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Then Leach reappears. ‘No one’s home. But look what I found.’

He holds up a black bag, opening it to show empty medicine bottles rolling between empty hair-dye bottles and cardboard toilet roll tubes.

‘It gets better,’ says Sergeant Leach. ‘Matthews found a prescription medicine label stuck to the bath. She must have soaked the labels off in a hurry.’

‘For a mother to be doing that to her child…’ Constable Matthews shakes her head. ‘Giving him tablets. Making him sick. It beggars belief. She’s a monster.’

‘That’s probably why she got away with it for so long,’ says Sergeant Leach. ‘Who would believe a mother would hurt her own son?’

Lizzie

On the bus back to hospital, I sit on shaking hands. It lurches through town, then finally up, up the hill towards the hospital.

As soon as the bus doors open, I’m running – across tarmac, past flowerbeds and patients having sneaky cigarettes, into the hospital, upstairs and along lemon-coloured corridors.

As I reach Tom’s ward, I’m lucky. A nurse is coming through the double doors. She holds one open for me. ‘Hi Lizzie.’

I smile back – my timid smile that tells people I’m small. Vulnerable. That I mean no harm. And then I pass through the door, into the bright lights of Tom’s ward.

No one suspects a stressed-looking woman with a shy smile.

Mothers are good. Angelic. Beyond fault.

I learned that a long time ago.

But we’re nothing without our children.

I reach Tom’s bed and sneak behind the curtain. ‘Come on, Tommo,’ I whisper. ‘Let’s get you dressed. We’re all packed. We’re going on the train. Ready steady go, okay?’

Tom pulls himself up. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to see Daddy.’

‘You can’t see your father, Tom.’ My voice could strip paint. Through the curtain, I hear the rustle of bedclothes and sense bodies and heads turning in our direction. ‘You’re mine, not his.’ I take some deep breaths, forcing myself to stay calm. ‘You can’t see your father, Tom. He hurt you.’

Outside the curtain, I hear footsteps.

‘This will be the doctor.’ My heartbeat quickens, and I open the bedside drawer and pass Tom his clothes. ‘Get dressed. I’ve asked them to discharge you tonight.’

‘Lizzie?’ a voice calls through the curtain. It’s Clara, the nurse I like.

Oh God. We need to get out of here.

‘Just a minute.’ I start to help Tom get dressed.

But the curtain pulls back anyway.

Clara looks flustered. ‘Lizzie, the police just arrived. They want to speak to you.’

‘What?’ A chill runs through me.

‘I’ll tell them you’re here.’

‘Could you just give me a few minutes?’

Clara hesitates. ‘No. No, Lizzie, I can’t do that.’ With a whisk of the curtain, she’s gone, hurrying across the ward.

Too many coincidences.

‘Quickly, Tom.’ I push shoes onto his feet.