There was a sudden sharp rap on the front door. Mrs Barley seemed shocked back into the here and now. She ushered the two paramedics, a man and a woman, into the room and looked on anxiously.

The female paramedic, a tall, kindly woman of about forty with a Jamaican accent, sat me down and took my blood pressure, then strapped a foetal heart monitor around my abdomen. She frowned, turning to ask her colleague and Mrs Barley to leave the room. She explained that she had trained originally in midwifery and needed to examine me internally to establish how imminent the birth was. Her manner became noticeably more urgent.

‘We have to get you to hospital quickly, child. You’re not dilating properly, but baby’s quite distressed, and the quicker we get him or her out, the better. I think you may need a C-section.’

I was vaguely aware of something being injected into my thigh, but hardly felt anything. The sensation was eclipsed by the agonising pain in my abdomen. The stocky male paramedic lifted me with ease onto a stretcher. I remember being fixated on the angel tattooed on his solid forearm. Mrs Barley waved from the pavement as I was bundled into the ambulance. I have a dim recollection of the sirens blaring, but everything else after that is a blur.

Elodie Régine arrived, sixteen days prematurely, by emergency Caesarean section at 9.53 on October the third.

Blearily, I awoke to the sight of Jack standing at my bedside. He was nursing what looked like a tiny bundle of rags, with tufts of fine, dark fluff protruding from the top. He leaned forward and kissed me gently on the forehead, his eyes glistening with emotion.

‘Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the land of the living. Someone here would like to meet her mummy.’

Very carefully, he placed the baby on my chest. I cradled my daughter to me, absorbing the sweet, delicious scent of her downy head. I gently stroked her peach-soft cheek. She was pink and warm, and so impossibly small. Above a tiny button nose, deep blue eyes squinted back at me. Tears blurred my vision. The rush of maternal love I felt, the sudden, fierce instinct to nurture and protect, was like nothing I had ever experienced. I was completely overwhelmed. We had created this minute, perfect being – and the thought of anything harming her or taking her from us was more than I could bear.

I recalled Mrs Barley’s words: ‘We weren’t blessed.’ Only now could I truly appreciate what she’d meant. Because this time, I was old enough to understand.

*