An hour later, Phoebe blew me a kiss through the screen and said goodbye. She was so much like Bella that it hurt. I wondered if there were any photos of Bella as a baby on the old laptop. I’d had a new obstetrician and extra midwives at her birth, along with Marty, who kept yelling at them to check the foetal monitor. Archie’s birth had been gentle and calm until his head emerged blue. Bella’s birth was a military operation. No-one relaxed until she had screamed her first lungful, kicked her little legs and sucked on my nipple. Even then, Marty had insisted that every inch of her body be tested.

Scrolling through the files, I couldn’t see any photos but lots of Word documents with titles related to Archie’s conditions: ‘Neonatal Asphyxia’, ‘Cognitive Development’, ‘Anti-seizure Drugs’, ‘Neurological, Respiratory and Gastrointestinal Complications’. Amid these medical issues was one folder simply titled ‘Lorraine’. Was she a patient that Marty had seen every week? I opened the file, selected a document at random and started reading.

Dear Lorraine,

Thanks for the info on the Carbamazepine—glad it worked for your son. The seizures have slowed down a bit. Your last few days sounded horrendous. Can your parents help out, or are they too old? I don’t know how you do it, day after day. Do you ever think about other options? Good luck for a better week.

Cheers,

M x

Dear M,

So good to get your email every week. Cheers me up that someone cares, even though you’re on the other side of the world! I was bloody knackered but things got better yesterday. Do I ever think about other options? Ha. All the time. On the really rubbish days, I count out sleeping tablets for him and for me. Actually put them into two little bowls. But what if I cocked it up and we didn’t die? What if I ended up just like him and there was no-one to look after us? No, whatever I do has to be foolproof. I haven’t been able to get any respite care this month. Sorry, I’ll stop. You’ll think I’m a whingeing Pommie bastard!

Love,

Lorraine xx

Swallowing hard, I scanned the list of Word documents. There were at least sixty emails back and forth to this woman. Why had he saved them as Word documents—had he deleted them from his email account to hide them from the hospital inquiry? In all those months, Marty had never mentioned Lorraine to me. Where did she live and how old was her son? How many times had they discussed ‘other options’?