There was a tone in her voice that Maggie didn’t recognize, a mixture of anger and panic and fear that froze her.

Nothing.

That’s bleach, Maggie. You mustn’t play with it.

Why?

It can really hurt you. If you drink it – she shook her head – it could kill you.

Maggie remembered simultaneously wondering why they had something so dangerous in the house and understanding why it was so hard to take the cap off.

And now, just like she had, her own son was holding a bottle of bleach, except this time the cap was off.

‘Max!’ she shouted. ‘Put that down!’

He frowned at her. She never shouted at him, and she never told him he couldn’t have something. She wasn’t spoiling him; they had so little she was hardly going to deny him what was available.

This time she was. She lunged forward and grabbed the bottle from his hands. He frowned and reached for it, but she held it away. The cap was by the toilet. She screwed it on, then picked him up and hugged him. He was shaking, and he started to cry.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for leaving that where you could get it. It’s Mummy’s fault. But everything’s OK. I promise.’

He settled a little, keeping his face buried against her chest.

‘Shh. It’s OK. It was an accident. No harm done.’

It had been close. The bottle had been inches from his lips when she grabbed it. She wondered what would have happened if he’d drunk the bleach? Vomiting, almost certainly. Fever? A prolonged sickness? Death?

Had she nearly killed him?

But he hadn’t drunk it. It was OK.

Sweat prickled on her back and arms. What if he had drunk it when she wasn’t looking? No – it would have tasted horrible and he would have been spluttering as he tried to spit it out. He wouldn’t have been trying to drink more.

She couldn’t be sure of that, though.

‘Max,’ she said. ‘Did you drink any of the stuff in the bottle?’

He didn’t answer. He turned away from her. It was the first time she had ever been mean to him.

‘You’re not in trouble. Mummy needs to know. That’s all.’

He stiffened. He turned his head so his face was totally hidden.

‘Max, please. Tell me if you drank it.’

Did the fact he wasn’t answering mean he had? Was he feeling guilty and didn’t want to admit it? Shit, shit, shit. What had she done? Her son was in the safest place possible – she would have preferred him to be exposed to all the dangers of the outside world, of course she would, but the fact was the room was safe – and still she had been so fucking negligent that he had been hurt by the one danger there was.