Odile shivered. ‘He knows what’s wrong.’

Nic wrote that down too. Current regulations insisted on a precise record and he asked Yves for their telephone numbers.

Yves bent over his wife. ‘Odile, you can’t do this in public. It’s becoming a problem.’

She gazed up at him and, without warning, spat at his feet. ‘That sort of problem?’

‘Putain.’ He stepped back.

Again, Nic and Laure exchanged glances. The situation was likely to be more complicated than met the eye.

‘The shoes…’ Odile wiped her mouth. ‘They belong to my daughter.’

Nic wrote: ‘Room 3. Marital incident.’

Laure knew to what Odile was referring. At the front of the display cabinet was a rectangular box into which was meticulously folded a baby’s layette. It included a cashmere shawl, two tiny vests, a pair of socks and distinctive green-and-white booties. The label read in French, English and Italian: ‘My baby never made it into this world because of negligence’.

Laure placed herself so that she blocked the cabinet and its objects from Odile’s sight. ‘Do you wish me to summon help?’

The husband winced. ‘No.’

‘We all need help. The whole world needs help,’ said Odile. ‘And he’s taken my daughter’s things and put them here without my permission.’

‘It’s the medication,’ said Yves. The anger had been superseded by a sadness, which Laure – who understood sadness – knew was unfeigned. ‘She doesn’t know any more.’

‘Thank God,’ said Odile. ‘Who wants to know about being alive? Do you?’ She swivelled around to look up at Laure. ‘You don’t look brimming with excitement.’

‘Odile… may I call you Odile?’ asked Laure. ‘Those baby clothes were sent in by someone who lives in Italy. I have the records.’ She waited for the information to sink in and added gently, ‘The objects in here can affect one and it’s possible to become muddled.’

‘Don’t patronize me.’ Ignoring her husband, she opened her bag and drew out a blister pack of pills and squeezed a couple out into her hand. Yves exclaimed and turned away. ‘Shut up,’ she told him.

‘When you left hospital you promised.’ Yves stuffed his hands into his pockets.

‘Oh yes, I promised.’ She gagged over the pills but got them down. ‘My baby… our baby… did make it into the world but only for a few hours. I had bought her the clothes,’ she pointed to the cabinet. ‘Exactly those. I never saw her in them.’

Deal with. Record. Facilitate. She and Nic knew the procedures well.

In the adjacent Room 4, Chantal had kettled off the visitors, who no doubt were riveted by her purple hair and many piercings, and asked them to remain there for five minutes. Shortly afterwards, Laure and Nic helped a shaky Odile down the stairs. Yves followed and reluctantly took his wife’s other arm and he and Laure ushered her outside.