I see the doctor speaking to Mum and Dad; they’re each holding one of Dara’s tiny hands as he lies sleeping again in Mum’s arms.

And I realise Dad’s not just my dad now. Mum’s not just my mum. They’re Dara’s too.

And Dara? I lean back on the cool hospital wall.

Dara’s my brother. But it doesn’t feel like he is mine. Or that I’m his.

I hear a babble of voices in the corridor. A nurse walks past and smiles at me. She’s wheeling another baby in a little fish-tank bed. Behind the nurse, hand in hand, is a mum and a dad and a little girl with her hair in two plaits. The girl’s wearing a massive badge that says I’M A BIG SISTER, the dad’s holding the string of a big blue IT’S A BOY! balloon. The mum and the dad smile at me too. I don’t smile back.

For an angry flash of a second all I want to do is to get a pin and pop that big balloon. Because it doesn’t seem fair. Nothing seems fair at all.

They walk off down the corridor and round the corner, their happy chatter fading. I think about their baby and I think about Dara. I think about the folder the doctor was carrying and all the test results inside it.

From behind the door I hear the sudden sound of Mum wailing. It’s a horrible animal cry, high and sharp like Mum is shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s the scariest sound I’ve ever heard. It’s the sound of something breaking which can never be fixed.

Heart pounding, I turn and run. My trainers squeak on the lino floor of the corridor. I skid as I charge around the corner, catching a glimpse of the empty playroom with its rainbow murals and scattered toys. The lift opposite pings and the heavy doors glide open: it’s empty too so I dive inside and bang on the G button. The silver doors seal themselves with a clunk. My tummy lurches as the lift goes down; the mirrored walls reflect me over and over; endless Charlie Merriams. Head swimming, I shut my eyes. Why did Mum make that noise? Did Dara stop breathing right there in her arms? I squeeze my eyes tighter as my own breath catches in my throat. The lift pings, and I rush out of it before the doors are even properly open. I run past the drinks machine and push through the crowded foyer, following the exit arrow, until I burst out of the slidey doors and into the sunlight.

The heat hits me like a force field. I pause, trying to gulp in cool air, but it feels like breathing soup. Next to me is a security guard who looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

‘Lovely day!’ he says, dabbing his shiny face with a handkerchief.

I look up, trying to position my head so I can’t see the hospital building or electricity cables or anything but sky. It’s so blue and empty I’m almost dizzy with it. I watch a gull glide noiselessly seawards; on the far horizon I can see a band of cloud gathering. Even though it’s baking hot, the air tastes heavy and humid, like a storm might come.