They set off at a jog towards the staff canteen. It was half-empty. Jamie scanned the room quickly. She wasn’t there. He could feel the cold tentacles of dread spreading out, flexing themselves inside him. He could picture her in some store cupboard somewhere, half empty jars of pills lying beside her body. Or her body in a shower, wrists slashed, blood running into the drain. He pinched himself, twisting the skin on his arm until it bruised, trying to expel the visions.

Heather grabbed his arm. ‘Come on. I’ve got an idea where she might be.’

He followed her again: down the stairs, along a corridor, up another long corridor. It was so bright, so stainless. But the smell of death was less noticeable down here; it was replaced by a different scent. In the distance he could hear a baby crying. He suddenly realised where they were heading.

The maternity ward.

They found Kirsty standing against the glass, looking at the babies in the premature baby unit. There were six or seven babies in incubators; a couple of nurses moving among them. Kirsty leant against the glass, gazing in.

‘They’re so tiny,’ she said. ‘Look at them. That one over there was two months premature.’

Jamie put his arms around her and slowly led her away. Heather placed a hand on her back.

‘I was so worried,’ he said softly. ‘We were scared.’

She broke away from him. ‘Scared of what? That I’d kill myself. Or, hey, maybe you thought I’d try to snatch a baby?’

‘No, Kirsty.’

‘Leave me alone!’

She ran down the corridor. Jamie chased after her, their footsteps echoing through the sterile spaces. He caught her at the bottom of the stairs and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly until she stopped struggling and went limp in his arms.

Heather caught up. ‘Is she alright?’ she asked.

Jamie nodded. ‘I’ll take her home.’

He led her out to the car. People gave them strange looks. He could read their minds. How disgusting – that nurse was clearly drunk. And what was wrong with the fellow who was holding her up?

Why was he crying?

Chapter Twenty-four

Twenty-four

Jamie awoke with a start. He had been dreaming again: dreaming this time that there was a baby crying in the flat. It had been so real he could still hear it.

‘Jamie.’ Kirsty woke up and gripped his arm.

He blinked in the darkness. The loud, shrill cries of a hungry, attention-seeking baby were still audible. But why? Why could he still hear it?