In the haze of her muddled thoughts she wondered how much time had passed. It must have been a day and a night at least since she had gone into labour. Dorothy was at the window peering through the curtains at the street. Bright light slid through the gap. Connie wondered if she ought to see a doctor. But Dorothy was a midwife and, besides, going into hospital would raise questions. Her father would have to be contacted. It would delay her trip to Paris – although she realised she was in no state to travel anywhere. Not now, at any rate.

Dorothy sat down on the bed. Instinctively, Connie lifted Sarah to her breast. They stayed in silence for a few moments before Dorothy reached out and took her hand. Connie endured her touch, sitting rigidly with Sarah perched uncomfortably in her other arm.

‘We need to talk,’ said Dorothy quietly.

A feeling of dread crawled down Connie’s spine.

‘You want the best for her, don’t you?’

Still Connie didn’t reply.

‘And you want the best for Johnny.’

There was a pause.

‘Have you considered the other option we discussed?’

‘What do you mean?’

Dorothy smoothed the bedspread. ‘Adoption. Do you remember, when you said you didn’t want the medication?’

Connie had a vague recollection of Dorothy mentioning that, but they had never discussed it, she was sure. ‘No. I’m going to keep her.’

Dorothy moistened her lips and plucked at the bedspread again. ‘It would be for the baby’s sake.’

‘Her name’s Sarah.’

Dorothy blinked. ‘Yes. For Sarah’s sake and for Johnny’s as well as yours.’

‘But I don’t want to do that. I’m keeping my baby.’

‘It isn’t only about you, though, is it?’ said Dorothy. She leaned over and picked a stray hair from Connie’s nightgown. ‘Barbara has done this before. She knows lots of people who are desperate for a baby. Good people who can give Sarah a better life than you can. You can’t bring her up alone. Imagine what people will say about you.’

‘But Johnny might . . .’

‘He won’t! I know my son and he won’t want to be saddled with a wife and a baby. Not at his age. He’s probably not given you a second thought since he left. Think about it, Connie. All this time, and he hasn’t written to you once.’

Connie wanted to tell Dorothy that he had, actually – he had even sent her a gift, and she was planning to go to Paris to see him – but she kept quiet. Instinct told her that Dorothy would try to stop her. All she wanted was for her son to come home, and preferably to stay well away from Connie.

Dorothy was still talking. ‘It can be done privately, discreetly. A little money passing hands. Nobody needs to know.’

‘But I don’t want . . .’

‘Shush now. You’ll wake the baby.’