How long did they stay like that, mother and baby? Connie could not tell. She fed the baby and dozed and fed the baby again. From time to time, Dorothy appeared like a nurse, or a gaoler, with a glass of water and a pill to take away the pain, with pads and towels to soak up the blood. Occasionally Dorothy took the baby away and while she was gone, Connie felt hollow and bereft. When the baby came back, she smelled of soap and Connie clutched her greedily to her breast. Sarah, she whispered time and again. She hoped the name would summon her mother and bring her close. Perhaps she was looking down on them both.

In moments of clarity, Connie wondered where Dorothy had found the clothes she dressed Sarah in. Had they been Johnny’s? An image of his face came to her so intensely, it was as if he had come into the room. For the rest of the time, she slipped into a dreamy darkness where time ceased and nothing mattered.

‘How is she?’ A woman’s voice. Dark and familiar.

Through closed eyelids, Connie sensed light.

‘She’s lost a lot of blood.’ This was Dorothy. ‘But it seems to be stopping and I’m keeping an eye on it. The baby’s fine. Early but no complications.’

Connie opened her eyes a slit. Dorothy on one side of the bed. Barbara on the other in a dark orange coat and matching hat.

‘Have you spoken about what we discussed?’

There was a pause. Connie focused on keeping entirely still. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked and she badly wanted to lick them.

‘Not yet,’ said Dorothy. ‘She’s drowsy. I’ve given her painkillers.’

‘Where did you get them?’ asked Barbara sharply. ‘Have you told anyone?’

‘No. They’re mine. For my back. I’ve told no one.’

‘Do you think she’ll agree? I can easily find people. No questions asked.’

Pause. ‘I don’t know. Come. Not here.’

They moved away. A moment later, the door clicked shut and the room dropped into darkness. Connie wanted to call out and ask them what they meant, but her mind felt dull and confused. She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

When she woke again, Sarah lay beside her and Dorothy was back in the room. She held a bowl of soup. Connie shook her head. She had no appetite. She was drowsy, her body was sore, her head thick with confusion.

‘I brought your nightgown,’ said Dorothy, indicating where it lay at the foot of the bed.

Connie didn’t ask how she had got into the flat. She remembered the keys she had seen on Dorothy’s sideboard. The thought of the woman rooting through her things made her shudder, but she said nothing.