Thank God.

“Would you like to hold him?”

She helps me into an upright position before she hands him to me.

“Make sure you hold his head,” she says.

I know, but I don’t mind her telling me.

He is dressed in the little white onesie I chose for him, decorated in teddies. Someone has put a blue hat on his head. There is a white plastic name tag around his wrist. He has the smallest eyelashes. Every now and then he jerks suddenly as if he’s realizing that he’s out in the real world and has space.

“You’re perfect,” I say to him.

Stuart opens his eyes, leans forward, stands up and comes over to us. He looks tired but happy.

“You’re awake,” he says. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“He’s early. Is he all right?”

“Yes, he’s fine. He wasn’t that early.”

I want to cry with happiness. Finally. I am a real mother. I did do the right thing.

I’m only given a few precious moments holding him before my blood pressure is taken and I’m told I’ll be prescribed liquid morphine for the pain. After all the years I’ve spent eating as organically as possible, trying to limit toxins, I’m a rapid convert to drugs.

I’m offered a cup of tea and some toast. To my astonishment, I’m hungry. The tea is the nicest I’ve ever tasted.

“I’d like to call him Jack,” I say to Stuart. “I think he looks like a Jack.”

Stuart smiles. “It sounds like a good name.”

I knew he wouldn’t disagree. After all, he can’t. As he keeps telling me, he’s “done this all before.”

When I’m feeling up to it, I ask Stuart to pass me my phone so I can let my dad know the good news.

I freeze.

There’s a missed call from Greg asking why Camilla hasn’t answered her phone, followed by a couple of messages. He’s been delayed by an unexpected, money’s-too-good-to-turn-down job.

I check the time. I abandoned Camilla in almost the middle of nowhere and took her car.

My whole body feels like jelly. I hope nothing awful has happened to her. I don’t want to be like Camilla and Nina. I don’t want to be responsible for something bad happening to someone else. I do the only thing I can: confess to Stuart.

I give him Camilla’s car keys.

“Be quick,” I say as he leaves me and our son alone.

I’m wheeled through to a bed in the middle of the main ward. It’s busy and noisy. Jack is attached to my bed in a plastic cot. Navy curtains are drawn around us to give an illusion of privacy, but they can’t block out sounds.

My first hours as a new mother are the worst of my life. I cannot feed Jack, and when he cries, I press the call bell as I’m not allowed to lift him due to my surgery, but the midwives are overworked and cannot get to me quickly. Babies cry.