies floated just beneath the surface. She had come here to celebrate a new life, but all she could see was death, and pain.

By the time she returned to the hospital, visiting hours were officially over, but she slipped along to the private section without being stopped.

The room was decked with flowers and bowls of fruit, and the baby lay asleep in her cot, but Pam’s bed was empty. This time she didn’t hesitate, she walked into the room and gazed down at the baby girl, moved the blanket gently away from her face.

Soft footsteps behind her announced Pam’s return. Jane looked up, smiling, back in control.

“Hi! Just checking she has all her fingers and toes! She’s OK? Bit of a dent in her head, though . . .”

Pam climbed cautiously into bed. “Her skull is still soft, it’ll go. If you’d been here earlier you’d have seen Tony and the boys. Mum’s staying until I go home.”

“I feel a bit cheap—no flowers, no fruit. But I’d just got in from work.”

Pam was still in pain. She shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

“Could you just plump up my pillows?” She lowered her voice. “You know we got this on Tony’s firm? It’s a new scheme, a private patients plan. We can all get private medical attention now . . .”