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Back When I Lost You Save as PDF
Chapters (81)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Fifty-four
  59. Fifty-five
  60. Fifty-six
  61. Fifty-seven
  62. Fifty-eight
  63. Fifty-nine
  64. Sixty
  65. Sixty-one
  66. Sixty-two
  67. Sixty-three
  68. Sixty-four
  69. Sixty-five
  70. Sixty-six
  71. Sixty-seven
  72. Epilogue
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. Read More
  75. Prologue
  76. One
  77. Two
  78. Three
  79. Four
  80. Follow Merilyn online
  81. Dedication

‘No, I would not say her behaviour was consistent with that of other mothers I have seen.’

The barrister nods, as if this alone is enough. I pick up the water again, not caring if my hand is shaking, and down it in one. I think of all my lost babies, the death of each as real as any scar across my skin, and wonder how it was we’d got to be here.

It took us years to get pregnant. If you added up all the money we spent on ovulation kits and pregnancy tests you could probably pay off the debt of a small country. So when at last we were, the joy was immediate. At least for the first one. We bought clothes, a pram, a car seat, and by twelve weeks we’d decorated the nursery in a neutral shade of green. We chose names – Jamie for a boy, Sammy or Ellie for a girl – and settled into our long nights dozing on the sofa waiting for whoever they were to arrive.

So when they’d arrived without a sound – when the second and the third babies did the same – we’d packed away the pram, the clothes, and painted the room magnolia; because there is only so much two people can suffer before the cracks begin to show.

The last was Charlotte. She’d taken root and we’d watched her grow, my stomach expanding with each week, our fear for her growing alongside it. But she’d come into the world mewing like a kitten and had curled up in my arms as if she’d always known she was meant to be there. And maybe she was, we dared to think. The day she died I’d been down at the bottom of the garden when my husband’s yell came from upstairs. I didn’t move; I think I knew it had always been too good to be true. I didn’t kill that child, but after so many dead, no jury alive is going to believe that; even I don’t, and I know it to be true.

The barrister has moved on to the crucial bit. I bow my head, not caring if it makes me look guilty.

‘And when you tested the item you considered to be the murder weapon, did you find any evidence to suggest it had been that used by the defendant to kill her own daughter?’

The pathologist nods. I glance at my husband in the gallery and he gently shakes his head, so I look back at the tall woman in the box who swore on the Bible she would tell the truth.

‘I found remnants of bone and blood from the daughter and DNA matches for the mother.’