We walk along the corridor, towards the doctor who has looked after them since they were babies.

Dr Pennington is an angular man, with the lean body of a runner. He swivels his chair away from his desk, and faces us.

‘How can I help?’ he asks, with his quirky lopsided smile.

‘I explained to the receptionist on the phone. We need an independent assessment of the boys’ physical condition, for … for …’ I pause and swallow. I can’t say it in front of the children. ‘Please could you just look at the notes,’ I almost whisper.

Dr Pennington taps his computer keys, pulls up the boys’ files, and reads.

‘OK, I need to see them one at a time. Ben first. Would you and Harry wait on the chairs outside?’ he asks.

‘Of course,’ I reply.

Harry and I step back into the corridor, and sit on the plastic office chairs outside. Harry puts his nose straight back into his book. My world has stopped. My body is not a body, but a conduit of suppressed panic. After fifteen minutes that feel like fifteen hours, the door opens. Dr Pennington’s head appears around it and Ben emerges.

‘Do come in, Harry,’ Dr Pennington says, smiling reassuringly as if this is routine.

My stomach churns. Harry disappears into the consulting room as Ben sits down next to me.

‘What was the examination like?’ I ask.

‘He made me take off my clothes and looked at my bruises.’

Alarm pulsates through me. ‘Bruises? What bruises?’

‘I’ve got a few, from days ago.’

‘How did you get them?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs. ‘We mess around so much in the playground at school. Could have been anything. Why is the doctor examining us, Mummy?’

‘It’s just a routine inspection. They do it to all children from time to time, to keep the world safe. It’s nothing to worry about,’ I lie, with a wide stretched smile.

Dr Pennington steps out of the surgery. Harry dashes towards me and hugs me.

‘Boys, please could you wait for your mother in the main waiting room. I just need a quick word with her. The receptionist will keep an eye on them.’

Harry unpeels his body from mine and the boys skip down the corridor. Dr Pennington holds his consulting room door open for me to enter. I step inside.

I sit in his patient’s chair as I have so many times before, with a boy on my knee. When they had chest infections. Chicken pox. Conjunctivitis. Tonsillitis. He sits at his desk, slender legs crossed, displaying trainers and sports socks, despite his formal shirt and Gant chinos.