Early September 1950, and I had no fear. I was making up her beds, the cot and the pram, with two different sets of sheets, the small and the smaller; the two pillowcases. I put on the bed linen and went to fetch the light baby blankets. When I reached the top of the stairs I stepped onto the landing and into a place of silence.

And I felt the backlash of the long hours of her stillness hitting me, a great slap to my mind, and I knew then, only then, that she had not moved since the previous night. Or was it earlier yet? Suddenly I could not remember when I had last felt her. I had been so busy, these past days, getting ready.

I went back downstairs without the blankets. With each step down, the darkness closed in. James was in his study, writing a letter. “I need help,” I said to him.

Without turning his head he said, “Darling, I’ll move the bed later. I haven’t forgotten . . .”

He carried on writing. I let him finish his sentence, put a full stop. Add yours sincerely—I could see the letter from where I stood—and sign his name. I waited for him to do it because I wanted those last seconds before it came true, when we were still that young couple who got married in Egypt. Because the moment I spoke, I knew nothing would be the same again.

Then I said, “I can’t feel Catherine anymore.”

—

The midwife removed the stethoscope from her ears. Without speaking to us she called a doctor who repeated the task she had just performed, his eyes wide and unfocused as he strained to listen. “What do you mean, you can’t find it?” said James. “Please, try again—a different place . . .” But the midwife and the doctor between them had scoped out every square inch of my silent belly. I was glad they had taken such a long time, because it prepared me for the words to come. The doctor said them softly and gently, to acknowledge that they were unhearable.

“Your baby’s heart is no longer beating, Mrs. Acton.”

The midwife was holding one of my hands and James the other, so that, held on to, I was led by them to the impossible truth.

—