PlayingNiceisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsaretheproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualevents,locales,orpersons,livingordead,is

entirelycoincidental.Copyright©2020byShippenProductionsLtd.

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyBallantineBooks,animprintofRandomHouse,adivisionofPenguin

RandomHouseLLC,NewYork.BALLANTINEandtheHOUSEcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.

HardbackISBN 9781984821348Internationaledition9780593159859EbookISBN 9781984821355

randomhousebooks.comBookdesignbyDebbieGlasserman,adaptedforebook

Coverdesign:EllaLaythamCoverphotograph:Deepol/Plainpicture

ep_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

Contents

CoverTitlePageCopyrightEpigraphChapter1:PeteChapter2Chapter3:PeteChapter4:PeteChapter5Chapter6:MaddieChapter7:MaddieChapter8:PeteChapter9:MaddieChapter10:PeteChapter11:MaddieChapter12Chapter13:PeteChapter14:MaddieChapter15:PeteChapter16:MaddieChapter17Chapter18:PeteChapter19:MaddieChapter20:PeteChapter21Chapter22:MaddieChapter23Chapter24:MaddieChapter25:MaddieChapter26Chapter27:MaddieChapter28Chapter29:PeteChapter30Chapter31:PeteChapter32:Pete

Chapter33:MaddieChapter34:PeteChapter35Chapter36:PeteChapter37:PeteChapter38:PeteChapter39:PeteChapter40Chapter41:PeteChapter42:MaddieChapter43:PeteChapter44:MaddieChapter45Chapter46:MaddieChapter47:PeteChapter48Chapter49:MaddieChapter50:MaddieChapter51:PeteChapter52Chapter53Chapter54:PeteChapter55:MaddieChapter56Chapter57:PeteChapter58:MaddieChapter59Chapter60:PeteChapter61:PeteChapter62Chapter63:PeteChapter64:MaddieChapter65Chapter66:PeteChapter67:PeteChapter68Chapter69:MaddieChapter70:MaddieChapter71:Maddie

Chapter72:PeteChapter73Chapter74:MaddieChapter75:MaddieChapter76:MaddieChapter77:PeteChapter78Chapter79:MaddieChapter80Chapter81:MaddieChapter82:PeteChapter83:MaddieChapter84:MaddieChapter85:MaddieChapter86:MaddieChapter87Chapter88:PeteChapter89:PeteChapter90:PeteChapter91:MaddieChapter92:PeteChapter93:PeteChapter94:MaddieChapter95:MaddieChapter96:MaddieChapter97:MaddieChapter98:MaddieChapter99:MaddieChapter100:MaddieChapter101Chapter102:PeteChapter103:PeteChapter104:PeteChapter105:PeteChapter106:PeteChapter107Chapter108:MaddieChapter109:MaddieChapter110:Pete

Chapter111Chapter112:Maddie

AcknowledgmentsByJPDelaneyAbouttheAuthor

Thenspakethewomanwhosethelivingchildwasuntotheking,forherbowelsyearneduponherson,andshesaid,Omylord,giveherthelivingchild,andinnowiseslayit.Buttheothersaid,Letitbeneitherminenor

thine,butdivideit.—1KINGS3:26

1PETE

ITWASJUSTANordinaryday.Ifthiswereacolorpieceorafeature,thekindofthingIusedtowriteona

daily basis, the editor would have rejected it just for that opening sentence.Openersneedtohookpeople,Pete,she’dtellme,tossingmypagesbackatmeacrossmydesk.Paintapicture,setascene.Bedramatic. In travel journalismespecially,youneedasenseofplace.Takemeonajourney.

So:ItwasjustanordinarydayinWillesdenGreen,northLondon.Because the fact is, before that knockonmydoor, itwas just an ordinary

day.Anunusuallyniceone,admittedly.Thesunwasshining,theairwascrispandblue.Therewasstillsomesnowontheground,hidingincorners,butithadthat soft sugary look snowgetswhen it’s all butmelted, andnoneof thekidsstreaming into theAcolRoadNursery andPreschool couldbebothered togettheirmittenswettryingtoscoopitupforsnowballs.

Actually,therewasonesmallthingoutoftheordinary.AsItookTheointothenursery,orratherfollowedhimin—we’dgivenhimascooterforhissecondbirthday,achunkythree-wheelerhewasnowinseparablefrom—Inoticedthreepeople,awomanandtwomen,ontheothersideoftheroad,watchingus.Theyoungermanwasroughlymyage,thirtyorso.Theotherwasinhisfifties.Bothwore dark suitswith darkwoolen coats over them, and thewoman, a blonde,waswrappedupinakindoffake-furparka,thesortofthingyoumightseeonafashionableskislope.TheylookedtoosmartforourpartofLondon.ButthenIsaw that the oldermanwas holding a document case in his gloved hand.Anestate agent, I guessed, showing some prospective buyers the local childcarefacilities. The Jubilee Line goes all theway from our Tube station to CanaryWharf, and even the bankers have been priced out ofWest Hampstead thesedays.

Somethingabouttheyoungermanseemedfamiliar.ButthenIwasdistractedbyJaneTigman,whosesonZackwasalreadystarting to thrashandscream inher arms at the prospect of being left. She hadn’t realized that the trick is tomakesuretheywalkintonurseryontheirownratherthanbeingcarried,whichsimplymakesthemomentofseparationmorefinal.ThentherewasanoteaboutWorldBookDayonthenurserydoorthathadn’tbeenthereyesterday—God,yetanothercostumeI’dhavetoorganize—andafterthatIhadtoseparateTheofromhishelmet,gloves,andcoat,stufftheglovesdeepenoughintothecoatpocketsthattheywouldn’tfallout—Istillhadn’tgottenaroundtoputtingnametagson

them—andhelphimhangthecoatonhispeg,deepamongalltheothers,beforecrouchingdowntogivehimafinalpeptalk.

“Okay,bigman.Yougoingtoplaynicelytoday?”Henodded,wide-eyedwithsincerity.“Yef,Dad.”“Sonograbbing.Andtaketurns.That’sveryimportant.Rememberwesaid

we’dtaketurnstochooselunch?Sotodayit’syourturn,andtomorrowit’llbemine.Whatdoyouwantforlunch?”

“Boobysmoovy,”heannouncedafteramoment’sthought.“Blueberry smoothie,” I repeated clearly. “Okay. I’ll make some before I

pickyouup.Haveagoodmorning.”Igavehimakissandoffhewent,happyasaclam.“Mr.Riley?”Iturned.ItwasSusy,thewomanwhoranthenursery.Itlookedasifshe’d

beenwaitingforTheotogo.“CanIhaveaword?”sheadded.Isnappedmyfingers.“Thesippycup.Iforgot.I’llgetanotheronetoday—”“Itisn’taboutthesippycup,”sheinterrupted.“Shallwetalkinmyoffice?”

—“IT’SNOTHINGTOWORRYabout,”shesaidaswesatdown,whichofcourseinstantly

mademeaware that itwasdefinitely something toworryabout. “It’s just thattherewasanotherincidentyesterday.Theohitoneoftheotherchildrenagain.”

“Ah,” I said defensively. That was the third time this month. “Okay. It’ssomething we have been working on at home. According to the internet, itsometimes happens at this age if physical skills get ahead of verbal skills.” Ismiledruefully,toshowthatIwasn’tstupidenoughtobelieveeveryparentingtheoryIreadontheinternet,butneitherwasIoneofthoseentitledmiddle-classdadswhothoughtthatjustbecausemysonwasnowatnurseryIwasn’trequiredtoputanyeffortintobeinghisparentanymore;or,evenworse,wasblindtothepossibility of my little darling having any faults in the first place. “And ofcourse,hisspeechisalittledelayed.ButI’dwelcomeanysuggestions.”

Susyvisiblyrelaxed.“Well,asyousay,itistypicaltwo-year-oldstuff.I’msureyouknowthis,butitcanhelpifyoumodelthecorrectbehavior.Ifheseesyou getting cross or aggressive, he’ll come to believe that aggression is alegitimate response to stress. What about the TV programs he watches? I’mafraidevenTomandJerrymaynotbeappropriateatthisage,atleastnotuntilthehittingstageisover.Andifyouplayanyviolentvideogamesyourself—”

“Idon’tplayvideogames,”Isaidfirmly.“Quiteapartfromanythingelse,Idon’thavethetime.”

“I’m sure. It’s just that we don’t always think about the consequences of

thingslikethat.”Shesmiled,butIcouldalmostseethethoughtprocessbehindhereyes.Stay-at-homedadequalsaggressivekid.Shewouldn’thaveaskedJaneTigmanifsheplayedCallofDuty.

“Andwe’reworkingonsharing, too,” Iadded.“Taking turnswhochooseswhattohaveforlunch,thatkindofthing.”

“Well, itcertainlysoundsas ifyou’reon topof it.”Susygot toher feet toshowthediscussionwasover.“We’llkeepaclosewatchhere,andlet’shopehegrowsoutofit.”

Understandably, then, I wasn’t thinking about the wealthy-looking coupleandtheirestateagentasIleftthenursery.IwasworryingaboutTheo,andwhyhewastakingsolongtolearntoplaynicelywiththeotherkids.ButI’mprettysure,lookingback,thatbythetimeIreachedthestreet,thethreeofthemwerenowheretobeseen.

2Caseno.12675/PU78B65:AFFIDAVITUNDEROATHbyD.Maguire.

I,DonaldJosephMaguire,makeoathandswearasfollows:

1. I am the proprietor and chief investigator ofMaguireMissing Persons, a London-basedinvestigativeagencywhichtracesovertwohundredindividualsayearonbehalfofourclients.Wedonotadvertise.Allourworkcomesbypersonalreferral.

2. Prior to starting this business, I was a senior detective with theMetropolitan Police, apositionIheldforthirteenyears,leavingwiththerankofdetectiveinspector.

3. Last August I was approached by Mr. Miles and Mrs. Lucy Lambert, of 17 HaydonGardens,Highgate,N193JZ.Theywishedme toact for them in thematterof tracing theirson.

3PETE

AT HOME, I TURNED on the coffee machine and opened my laptop. The coffeemachineisaJura,thelaptopatop-of-the-lineMacBook.Theyweretheonlytwobits of kit I insisted on when Maddie and I started having the difficultconversationsaboutwhichofuswasgoingtostayhometolookafterTheooncehermaternityleavewasover.TheideawasthatI’dworkfromhomepart-time,atleastwhenTheogotaplaceatnursery.Havingareallygoodcomputerandabean-to-cup coffeemakermadebeing a stay-at-homedad feel like a stepup, anewopportunity,ratherthanastepdowninmycareer.

ThoughactuallyIhatethephrasestay-at-homedad.It’sanegative,passiveconstruction,theabsenceofsomething.Noonecallswomeninmypositionstay-at-homemums, do they? They’re full-timemums, which immediately soundsmore positive. Total mums, mums without compromise. Stay-at-home dadsounds like you’re too lazy or too agoraphobic to leave the house and get aproper job.Which iswhatmany people secretly do think, actually.Or, in thecase of Maddie’s parents, not-so-secretly. Her father’s an AustralianbusinessmanwithpoliticalviewsslightlytotherightofGenghisKhan,andhe’smade it clearhe thinks I’mspongingoffher.Thoughhe’dprobablyphrase it,Theboy’sabloodybludger.

Therewasbreakfasttoclearup,therecyclingtosort,andtoystotidyaway,but while the Jura whirred and spluttered—grinding beans, frothing milk—IthrewinaloadofwashingandloggedontoDadStuff.

JustseenaposterforWorldBookDayatmyDS’snursery.7March.Aargh!Ideas?Reallydon’twanttobuyaready-madecostumeatSainosorthemotherhoodwilljudgemeevenmore.WithinmomentsIhadareply.There’sahardcoreofaboutahundredofus

whostayonlineprettymuch throughout theday, comingback to the forum inbetweenourparentingduties.Onceyougotused to thecliquey jargon—DSorDD means “darling son” or “darling daughter,”OP means “original poster,”while OH is “other half” and AIBU is “am I being unreasonable?”—it wasreassuringtobeabletothrowquestionsoutthereandseewhatothersthought.

ThemousefromTheGruffalo,mate.Brownshirt,whitevest,someearsonanAliceband.Sorted.ThatwasHonker6.Itypedback:

Er,Aliceband?YourDDsmightgoforitbutwedon’tevenownoneofthose.Greg87wrote:

WhataboutPeterRabbit?Littlebluejacket,paperearsonbaseballhat,face-paintedwhiskers?Greg being practical, as usual.Nice one, I replied, trying to remember if

PeterRabbithadeverbeeninvolvedinanyage-inappropriateviolencethatSusy

thenurseryheadmightdisapproveof.YouhadtobecarefulwiththoseBeatrixPotterbooks.

Thenthedoorbellrang,soIputmycappuccinodownandwenttoanswerit.

—ON THE STEPWAS thegroup I’d seenoutside thenursery.My first thoughtwas

that they must have made a mistake, because our house wasn’t for sale. Mysecondwasthatitwasn’tthegroupfromthenursery,notquite:Thewomanwasnolongerwiththem.Somaybetheyweren’thousebuyers,afterall—theycouldbepoliticalcanvassers,oreven journalists.Andmy third thought, theone thatimmediatelycrowdedalltheothersoutofmyhead,wasthat,nowthatIsawhimupclose,theyoungerofthetwomen,theoneroughlymyage,wasthespittingimageofTheo.

He had dark hair that spilled over his forehead in an unruly comma, aprominent jaw, anddeep-set blue eyes—thekindofdark, boyish looks that inTheoareheart-stoppinglycutebutinadultsalwaysmakemethinkofthewordsaturnine, without really knowing why. Almost six feet, chunky, broad-shouldered.Anathlete’sphysique.There’sapictureofthewriterTedHughesasayoungman,gloweringatthecamerawiththesamelockofhairfallingoverhisright eye. This guy reminded me of that. A chiseled, granite face, but notunfriendly.

“Hello,”hesaid,withoutado.“Canwecomein?”“Why?”Iaskedstupidly.“It’saboutyourson,”hesaidpatiently.“I really think thiswouldbebetter

doneinside.”“Allright.”AndhismannerwassobriskandpurposefulthatIfoundmyself

steppingawayfromthedoor,eventhoughIwasnowthinking,WasithischildTheohit?AmIabouttogetshoutedat?

“Er—coffee?” I said, leading the way into the lounge—which is to say,taking a few steps back. Likemost people in our street,we’ve ripped out thewallsdownstairstocreateonedecent-sizedroom.Theoldermanshookhishead,but I saw the youngerman glance atmy cappuccino. “Imake them fresh,” Iadded,thinkingapauseforcoffeemightdefusethecomingrowabit.

“Goonthen.”TherewasanawkwardwaitwhileIfrothedmoremilk.“I’mMiles Lambert, by the way,” he added when I was done. “And this

gentlemanisDonMaguire.”HetookthecupIofferedhim.“Thanks.Shallwesitdown?”

I sat in the only armchair and Miles Lambert took the couch, carefullymovingsome toysoutof thewayashedidso.DonMaguiresat inmyswivel

deskchair.IsawhimcastanadmiringglanceatmyMacBook.“There’snoeasyway todo this,”Miles saidwhenwewereall seated.He

leaned forward, lacing his fingers together like a rugby player about to take apenalty. “Look, if itwasme, I’dwant to be told straight,with no bullshit, sothat’swhatI’mgoingtodo.Butprepareyourselfforashock.”Hetookadeepbreath.“I’msorrytohavetotellyouthatTheoisn’tyourson.He’smine.”

Igapedathim.Thoughtscrowdedinonme.Thatcan’tberight,followedbySo that’s why this man looks like Theo. Disbelief, shell shock, horror, allparalyzed me. I’m not fast in a crisis, unfortunately; Maddie’s the one whothinksonherfeet.

Maddie.OhmyGod.Was thisman tellingme they had an affair? Is thatwhatthisis?ThatI’ma—

Thewordcuckold,withallitsmedievalugliness,crashedintomybrainlikea rock. Maddie and I have had our problems, we’re like any couple in thatregard,andtherehavebeentimesoverthelastyearorsowhenI’vesensedherdrawingawayfromme.ButI’vealwaysputthatdowntothetraumaofTheo’sbirth—

Theo’sbirth.Thinkstraight,Pete.Theowasbornjustovertwoyearsago.Soitwouldhavebeentwoandahalfyearsagowhenthissupposedaffairhappened.Whichwasnigh-on impossible.Maddie and I only cameback fromAustralia,wherewemet,threeyearsback.

IrealizedbothMilesLambertandDonMaguirewerelookingatme,waitingformetoreact,andIstillhadn’tsaidanything.“Whatareyoutryingtotellme?”Isaidnumbly.

MilesLambertsimplyrepeated,“Theoisn’tyourson.He’smine.”Hisblueeyes heldmine, concerned. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a shock. Please, take yourtime.”

ItwasDonMaguirewhocoughedandadded,“Youbothhavesonswhowereborn prematurely, I understand, who were both separated from their mothersbriefly when they were transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit at St.Alexander’s.It’sconceivablethat,atsomepointduringthatprocess,thewrongtagswereputonthewrongbabies.That’sourworkingtheory,anyway.”

Double negative, the editor shouted atme.Thewrong tags got put on therightbabies,youcretin.Whichonlygoestoshowthat,atmomentsofcrisis,youthinkthemostbizarrethings.

4PETE

“SOYOUTHINKYOUhaveourson.Ourbirthson,thatis.”Inallthischaos,itwastheonethingIcouldgrasp.

MilesLambertnodded.“David.WecalledhimDavid.”“And what…” What happens now, I wanted to ask, but my brain just

wouldn’tgothere.“Howdoyouknow?Thatthebabiesgotswitched,Imean?”Miles indicatedDonMaguire. “Thisman’s aprivate investigator.He finds

missingpeople.”“Buthowdoyouknow?”Iinsisted.“I took the liberty of removing an itemwith Theo’s DNA on it from his

nursery,” DonMaguire said apologetically. “I verymuch regret having to dothat,butwedidn’twant toputyou through thestrainof thisapproach if therewasanychancewecouldbewrong.”Ashespokehewasremovingsomethingfromapaddedenvelope. ItwasTheo’ssippycup, theone thenursery toldmehadgottenlost.

“The tests came back yesterday,” Miles added. “There’s absolutely nodoubt.”

DonMaguireplacedthesippycuponmydeskcarefully,asifitwerefragilebonechina.“We’dliketoreturnthistoyounow,ofcourse.”

“Jesus.Jesus.Youtestedmyson’sDNAwithoutmypermission—”“Well,technicallymyson.Butyes,weapologizethatwasnecessary,”Miles

said.Myson.Thewordsthuddedinmyhead.“This is a copyof the test results foryou,”DonMaguire added, takingan

envelopefromhisfolderandplacingitnexttothecup.“AsMr.Lambertsays,therereallyisnodoubt.Theoishisbiologicalson.”

Theo.Icouldn’tcomprehendwhatthismightmeanforhim.Iputmyheadinmyhands.

“What areyou suggestingwedoabout this?” Imanaged to ask. “Whatdoyouwanttohappennow?”

Again, it was Maguire who answered. “Please understand, Mr. Riley.Nothingspecificisbeingsuggestedhere.Caseslikethisaresorare,there’sverylittle precedent—legal precedent, I mean. There’s certainly no automaticrequirement for the family courts to get involved. It’s best for the parents toworkoutasolutionbetweenthemselves.”

“Asolution?”

“Whethertoswapback,orstayasyouare.”Thewords,sostarkandbinary,hungintheair.“Like I said, it’s a shock,”Miles addedapologetically. “Itwas formeand

Lucy, too,butobviouslywe’vehad longer toabsorb it.Youdon’tneed tosayanythingrightnow.Andofcourse,youshouldgetyourownadvice.”

I stared at him. The way he said it made it clear he’d already consultedlawyers.

“We’resuingthehospital,”headded.“NotSt.Alexander’s—theprivateonewhereLucygavebirth.Youmaywanttojoinouraction,but…likeIsaid,that’sallTBD.ToBeDiscussed.There’snorush.”

My eye fell on some pieces of redDuplo by his foot.Only thatmorning,Theohadassembled themintoa tommygun thatpromptlyfellapartunder theforceofhisoverenthusiasticshooting-downofmyattemptstogethimtocleanhisteeth.Awaveofloveforhimwashedoverme.Andterror,attheabyssthathadjustopenedupbeneathus.

“WouldyouliketoseeapictureofDavid?”Milesasked.Unable to speak, Inodded.Miles tookaphotograph froman insidepocket

andhandedittome.Itshowedasmallboysittinginahighchair.Hehadafine-featuredface, fairhair, light-browneyes. Icouldsee instantly thathe lookedalotlikeMaddie.

“Youcankeepthat,ifyoulike,”headded.“AndifIcouldtakeoneof—ofTheo…”

“Ofcourse,”Iheardmyselfsay.Ilookedaround,butallmypictureswereonmy phone. The exception was one that someone had sent us after a birthdayparty,whichI’dstucktothefridgewithamagnet.Theodressedupasapirate,completewithaneyepatch,atricornhat,andacardboardcutlassthatwasraisedtowardthecamera,hiseyesalivewithmischief.ItookitdownandhandedittoMiles.

“Thanks.”Hestudieditforamoment,hiseyessoftening.“Andthisisme,”headdedbriskly,handingmeabusinesscard.“Mobileandemail.Getintouchwhen you’ve had a chance for it all to sink in, yes? And discussed it withMadelyn, of course.Absolutelynopressure, but—I’mhere.Weboth are.”HeglancedatDonMaguire,thenclarified,“MeandLucy,Imean.Don’spartinthisisover,Iguess.”

I lookeddownat the card.MilesLambert,ChiefExecutiveOfficer,BurtonInvestments.AnofficeaddressincentralLondon.

Milesreacheddownandpluckedafoamfootballfromthefloor,squeezingitinhishandexperimentally.“Sportsman,ishe?”heaskedconversationally.“Canhecatchthisyet?”

“Most of the time he can. He’s quite advanced, physically. A bit tooadvanced,insomeways.”

Miles raised his eyebrows, and I explained. “He sometimes gets a bitphysicalwiththeotherkidsatnursery.It’ssomethingwe’reworkingon.”

“Doeshe,now?Well,Iwouldn’tworrytoomuchaboutthatifIwereyou.Iwasthesameathisage.Itcameinquitehandyontherugbypitchlater.Didn’thear anyone complaining then.” Something about the way he said it—fond,almost proprietary—mademe realize that, despite the surreal calmness of thisconversation,Iwasn’tjustmakingsmalltalkwithanotherdadataparty.Iwastalking to my son’s father. His real father. My world had just turned upsidedown,andnothingwasevergoingtobethesameagain.

“We should get you around,” Miles was saying. “Make some properintroductions.Whenyou’vehadachancetodigestitall.”

I tried to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. There was an awkwardmomentwhenIthoughtIwasgoingtobreakdown.Milesaffectednottonotice.He raised the picture I’d given him. “Anyway, thanks for this. Lucy will bethrilled.Somethingtobegoingonwith.”

He tucked the photo inside his suit jacket, then held out his hand. Hishandshakewas dry and decisive. “And try not toworry.We’re all reasonablepeople. It’s a terrible thing that’s happened, but it’s how we handle it thatmattersnow.Ireallybelievewe’llfigureoutthebestwayforward.Butforthetimebeing,we’llgetoutofyourhair.”

Don Maguire shook my hand, too, and suddenly they were gone. MilesLambert hadn’t touched his coffee. I poured it down the sink. The washingmachinebeepedandIwenttopullitopen.AutomaticallyIpulledthewetthingsout.ItwasasifIwasinakindoftrance.OntopofthepilewasoneofTheo’sT-shirts—mustardyellow,withI’MTWO,WHAT’SYOUREXCUSE?acrossthefront.Foramoment I couldalmost feelTheo’shot littlebody inmyhands, the familiarshrugandwriggleofhistinyribsasIhoistedhimovermyshoulder,thekickofhislegs.Tearsprickedmyeyesandmychestheaved,butIknewIcouldn’tfallapart,notyet.IhadtocallMaddie.

5Caseno.12675/PU78B65:AFFIDAVITUNDEROATHbyD.Maguire,cntd.

4. Together withmy client,Miles Lambert, I visitedMr. Riley at home. Therewe servednotice that the child he believed to be his sonwas in fact the son ofmy clients, and that,conversely,thechildmyclientswerebringingupwasbelievedtobeMr.Riley’s.

5. Mr. Riley was understandably distressed by this news. At several points during thesubsequentdiscussionhebrokedownintears.

6. Whilehe recoveredhiscomposure, I took theopportunity tomakesomeobservationsofmysurroundings.Thiswasfacilitatedbythefact that itwasasmallspace, thesittingroom,playroom,kitchen,anddiningroomallbeingcombinedintheareainwhichweweresitting.

7. Therewere several indications thatMr. Rileywas struggling to copewith his domesticroutine.Thetableboreanumberofsoileddishes,plates,andotherkitchenutensils.Unwashedlaundrywasstrewnoverthefurniture,andthereweretwoemptywinebottlesonthefloorinthekitchenarea.WhenIglancedatMr.Riley’scomputer,Inoticedthebrowserwasopenatamen-only internet forum on which he appeared to be making an appeal for help with hisparenting. (Subsequent investigationconfirmed that, under thepseudonymHomedad85,Mr.Rileyhadmadeover1,200postsofasimilarnature.)Anothertabwasopenatavideogame,which was paused. Although Mr. Riley’s LinkedIn profile states that he is a freelancejournalist,therewasnoevidenceofthis,norofanyjournalisticworkinprogress.

8. MyclientreiteratedseveraltimestoMr.Rileythatheandhiswifewishedtotrytoresolvethissituationbymeansofdiscussionandreasonablecompromise.Mr.Rileydidnotrespondtotheseassurances.Whenhismannerstartedtoturnhostile,weleft.

6MADDIE

I’MINAMEETING,goingthroughthecastingtapesforaDoritoscommercialwiththeclients,whenmyphoneflashes.We’reinthemiddleofaheateddiscussion—the director wants edgy, independent, moody teenagers, the client wantswholesomeand smiley, adebate Imusthavechairedat least ahundred times,and we’re just starting to get somewhere by focusing on the director’s thirdchoicewho’salsotheclient’ssecondwhenthecallcomes.Iglanceatthescreen.Pete.Orrather,PETERRILEY.Thefirsttimewemet,fouryearsago,Iputhisnameandsurnameintomycontactsattheendoftheevening,andsomehowI’venevergottenaroundtochangingittosomethinglessformal.

Thephone’sonsilent,so itgoes tovoicemail.Buthe instantlydisconnectsandringsagain.That’soursignalsomething’surgent,soImakeanexcuseandslipoutofthemeetingtocallhimback.

“What’sup?”“It’s all right,Theo’s fine.He’s at nursery. It’s—”There’s the soundof a

coupleofdeepbreaths.“Therewasamanherejustnowwithaprivatedetective.HeclaimsourbabiessomehowgotmixedupintheNICU.Sohethinksthelittleboyhe’sgotathomeisoursandTheo—Theo—”

Ittakesamomentforwhathe’ssayingtosinkin.“Itcouldbetested,”Isay.“ADNAtest.”

“They’ve done that.He left us a copy.Mads, this guy looked exactly likeTheo.”There’sapause.“Ithinkhe’stellingthetruth.”

Idon’treply.DespitewhatPete’sjustsaid,Idon’treallybelieveit.Thatsortof thing simply doesn’t happen. There must be some other explanation. ButPete’sclearlydevastated,andheneedsmetobethere.Imakeaquickdecision.“I’mcominghome.”

Ilookthroughtheglasswallintothemeetingroom.OntheTVmonitor,animpossibly rosy-cheeked fourteen-year-old is miming awed excitement at thecontents of her packet of corn chips. Professional etiquette demands that I gobackinandmakemyexcuses,explaintotheclientsthatthere’safamilycrisis;no, nothing life threatening, but I’d really better leave. But I don’t. Almostwithout being aware of it, I prioritize. I send a text to one ofmy colleagues,askingthemtotakeover,andwalkoutofthebuilding.

—WHEN IWAS PREGNANT, I alwaysassumed itwouldbemewho’dbe theprimary

carer.Afterall,thefactwewerehavingababyatallwasultimatelydowntome—thepregnancywasanaccident, thetimingbadinallsortsofways.Weevendiscussedtermination,althoughIcouldtellPetewasuneasyabouttheidea,andeventuallyIadmittedIwas,too;I’mnotalwaysashard-nosedandpracticalasmyfriends like tomakeout.But the internationaladvertisingagency thatpaidmy relocation costs from Sydney to London included a year’s private healthinsuranceinthepackage,andwhenIchecked,itincludedmaternity.Insteadofhaving a baby on a crowdedNHSward, I could have it in the comparativelyluxurious surroundings of a private hospital in Harley Street, complete withdedicatedmidwife,C-sectiononrequest, twenty-four-hourconsultantcare,andpostbirthrecoveryprogram.Ofcourse,thepossibilityofapampered,luxuriousbirthwouldbeaprettyterriblereasontohaveababy—butasareasontohaveababythatalreadyexisted,whynot?

Lookingback,IthinkI’dalreadydecidedtokeepitandwasjustlookingforsomekindof justification.Tellingworkwas awkward,of course—I’dbeen inmynewjoblessthanfourmonths,andnowhereIwas,announcingI’dbetakinga year off—but theywere grownup enough to realize that, since they had nochoiceinthematter,theymightaswellsoundpleasedformeandemphasizethatthepositionwouldstillbetherewhenIcameback.

Inshort,itlookedlikeeverythingwasworkingoutridiculouslywell.Butthegodshadotherideas.

I was twenty-seven weeks when Pete and I went to Andy and Keith’swedding.Ifyoucan’tletyourhairdownatagaywedding,whencanyou?Later,I’d torturemyself about that.Was it theglassof champagne I allowedmyselfwiththespeeches?TheexuberantdancingtoArethaFranklinandMadonnaonthe packed dance floor afterward? (I still can’t hear “Respect” withoutflinching.)ThetumbleItookonmywaybackfromtheladies’,trippingoverthatmarquee rope in the dark? The consultant told me it probably wasn’t any ofthose,butsincehecouldn’tsaywhatdidcauseit,howcouldhebesure?

Nextmorning I had a terrible headache,which I put down to the glass ofchampagne now Iwasn’t used to it. But I also realized I hadn’t felt the babymoveforawhile,andwhenIthrewupitsomehowfeltdifferentfrommyfirst-trimestermorning sickness. So—since itwas a Sunday, andwe had a privatehospital inHarleyStreeton tap,staffedbyexperiencedmidwiveswecouldgoand see anytimewe liked—Pete suggestedwe get the baby checked out, thenhavebrunchonMaryleboneHighStreet.

Asitturnedout,thatbrunchplansavedourbaby’slife.“I’m just going to do a quick scan” turned into “I’m just going to get the

doctor to take a look” and then suddenly a red cord I’d barely noticed in the

corneroftheroomwasbeingpulledandIwassurroundedbypeople.Someoneshouted,“Prepfortheater.”Iwasbombardedwithquestionsevenastheywerestrippingmeofmyjewelry—IneverdidgetmyVietnamesebraceletback—andputtinginacatheter.Someoneelsewasmeasuringmylegsforstockings,ofallthings,andPetewasbeingtoldtoscrubandchangeintoagownifhewantedtobepresentattheemergencyC-sectiontheywereabouttoperformbecauseofmysudden-onsetpreeclampsia.Iwasgivenaninjectiontohelpthebaby’slungsanda drip to help with something else, I never caught what. And then a surgeonappeared,tookonelookatthetrace,andsaidjustoneword:“Now.”Afterthatitwasablurofcorridorsandfacesandgabbledexplanations.Therewasnotimeforanepidural,anotherdoctortoldme.Secondslater,Iwasunconscious.

Icamearoundintherecoveryroomtosilence.Nocryingbaby,noPete,justthebleepofamachine.Andadoctorlookingdownatme.

“Yourbaby’salive,”hesaid.“Ababyboy.”ThankGod.“CanIseehim?”Imanagedtosay.Thedoctor—Ithinkhewasadoctor;hewasjustapairofanonymouseyes

over a surgical mask—shook his head. “He’s gone straight to the NICU in aspecialistambulance.He’sverysmallandverypoorly.”

NICU,pronouncednick-you. Itmeantnothing tomeat the time,but Iwassoon to become all too familiar with the different levels of emergency infantcare.Aneonatalintensivecareunitwastheveryhighest.

“Poorly?Whatwith?”“Babieswhoarethatprematurestruggletobreatheunaided.He’llprobably

beputonaventilatortohelphislungs.”Hepaused.“It’spossiblehemighthavehypoxia.”

“What’sthat?Isitfatal?Ishegoingtolive?”All I can remember about thisman,who I’d never seen before andwould

neverseeagain,ishiskindbrowneyes,eventhoughhepolitelypulleddownhissurgicalmask before he said gently, “It’swhen the baby’s brain is starved ofoxygen.ButtheNICUatSt.Alexander’sisthebestplaceforhim,andit’sveryclose.Ifanyonecanhelphim,theycan.”

I stared at him, horrified. I was just realizing that, far from being a greatplace to have a baby, this smart hotel-like clinic was actually completely illequippedtodealwithanemergencylikemine.

Everythinghadgonewrong.Ihadanoverwhelmingfeelingofhavingfailedmy baby. I wasmeant to be keeping him safe insideme for another thirteenweeks,forGod’ssake.Iwashislife-supportsystem.Andinstead,mybodyhadrejectedhim,spathimoutintoaworldhewasn’treadyfor.

“Where’sPete?”Icroaked.

“Yourhusbandwillhavegonewiththebaby.I’msorry—therewasnotimeforgoodbyes.”

Idon’tneedtosaygoodbyetoPete,Iwantedtosay,andanywaywe’renotmarried.But then I realized.Thedoctormeantgoodbye to thebaby.The firsttimeIsawmyson,he’dbedeadandcold.

Ibegantoweep,tearsrunningdownmyfaceevenasthedoctorcheckedmywomb at the other end; tears of rage and regret and loss for the tiny personwho’dbeeninsidemeandwhowasgoingtodiebeforehisownmotherhadevenheldhim.

7MADDIE

I COME OUT OF theUnderground atWillesdenGreenwith amillion questionschurningaroundmyhead,soIcallPeteagainasIwalkthelastquartermiletoourhouse.

“Thethingis,Ijustdon’tbelievetwobabiescouldgetmixeduplikethatintheNICU,”Itellhim.“Theowasinanincubatorthewholetime,attachedtoallthose lines. And he had an electronic tag on his leg. It just couldn’t havehappened.”

“MilessaidsomethingaboutitnotbeingSt.Alexander’she’ssuing,it’stheprivatehospitalwherehiswifegavebirth.Somaybethatcouldexplainit.”

That seems more possible. If two very premature babies arrived at St.Alexander’sat the same time,perhaps theygotmixedupbefore the tagswereevenputon.Thismightbereal,afterall.

“Butweren’tyouwithhimthewholetime?Hangon,I’matthefrontdoor.”Pete opens the door, lowering his phone as he does so. “Not all the time.

There were so many people working on him—getting the tubes in, takingblood…Andlater,theyfoundmearoomtosleepin.Ididn’tevennoticewhenthetagappearedonhisleg.”

Hegnawshislip,hiseyeshaunted.Iknowwhathe’sthinking.“Youhadtosleepsometimes,Pete.Wewerethereforweeks.”

“Ikeepwonderingthough—howcomeIdidn’tnotice?HowcouldourbabyhavebeenswitchedwithadifferentoneandIdidn’tspotit?”

“Becausethetruthis,noneofthemlookedlikebabiestobeginwith,”Isayflatly.

Pete glances at me. He still doesn’t like to talk about my reaction to theNICU. “But you sensed it, Mads,” he says quietly. “You felt no maternalattachmenttoTheo.Youevenwonderedoutloudifhewasreallyourbaby.Onsomelevel,youknew.”

I hesitate, then shake my head. “I didn’t have trouble bonding with himbecausehewasn’tours.ItwasbecausehewasnothinglikethebabyI’dalwaysimaginedhaving.Theyallwere. I’dhave felt the sameaboutanybaby in thatplace.They—theydisgustedme,somehow.”

At least, that’swhat I’vealways toldmyself.AlongwithYou’rea terriblemotherandThere’ssomethingwrongwithyou.Butnow,despitewhatI’vejustsaid toPete, Ican’thelpwondering—hadIknownsomethingelsewaswrong,allalong?

—MYFIRSTIMAGEOFmybabywasagrainyshottakenonPete’sphonethathesent

whileIwasstillintherecoveryroom.Blurry,takenovertheshoulderofanurseordoctor,itshowedasmallpaleshapeinanincubator,aChristmastreeoftubesand valves attached to a tiny body. There was what looked like bubble wrapencasinghischest,withmoretubescomingoutofit—Ifoundoutlaterthatthedoctorshadbeenfreezinghim,deliberatelycausinghypothermia toreduceanyswellinginhisbrain.Yetmoretubesweretapedtohisnose.Helookedscrawnyandsickandbarelyhuman.

WhenIwasnine,myparentshada litter fromthe familyLabrador,Maya.Fivewerebornaliveandwell,butthentherewasalonggap,solongwe’dhavethoughtshewasfinishedifshehadn’tsoobviouslybeenindistress.Finally,onelastpuppypoppedout—atiny,hairlessfledglingofathing.Itsoonbecameclearitwasn’tstrongenoughtohaulitselfthroughthescrumofotherpuppiesforoneofMaya’s teats,andforherpartsheneverseemedtonudge it intopositionasshedidtheothers.Ikeptpullingotherpuppiesoffthebestteatandputtingtherunttoit,tryingtogetittosuck,butitjustcouldn’tgettheidea.Twodayslater,itdied.

WhenIsawthatpictureonmyphone,Iwasevenmoreconvincedthatbythetime I joined Pete at St. Alexander’s, our baby would be dead. The doctor’swordskeptspinningaroundmybrain.He’sverypoorly.

Iwas still lookingat thepicturewhenPetecalled.“I’ve steppedoutside—theydon’tallowphoneconversationsintheNICU,”hesaidbreathlessly.“Ijustwantedtocheckyougotthephoto.”

“Igotit.”“Areyouokay?”“He’sgoingtodie,isn’the?”Isaidnumbly.Itfeltsurrealtobesayingthose

words out loud. Twenty-four hours before, we’d been helping our friendscelebratetheirmarriage,withthreemonthstogobeforemyduedate,andnowhereIwas,themotherofachildonitsdeathbed.

Pete’s voicewas calm, but I could tell what an effort it was costing him.“Notnecessarily.Mads,therearebabieshereevensmallerthanheis.Theysaythenextthreedaysarecritical.Ifhegetsthroughthat,there’sagoodchance.”Alongsilence.“Doyouwantmetocomeback?”

“No.Staywithhim.Oneofusshouldbethere.”“Okay.Theywantmetogetsomecolostrumfromyou,though.I’llbeover

inacoupleofhourswithabreastpump.”“Oh God.” I hadn’t even begun to think about the mechanics of

breastfeedingwhenmeandmydyingbabywereintwoseparatehospitals.ButPetewasaheadofme.

“They’llfreezeyourmilkfornow—he’sgota tubeinhisumbilicalstump,withadriphookedup to it.”Anotherpause.“They’reaskingwhatwewant tocallhim.”

A name to go on his grave. The thought slipped intomy brain, unbidden.Suddenlyallthenameswe’dthoughtof—quirky,funnameslikeJackandSamand Ed, names thatwere snappy and bouncy and full of vigor—felt wrong. Icouldn’tpicture themcarvedonaheadstonewithhisdatesunderneath. “WhataboutTheo?”

“Ithoughtyoudidn’tlikeTheo.”“Ithoughtyoudid.”“Well,Ido.”“Let’sgowithTheo,then.”BecauseIdon’twanttogiveanameIliketoa

childwho’sgoingtodie.

—I WAS IN SHOCK,of course.Andas it turnedout,Theodidn’tdie.Aseachday

went by, and the syringe pumpswere taken off him one by one, we allowedourselves to hope a littlemore.And finally, after five days, the doctors did abrainscanandannouncedtheywerenowcautiouslyoptimistic.

Whichisn’ttosaythatfromthenonitwasplainsailing.Pete’supdatesfromtheNICU,whenhecameovertositwithme,werefullofreferencestodesatsand apneas and braddies—the weird terminology of the baby unit, nowbecoming all too familiar. Desaturation, low oxygen in the blood, because apremature baby’s lungs don’twork properly on their own.Apnea, absence ofbreathing, because sometimes, despite the machine that blew air up his nose,Theowouldsimplyforgettoinhale.Bradycardia,adangerouslyslowheartbeat,because every so often his heart would just stop for no reason, and then thenurseswouldgentlyscratchhisfootorrubhisshoulderstogethimstartedagain.Itwaslikemagic,Petesaidwide-eyed,seeingthembringhimbacktolifelikethat.

Prolongingtheinevitable,I’dthoughtatthetime.Itwas awholeweek before Iwas able to join them.MyC-section hadn’t

healedwellandI’dhadavirus—even if I’dbeenable tomove, theywouldn’thave let me into a ward full of premature babies until it had cleared up. Buteventually I was put in a wheelchair and sent by taxi to St. Alexander’s, theexpensiveprivatehospitaloff-loadingmeontotheNHSascasuallyasifitwerescrapingapieceofdogshitoffitsshoe.

I’dthoughtIwaspreparedfortheNICU.Afterall,Petehaddescribedit,andI’d seen pictures on my phone. But nothing could have prepared me for thereality.Insteadofbeds,therewerepram-sizedelectronicpods.Itmademethinkofthosescience-fictionmovieswherepeoplearetransportedthroughspace—butwhilethosemoviestriedtomaketheirincubatorslooksleekandfuturistic,hereeachpodwas surroundedby a chaotic jumble ofwires and equipment. Itwaswarm and humid, too, like a swimming pool changing room. There was nonaturallight,andsomeofthepodswerebathedinultraviolet.Thosebabieswerebeingtreatedforjaundice,Peteexplainedlater.Butitwasthenoisethathitmethehardest.Therewasno crying—little lungs couldn’t, onlymew, and in anycase, most of the babies had tubes that went up their noses and down theirthroats, preventing them from making any sound. Instead, the NICU was acacophonyofelectronicbleepsandchimesandbongs.LaterI’dcometorealizethatmanyweren’tevenalarms, justmachinesmakingtheireverything-normal-herenoises,andthateachwasdifferentforareason.Likeewesrecognizingthebleat of their particular lamb across a noisy field, the nurses could recognizetheirpatients’soundsandrespondtoanychange.

Ihadnoideawhichincubatorcontainedmybaby.ButthenIsawPete,overinonecorner.Mostofthepodshadsee-throughcoverswithholesinthesides,likemachinesforhandlinghazardousmaterial,buthewasstandingnexttoonethathadthetopremoved.Hewasattachingasyringeofwhatlookedlikebreastmilktooneendofatube.

“Overthere,”Isaidtotheporterwhowaswheelingme.Pete looked up and gaveme a tender smile, but didn’t stop what he was

doing.“Mummy’shere,”hesaidtotheincubator.Igotthere,peeredin,andsawTheo.

It should have been a big moment. The way everyone talks about thematernalbond,thatbottomlesspitofgushylovepeoplegoonabout,ifforsomereason you don’t feel an immediate, overwhelming connection to your babytheremust be somethingwrongwith you. But I didn’t. I simply recoiled. I’dsomehowexpectedfromPete’spositiveupdatesthatTheowouldlooklikearealbabynow.But this stranger’swizened face seemedahundredyearsold ratherthannewborn.Dark,downyhaircoveredhisshoulders,likealittlemonkey.Hewaswearing the tiniestnappy I’dever seen, andhewas tucked intoakindoframshackle nest of comforters and bedding. Electrical pads were stuck to hischest,andacuffaroundhisleftfootglowedred—thatwastheoxygensensor,Ilearnedlater.Hisarmsandlegswerestick-thin,thelimbsofafaminevictim.

Aclearplastictubewentuponetinynostril—thesametubePetewasgentlysqueezingbreastmilkintotheotherendof.“Shouldn’tanursebedoingthat?”I

saidanxiously.“They’rebusy.Besides,Ilikedoingitforhim.Itmakesmefeeluseful.”“Didyoucheck thepH,Pete?”anIrishvoicecalled. I lookedup.Anurse,

darkandpretty,wasspeakingtohimfromacrossanearbyincubator.“Twopointfive.”“Goodman,”shesaidapprovingly.Then,tome,“AreyouMum?”I’vealwaysfoundthewaymedicalstaffcalleverymotherMumandevery

infantBaby,insteadofthemumandthebaby,slightlygrating,butIknowthat’spedanticofme.“Yes.Maddie.”

“WelcometotheNICU,Maddie.Iknowitmustseemoverwhelmingatfirst,butlittleTheo’sdoingreallywell.”WithherIrishaccent,hisnamecameoutasTeo.“AndPete’sbeenatotalstar.IfonlyallhusbandswerethathandywiththeNGtube.”

“We’renotactuallymarried,”Isaidautomatically.“Sorry,mybad—allpartners.Don’tlethimgetaway,though.He’sacatch,

thatone.”It was just the friendly banter of someone trying to putme atmy ease, I

knew.Butsomethingabout it irritatedme,perhapsbecause Istill felta failurefor not being able to carry Theo to term. Plus, there was the realization that,whileI’dbeenlyinginacushyprivateroom,Petehadbeenquietlycoping—no,more than coping, excelling—here in the brutal environment of the NICU.Generally, I’dhave saidPete isn’tbrilliant in anemergency.Butputhim inasituationlikethat,asituationthatrequiressteadfastnessanddetermination,andhe comes into his own. It should havemademe feel proud and grateful. Butactually,itjustmademefeelevenmoreguilty.

Petesawmelookingatthemonitors.“Theystarttomakesenseeventually,”hesaid.

Ithadn’tevenoccurred tome to try tomakesenseof them.“Whatdoyoumean?”

He indicated the nearest one. “Thewavy line is his heartbeat, and the bignumber isbeatsperminute.Anythingless thanahundred isabraddie—if thathappens,trytogethisheartgoingagainwithastrokeorpat.Theonethatgoesoffmostoftenisoxygendesat.Ifyouseethatnumberstartingtofall,checktheprongsuphisnosebeforeyoucall thenurse—sometimes theywork theirwayloose.”

I couldn’t imagine doing any of those things. “Have you held himyet?” Iasked.

Pete nodded. “Just once, this morning—his temperature was too unstablebefore.It’sanamazingfeeling,Mads.Youhavetobecarefulbecauseofallthe

tubes and wires, obviously. But when he stretched out onmy bare chest andopenedhiseyesatme,Ichokedup.”

“Ithinkwealldid.”ThatwastheIrishnurseagain.Shelookedup,smiling,fromtheotherincubator.“That’soneofthebestpartsofdoingthisjob—seeingababygetskin-to-skinforthefirsttime.”

Onceagain, I feltasmall,unworthyflickerof irritationat the thoughtofabare-chestedweepingPete,with this pretty dark-haired nurse kneeling next tohim,cryingtoo.Iwascarefulnottoletitshow,though.Gettingonwiththestaffherewasclearlygoingtobeimportant.SoallIsaidwas,“Ican’twait.”

8PETE

WHILE MADDIE WAS ON theTube, I’ddone somequick researchonmy laptop. IbrieflyconsideredpostingonDadStuff,whichwasmyusualwayofresearchingthings,butthoughtbetterofit.Instead,stillreeling,IgoogledMilesLambert+Burton Investments.Miles’sLinkedInpagecameup,although itdidn’t tellmemuch except that he was three years older than me, he’d been to DurhamUniversity,hisofficewaslocatedinBerkeleySquare,andhisprofessionalskillshad been recommended as “excellent” by sixteen people. But at least itconfirmedthiswasn’tsomekindofterribleprank.TheDNAtest,whenIlookedat it, seemed authentic, too—rows of numbers and technical languageculminatinginthewords:Probabilityofpaternity:98%.

NextIsearchedswappedbabies.Itwasclearlyveryrare—oratleast,itwasvery rare for a swap to come to light. The switching of identical twins wasdiscovered most often, presumably because the resemblance between twoapparent strangers was more likely to be noticed. In 1992 a Canadian, BrentTremblay, bumped into his identical twin, now called George Holmes, atuniversity. In 2001 a similar thing happened to identical twins in the CanaryIslands,andin2015twosetsof identical twinswerereunitedinBogotá.Fromthese and other cases, combined with the incidence of twins in the generalpopulation,someonehadcalculatedthatmix-upsoflessdiscoverableinfants—thatis,non-twins—couldbeasmanyasoneinathousandbirths,aboutthesameasDownsyndrome.

Otherswitcheswerediscoveredasaresultofpaternitytestingwhenparentsseparated,ashappenedinCharlottesville,Virginia.Thechildreninvolvedinthatcasewerethreeyearsold;theensuingcustodybattlewentonforyears.

In 2006 two newborn girls were accidentally switched in the CzechRepublic, with the mix-up discovered a year later. The girls were graduallyreintroducedtotheiroriginalfamilies,byagreementofallfourparents.

ThesonofaUKcitizenwasswitchedinahospitalinElSalvadorin2015.He,too,wasreunitedwithhisparentsafterayear.

Incountrieswhereswitcheswerediscoveredtherewasoftenapublicoutcryleading tomore stringentprecautions, suchasdouble tagging.Thatwasn’t thecaseintheUK,buttherehadbeensomesimilarproblemswithattemptedbabyabductions, and, as a result, security on NHS wards was considered aboveaverage.

There was no mention anywhere of what it was like in British private

hospitals.Thethingthatimmediatelyjumpedoutatme,though,wasthatthedecision

toswapthechildrenbackornotwaslargelyamatterofage.Iftheywereoverthreewhentheswitchwasdiscovered,theyusuallyendedupstayingwiththeirexistingfamilies.Iftheyweretwelvemonthsorless,theywereusuallyreturnedtotheirbirthparents.

But two? Two years and two weeks, to be precise? That seemed to be aterrifyinglygrayarea.

Don Maguire’s words came back to me. There’s certainly no automaticrequirement for the family courts to get involved. It’s best for the parents toworkoutasolutionbetweenthemselves.

If we couldn’t work something out, did that mean a court would have todecide?WouldTheo’sfateultimatelyrestwithsomedrylegalbureaucrat?Theverythoughtmademybloodruncold.

—ALL OF THIS I explained, or rather babbled, to Maddie when she was barely

throughthedoor.“Butisthatwhatthismanwassuggesting?”sheasked,gettingstraighttothe

most important point as usual. “Does he really think we should swap themback?”

“He didn’t say. But neither did he say we shouldn’t.” In fact, now that Ithought about it, Miles Lambert had said remarkably little. “He was prettyvague.”

“Perhapsheknewitwouldbealottotakeinanddidn’twantyoutofeelhewasrailroadingyou,”shepointedout.“Whatwashelike?”

“Heseemedallright,”Iadmitted.“Thatis,asallrightasit’spossibletobewhenyou’rebreakingnewslikethat.Saidheknewwhataterribleshockitmustbe—itaffectedhimthesameway,whenhefoundout.”

“Well, that’ssomething.Buthowdidhe findout? Imean,whatmadehimlookathischildinthefirstplaceandthink,That’snotmyson?”

Ithoughtback.“Hedidn’tsaythat,either.”“Andhereallydidn’tgiveyouanyclueastowhichwaythey’rethinking?”I shook my head. I wasn’t feeling any better as time passed since our

encounter.“ButhetookapictureofTheo,toshowhiswife.AndheleftusoneofDavid.”

“CanIsee?”Iwentandgotthephotograph.IsawMaddie’sfacechangeasshelookedat

it—firstwithsurprise,andtheninvoluntarilysofteningaroundtheeyes.

“Helooksjustlikeyou,doesn’the?”Isaidgently.“A bit. And he’s the spitting image of Robin at that age.” I didn’t really

knowMaddie’sbrothers,whowereallinAustralia.Robin,theyoungest,wastheoneshemissedmost.She tookadeepbreath.“Wow. Iguess this is real, isn’tit?”

My laptop pinged. Automatically, I turned toward it. It was a notificationfrom LinkedIn, which I still had open. Miles Lambert wants to join yournetwork.

IshowedMaddie.“ShouldIaccept?”“Whynot?Whateverhappensnext,we’llneedtobeintouch.”IclickedACCEPT.Momentslater,amessagepingedintomyinbox.

Pete,Thankyoufortalkingtometoday,andonceagainmyapologiesforcrashingintoyourlifewith

what can only have been disturbing news. I’m sure you’llwant to talk things overwithMadelynbeforeyoumakeanydecisions,butnowyouandIhavetheinitialcontactoutoftheway,LucyandIwerewonderingifthetwoofyouwouldliketocomeandtalkitoveratourhouse—andmeetDavidat thesametime?Itwouldbeentirelyup toyouwhetherornotyoubringTheo,butofcoursewewouldlovetomeethimtoo.

This is a difficult and horrible situation, one that none of us chose or ever expected to findourselves in. But hopefully we can work out what’s right and best for all concerned—and,particularly,forourchildren.

Kindregards,Miles

“It’sagoodemail,”Maddiesaid,readingovermyshoulder.Icouldheartherelief in her voice. “It really sounds like theydon’twant to pressurize us intoanything.”

“Yes,”Isaiduneasily.Despitetheemail’sagreeabletone,Ihadasensethateventswerealreadystartingtomove,andthatIwasn’tincontrolofthem.Oncewe’d met David, and the Lamberts had met Theo, everything was going tobecomemuchmorecomplicated.Thetrainwasleavingthestation,andIwasn’ttheonedrivingit.

9MADDIE

IT’SONLYAFTER IseetheemailfromMiles,withthereferencetoLucy,thatthename Lambert starts to ring a bell. There’d been twenty-one intensive careincubators in theNICU.Twenty-one sets of parentswith desperately small orsick babies. Somewere only on theward a fewdays; some—especially thosewith preemies—spentmonths there.Most were just a blur of drawn, haggardfaces.I’dgottentoknowtheoneswhosecotswerenearest,orwhoIhappenedtostandnexttowhenIwaswashingoutmybreastpumpinthesinkarea—talkingwas a way to distract yourself from the tension, to ease the permanent stresslump in the back of your throat—but there were too many, too transient, torememberthemall.

Gradually,Igotusedtobeingthere.Istill felt likeafailure,butamongallthoseotherfailuresthatwaslesscrushing,somehow,thanithadbeenbackattheprivatehospitalwith the soundofhealthybabies’ crieswafting intomy room.Thebabies in theNICUalmostnevercried,even theolderoneswithout tubesdowntheirthroats.Instead,they’dregisterdistressbystretchingoutajitteryarmorleg,orarchingtheirback,orevenjustsneezing.Yougotridiculouslyattunedto thosesigns inyourbaby,becauseanyof themmightherald theonsetofan“episode”—thenurses’euphemismforanear-deathexperience,whenthealarmswentoffandTheo’sheartorbreathingwouldhavetoberestarted.

WatchingmybabysoobsessivelychangedhowIfeltabouthim.Ifelt—notlove, exactly, definitely not that, but an overwhelming, painful feeling ofresponsibility.I’dalreadylethimdownonce.Imustn’tlethimdownagain.

The skin-to-skin, or “kangaroo care” as the nurses sometimes called it,helped,too.ThefirsttimeBronagh—theIrishnurse,whoturnedouttonotbeasbad as I’d thought once I got used to her breezymanner—suggested it, Iwasdubious. It seemed madness to move this tiny, vulnerable being out of hislifesavingincubatorandontothesamestomachthathadfailedhimoncealready.But Bronagh wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so while Pete drew thescreens,IpulledoffmytopandBronaghcarefullyloweredTheo,completewithallhistanglesoflinesandwires,ontomychest,likeacollapsedpuppet.

“Youcanseeifhemightlatchontoyourbreastnow,ifyoulike,”sheaddedwhenhewassettled.

Breastfeed?Really?Iwasterrifiedjustholdinghim.Hewassotiny—threepoundswhenhewasborn,andstillunderfivepoundsthreeweekslater.Iknewhow babies should feel—plump and squeezy and pinchable. By comparison

Theofeltaslightasablownegg.ButIobedientlypushedupmybraandsteeredhis tiny head toward my nipple. Tiny toothless gums, soft as a little fish’s,mouthedatme.Then,abruptly,theyfastenedon.Apop,abubble,andsuddenlyeuphoriawasflowingoutofmeintohim.Hesplutteredonce,gasped,thenwentbacktosucking.

“He’sdoingit,”Petebreathed.Then:“Mads,lookatthestats.”Ilookedoveratthemonitor.Theo’sheartratewasfalling.“Isheallright?”I

saidanxiously.“All right?He’s just settling down for a nice drink and a sleep,”Bronagh

said.“Welcometoyournewfavoriteplace,Theo.”Thatwaswhenitfirstsankinthatthedoctorattheotherhospitalmighthave

beenwrong.Thisbabymightbedestinedtolive.

—I FIRST NOTICED LUCY because she seemed so out of place. She was very well

groomed, for one thing, with long blond hair that was either natural or soexpertlydyeditmusthavebeendoneprofessionally.Thecutalsolookedlikeithadbeendoneatanexpensivesalon,alovelyfeather-edgedfringethatremindedmeof a showhorse’smane.Her clotheswere impeccable—inall the timewewere in theNICU, Ineversawher turnup ina fleeceor tracksuitbottoms,asother mothers did. She wore white linen blouses, little jackets or cashmerecardigans,jeansthatshowedoffherslenderlegs.Shewasprobablyaroundthesameageasme,butsomehowseemedolder.

Oneday,wewerebothinthesinkarea.Shewasrinsingbreastmilksyringes,whileIwaswashingbottlesandteats.Sheglancedacrossandsaid,“Thatlookslikeareallydistantdream.”HervoicehadthatslightdrawlposhEnglishpeoplehave,soreallycameoutlikerarely.Buthersmilewasfriendly,andIcouldtellshewasjustbreakingtheice,notactuallycomplaining.

“You’llgetthere,”Ireplied,tryingtobeencouraging.Hersmileslipped.“I’mnotsurewewill,actually.Thedoctorswanttotalk

tousaboutdiscontinuingcare.”“I’m so sorry,” I said immediately. Everyone on the ward knew what

discontinuing care meant. There’d been an instance just a few days before, alovelyIndiancouplewhobroughtinhomemadeKeralanfoodforthenursesandwhose baby girl had been a micro-preemie—less than eight hundred grams.She’dfoughtoffinfectionafterinfection,buteachonehadleftherprogressivelyweaker.She’dalreadybeendiagnosedwithcerebralpalsy,waspartiallyblind,and had never come off a full ventilator.When the doctors did their rounds,they’dconferoverhercribinlow,quietvoices.Afterward,themotherwouldbe

in tears,andsometimes thefather, too.Andthenadaycamewhentheparentssimply looked exhausted and defeated, and the whole apparatus—incubator,ventilator,vitalsignsmonitor,andalltheconnectingtubes—wasunpluggedandwheeledout of theNICU.Theywerebeing taken to a private room, someonesaid,wheretheycouldholdtheirbabywhileshedied.Allofus,eventhenurses,werequietfortherestofthatday.

“Well,it’soneofthosethings,Isuppose,isn’tit,”Lucysaid.Whichmight,on the face of it, seem like a completely inadequate response to her child’spossibledeath,butIunderstood.EveryoneintheNICUhadtoholdthemselvestogether somehow. Some did it by sobbing and wailing, some wept quietly,othersdiditbybottlingup.Iwasabottler-uppermyself,andso,itseemed,wasLucy.

TalkingwithLucyaboutourbabies,wesoonrealizedthey’dbeenadmittedonthesameday—whichmeant,ofcourse,thattheysharedabirthday,althoughDavidhadbeena little furtheron thanTheo,at twenty-nineweeks.ButwhereTheo had progressed, David had been the opposite. Doctors were using theacronymFTTabouthim,Lucysaid—failuretothrive.

I felt amixture of emotions.Thatwas one of the strange things about theNICU—friendswerealwaystextingtosayItmustbeterribleorIt’sincrediblehowstrongyou’rebeing,butinfact,becauseyouweresurroundedbysomanypeoplewhowere evenworse off than you,most of the time you actually feltquite lucky. So I looked at this sleek, well-bredwomanwhowas desperatelytryingtobestoicandBritishaboutthefactthatherchildmightdie,andfeltbothpityandrelief—reliefthatmybaby’shealthhadtakenadifferentpath.

Afterthat,LucyandIsmiledandnoddedwhenwesaweachother,andonceshecameoverwhenTheowashavingskin-on-skin feeding time.Shewatchedforawhile, lookingdownathimfondly.“Helookssocontented,doesn’the?”she commented. “Like a dog curledup in his favorite chair. I’mLucy, by theway.”

“I’mMaddie.”We’dtoldeachotherourbabies’names,butnotourown—slipping into thewaysofparenthoodalready. “And that’smypartner,Pete,” Iadded,noddinginhisdirection.

“Oh,I’veseenPete.Sogoodwiththebaby.Allthenursessayso.”“WecallhimSaintPeter,”Isaiddrily.Istillwasn’tsurehowIfeltaboutthe

way everyone on the NICU now officially adored Pete, or the way he’d soinstantly bonded with Theo. I was getting there—or at least, I was slowlybecoming more confident about my ability to feed him—but I still didn’tworshiphimunconditionally,thewayPeteclearlydid.“Whataboutyou?Isyourpartnerhere?”

Lucyshookherhead.“Hehasoneof those ridiculouslyhigh-pressure jobswhere if he steps away from his emails for tenminutes, he’ll get fired. He’llcomeafterwork,Iexpect.”

Later, I saw a good-looking young man in a suit standing by David’sincubator. He was resting one hand on the clear cover, almost as if he werestrokingitinplaceofthebaby.ThefingersofhisotherhandwerecurledaroundaBlackBerry.

Onanotheroccasion, I happened togopastDavid’s cot on theway to thetoilet. The nurses in the NICU gave out little printed cards to mark everymilestone:TodayIhadcuddleswithDaddy,TodayIwasfedbyMummy,TodayI moved to an open cot. Theo’s incubator was by now festooned with thesecards.IwasstruckbyhowbareDavid’swasbycomparison.

ThenIsawthat thearterial line inDavid’sankle lookedwrong.Therewasfluid seeping through the bandage, and his toes were white. He must havedislodgeditwhenhemoved.

One of the reasons Pete was so effective in the NICU was that he wasconstantly asking questions—his journalistic training coming into play. So Iknewthatadislodgedarteriallinecouldcausecirculationproblems,andwasoneof the few emergencies thatmight not trigger an alarm. Iwent to the nearestnurse,whowasdoingsomethingforthebabyinthenextincubator.“Excuseme—IthinkDavidLambert’slinemighthavecomeloose.”

Thenursegavemeabrief,uninterestedglance.“I’lltakealookshortly.”“I think you should look now,” I insisted. “His toes have gone a different

color.”“I’llbethereinafewminutes,”shesaidtestily.Hermannerwasfarremoved

fromBronagh’scheerycompetence.HernametagsaidPAULA.Iwentbackandtookanotherlook.David’stoeswerenowdarkpurple.“I’m

pullingthealarm,”Isaid.Ireachedfor theredcordbyDavid’s incubator,andthepiercingsoundofthecrashalarmfilledtheward.Paulasworeasshestoppedwhatshewasdoingandhurriedover.

Asiffromnowhere,doctorsappeared.“What’sgoingon?”onedemanded.“Thiswomanpulledthecord,”Paulasaidsulkily.“Hislineisloose,”Ipointedout.Thedoctor lookeddown.“So it is.We’llsoonhave thatsorted.And thank

you,”headded,astheygottowork.

10PETE

ILOOKEDATMYwatch.Itwasalreadyeleventhirty,andIhadtocollectTheoatnoon.Normallifehadtocontinue,ifonlyforhissake.Itookadeepbreath.“SoI’llreplytoMilessayingwe’llgo?”

Maddie nodded. “I guess. But we should get our own position clearbeforehand. In our heads, I mean. We need to know what we’re trying toachieve.”

“Whichiswhat?”Isaidhelplessly.Maddielookedatme.“Pete…Thefactis,ofthetwoofus,you’recloserto

Theo. No—” She stopped my protests with a shake of her head. “Let’s behonest.Webothlovehimtobits,butit’syouwhospendsyourwholedaywithhim.Sotellmewhatyourinstinctsaresayingtoyourightnow.”

“Ifthereisadecisiontobemade,it’sajointdecision.It’sgottobe.”“Ofcourse.Butyougofirst.Tellmewhatyoureallythink.”“Well…”Itriedtomarshalmythoughts.JustlikeDonMaguire’suseofthe

wordsolutionearlier,theworddecisionseemedtoopenupagreatvoidbeneathmyfeet.“It’sashock,ofcourse, so Imaynotbe thinkingverystraight.But Isuppose—if we’re really being honest—my gut instinct is that I don’t thinkpaternity andgenetics are all that important.Not comparedwith love. IfTheowas adopted, would we love him any less? Of course not. Minding whethersomeoneisyourfleshandblood—whattheyare,asopposedtowhotheyare—it’s soVictorian, isn’t it?Or even older.Neanderthal.And then there’s Theo.Whatwoulditdotohimtosuddenlybetold,Oh,wepickedupthewrongkidatthehospitalbymistake,outyougo?HoweverniceMilesandLucy turnout tobe,itwouldshatterhim.”AtthethoughtoftellingTheohewasn’tourbirthson,let alone thatwewere abandoning him for another childwhowas,my throatstartedtothickenandIhadtopause.“I’mnotdoingit,Mads.I’mnotbreakingup this family.” I stared at her defiantly. “So that’s my view, and I’m prettybloodyweddedtoit,actually.”

Inreply,shesteppedforwardandkissedme.“AndthatiswhyIloveyou,PeteRiley,”shesaidquietly.“Becauseofthat.”

Sheproddedtheapproximatelocationofmyheart.“Soyouagree?”“OfcourseIagree.That is, IsupposeI’vegotawholebunchofemotions.

Whenyou showedme that photographofDavid, just for amoment, I—”Sheshookherhead.“Butno,you’reright.Absolutely.Theoverwhelmingquestion

hereis,what’sbestforTheo?Andtheansweris—obviously—forhimtogoonbeingbroughtupbythebestdadintheworld.”

“And the best mum. Do you think the Lamberts will see it that way,though?”

“Idon’t seewhynot.Afterall, they’vehad longer to think it through,andnowthatyou’vesaid it, it’sprettyobvious.Actually, I think thatmaybewhatMiles is hinting at in his email—that bit about putting the children’s interestsfirst? He says he’s not trying to jump us into anything, but he’s clear thatwhateverwedo,weshoulddobyagreement,andforthechildren.Thatcanonlylead you to one conclusion really, can’t it? Thatwe stay aswe are. For theirsake.”

Inodded.“Maybewedon’thave tomake it asbinaryas swaporno swapanyway.We’recivilizedpeopleinacivilizedsociety,forGod’ssake.Maybewecanbepartofeachother’s livessomeotherway.” I snappedmyfingersasanideahitme. “We’re always saying it’s a shamemostofTheo’s cousins are inAustralia.Whycan’tTheoandDavidbehonorarycousins?”

“That’sagreat idea.Orwhataboutgodchildren?Weweresayingonly theotherdayweshouldgetTheobaptizednowthatwe’restartingchurch.Wecouldask Miles and Lucy to be godparents, and we could be David’s as well. Sothere’ssomethingformaltorecognizetherelationship.”

“Brilliant.”Attherealizationthattheremightbeamiddlewayafterall,reliefflooded through me. “And the two of them could have playdates. After all,they’rethesameage—”

“Exactly.” Maddie nodded. “I’m sure that’s the right response to thissituation. Dialogue and cooperation and good communication…What are youdoing?”

I was rummaging in the fridge. “Making us all blueberry smoothies forlunch. I promised Theo I’d do it before I picked him up. It was his turn tochoose.”

11MADDIE

IN SOME WAYS, LEAVING the NICUwas almost as traumatic as going there hadbeen.Thenursesandjuniordoctorshadbecomemyfriends.ButtherewastoomuchpressureonspaceforTheo tostayamoment longer thanhehad to,andeventuallyhemetallthecriteriaforbeingmovedtothespecialcarebabyunit,orthefattening-uproomasthenursesintheNICUjokinglycalledit.

“Yourbaby’safighter,”Bronaghsaidasshewroteuphisnotesforthelasttime. “We’ve a pretty good track recordwith preemies, but I’ve never knownonecatchupasfastashim.”

“How’sDavidLambertdoing?”Ihadn’tbeenabletoshakeoffthesensethatDavidandTheowere likeATaleofTwoBabies—thatdespitebeingadmittedonthesameday,onehadsomehowturnedleftwhiletheotherturnedright,theirfortunesforeverdivergingfromthenon.

“Paulatoldmehe’sonthemend.Theyoperatedonhimforaheartductthathadn’tclosed,andthatseemstohavesortedhimout.”

“I’msopleased!”Isaid.“WillyoutellhismotherIsaidhello?”Bronaghnodded.“Andthisisforyou,Pete.”Alittleshyly,shehandedPete

a card.On the frontwaswrittenHappyFather’sDay. “Wemake sure all ourbabies give cards to their dads on Father’s Day—it’s a little tradition aroundhere,” she explained. “But that’s on Sunday and you won’t be here, so…” IcouldtellPetewastouched.

Wewereonlyinthespecialcareunitforaweek.Theocontinuedtoputonweightandsailedthroughthecar-seattest,whenthedoctorshookedhimuptothemonitorsandstrappedhimintoacarseatforaslongasitwouldtaketogethome.PeteandIweregiventrainingin infantCPRandthe loanofanoxygentankandmask, just incaseheeverstoppedbreathingathome.Andthen—justlike that,elevenweeksafterIwokeupwithasplittingheadacheandastrangeleadenfeelinginmywomb,andstilltwoweeksbeforemyactualduedate—wewereoutofhospital,discharged,aproperfamilyatlast.

“Welcometotheworld,littleman,”Petesaidtriumphantlyaswewalkedoutthehospitaldoors,liftingthebabyseatlikealanternandslowlyspinningaroundsoTheocouldsee.“Fromnowon,thingsaregoingtogetbetter.”

Except it wasn’t that simple. Once, getting Theo home had been the onlythingIwanted.Nowitwasstrangelydisorienting.Whenyouwereusedtobeingable toglanceoverandcheckyourbaby’sstatusonamonitor,nothavingonethereseemedodd.Thenoiseofthemachineshadbecomesofamiliar,itsabsence

was deafening—the bleeps and chimes continued inmy head, insistent as thechorusofasong.Insteadofrelaxingbecausewewerehome,Ifeltincreasinglyanxious.Iworriedthatwe’dscaldtheinsideofTheo’smouthbyoverheatinghisbottle,or accidentallypushhimunder thewaterwhenwegavehimabath,ordrophimwhenhewaswetandslipperyafterward.Icheckedonhimeverytenminuteswhileheslept,tomakesurehehadn’tstoppedbreathing.Andwhenhesniffedafewtimes,IwasconvincedhehadaninfectionandmadePeterushusallstraightbacktotheNICU.

ThedoctorcheckedTheoover,thensaidquietlytome,“Andyou?Howareyoucoping?”

“I’mfine.Justabitstressedout.”“Depressed?”Ishookmyhead.Ifanything,Iwastheveryoppositeofdepressed—fullof

nervousenergy.“Well, if you do get the baby blues, don’t ignore them. There are

antidepressantsyourGPcanprescribethatwon’tpassintoyourbreastmilk.”I didn’t tell him I’d already started supplementing with formula.

BreastfeedingremindedmetoomuchoftheNICU.I’dhiddentheoxygentank,too.Ionlyhadtocatchsightofittofeelsick.

Mostofall,though,Ifeltalone.ItwassodifficulttotellPetethatIstillfeltno maternal attachment to Theo, only a terrible helplessness. Once I tried toexplaintohimwhatitwaslike,howIfeltasifIwereonlybabysittingsomeoneelse’schild,someonewho’dbefuriouswithmeifIscrewedup,andhelookedatme,baffled.

“Butofcoursehe’sourbaby.Whoelse’scouldhebe?”“Idon’tmeanIthinkhe’ssomeoneelse’sbaby.ImeanIfeelasifheis.”Nor did I tell him that the exhaustion, the chapped nipples, the emotional

numbness,feltlikemypunishmentfornotbeingagoodmother.Petesoclearlyadoredhisson,I’dhavefeltdisloyalevenbringingitup.

Sometimeshe’dstarttosaysomethingabouttheNICU—“Doyourememberwhenthoseotherparents…”or“Wasn’titweirdwhenthatdoctorsaid…”—andI’dcuthimoff.

“Idon’treallywanttothinkaboutallthat.Let’sputitbehindus,shallwe?”“Ofcourse.That’sareallyhealthyattitude,Mads.Let’slooktothefuture.”I’dreadthat,forsomewomen,thematernalbondcameslowly.SoIassumed

thatwaswhatwouldhappeninmycase.AnditdidstartkickinginmorewhenTheowasaboutthreemonths.I’dgottenusedtothehalfsmilesandgrimaceshemadewhenhewastryingtopoo—Petealwaysseizedonthemasevidenceofhisaffectionatenature,thoughtometheyweresimplyanindicationthatTheofound

pooingverysatisfying.Butonetime,afterI’dgivenhimabath,I’dwrappedhimin a towel and laid him on the floor as usual when he looked up at me andgrinned.Apartofmeknewhewasjustpleasedtobewarmanddryagain,butthatlook,themischiefandcontentmentinhislittleblue-grayeyes…Forthefirsttime,Ifeltarelationshipwithhim.Iwasn’tjustamilkmachine.Iwasthecenterofhisuniverse,andevenifhewasn’tyetthecenterofmine,weweredefinitelyin some kind of planetary orbit, locked into a relationship that would lastforever. I thought:WhenIamoldandgray,youwillbemyadultson,and thesuddensenseofpermanencemademegasp.

Lookingback,itwasn’tsurprisingittooksolong.I’mnotsomeonewhofallsinloveatthedropofahat.IttookmealmostayeartofallforPete—weusedtojokethathedidn’tsomuchdatemeaslaysiegetome.WhywouldIfallinlovewithastrangerinaplasticbox,onewhowasprobablyonlypassingthroughmylifeforafewshortweeks?Iftherehadbeenanymaternalreflexinmeatall,itwastheonetellingmenottoriskgettingemotionallyinvolved.Ihadtowaitforhimtomoveonfrombeingindanger,tobecomeapersonwithafuture,beforeIcouldallowmyselftheluxuryoflovinghim.

12Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit14B:EmailfromPeterRileytoMilesLambert.DearMilesandLucy,First, thank you for your email,Miles, and for coming to seeme in person before that,which

can’thavebeenaneasythingtodo.Asyousay,thisisaverydifficultsituationthatnoneofuschosetobein,butwereallyappreciatethatyou’retryingtodealwithitinacivilizedway.Wefullyintendtodothesame.

Havingdiscussedit,wewouldbeverypleasedtotakeupyourofferofgettingtogetheratyourhouse,andwethinkitwouldbegoodforTheoandDavidtomeetaswell.MaddieremembersLucyfromtheNICUandsayshello.

We’re free all daySaturday.Theo tends tobe at hisbest in themornings, so shallweaim forabout10:30?

Bestwishes,Pete

13PETE

COME SATURDAY, WE PACKEDTheo into the back of ourGolf and headed over toHighgate.I’dallowedplentyoftimetofindsomewheretopark,butasitturnedout, Ineedn’thave.Wherewelived, itwasalwaysascramble tofindaspace,buttheroadsinMilesandLucy’sneckofthewoodshardlyhadanycarsparkedinthematall.Itwasbecausethehousesweresobigandfarapart,Irealized—fine,wideVictorian villas,with large sashwindows and raised ground floors.Very few had been turned into flats, either,whichmeant even fewer vehiclescompetingforspaces,whilesome,liketheLamberts’,hadoff-roadparking.Wepulled up a few yards from their house and sat waiting for the clock on thedashboardtoreachtenthirty,whilebehindusTheopuffedtunelesslyonaplastickazoo.

“Onreflection,thatmightnothavebeenthebesttoytobring,”Maddiesaidafterawhile.

“Ididn’tbringit,hefounditonthebackseat,”Ipointedout.“Andit’sgoodforhisspeechtousehisfinemouthmuscles.ButI’msureDavidwillhavelotsofothertoystoplaywith.”

We were both silent. The truth was, we were wrung out. The days sinceMileshadknockedonthedoorwithhisbombshellhadbeenexhausting.We’dveeredbetweenhopeand fear—hope thatwecould somehowmake thiswork,andfearatwhatmighthappen ifwecouldn’t.Sometimes, in thedepthsof thenight,I’djoltawake,gaspingwithadrenaline.Icouldalmostfeelourfamily,ourlittleunit,beingpulledapart, like the segmentsof anorange.But then I’d tellmyselfitwasgoingtobeallright,thatwehadaplan.Andthat,afterall,MilesandLucymustbefeelingexactlythesameterrorasus.

“Whyarewedoingthis?”Maddiesaidsuddenly.Igaveherasidewayslook.“Meetingtoday?Ormeetingthematall?”“Both. Any of it. Perhaps we should just have—I don’t know, politely

refusedtoengage.Perhapsthatwouldhavebeenthebestthingforeveryone,inthelongrun.”

“It’snottoolate.Wecouldmakeanexcuse—”Sheshookherhead.“Idon’treallymeanit.Andsorryforsnappingaboutthe

toy.I’mjustnervous,Isuppose.”“Aboutthemeeting?OrseeingTheo’scousin?”We’dagreednottousethe

wordsour son in front of Theo.He probablywouldn’t understand, but itwasbesttobecareful.

“Both.ButmainlyDavid.Ijustcan’thelpthinking—he’sour,ouroffspring.Icarriedhim.Andwehaveabsolutelynoideawhatsortofpersonheis.That’sjustcrazy,isn’tit?”

“Big car,”Theo said. I looked around.Hewaspointing at the four-wheel-driveBMWparkedintheLamberts’drive.

“Verybigcar,”Iagreed.“Butbigcarsaren’talwaysbetter.Theyputlotsofdirtintotheair,foronething.”

“Comeon,let’sdothis.”Maddiereacheddownandsqueezedmyhand,thenunbuckledherseatbelt.

—WHATDOYOUTAKEasagiftinthatsituation?We’doptedforflowersforLucy,

andwe’dletTheochooseasmallpacketofsweetsforDavid.He’ddecidedonchocolatebuttons.I’dmentallyrunthroughalltheobjectionsLucymightraise—somemotherswere funnyabout sweetsof anykind—but thesewereonly160calories, the chocolatewas Fairtrade, and,most important, I knew therewereexactlytenbuttonsineverybag,sotheywereeminentlyshareable.

We climbed the steps to the front door,which Theomanaged by himself;rangthebell—morecomplicatedthanitsounds:Itturnedouttheentryintercomwasbackby thegate into thedrive—and then thedooropened and therewasMiles,casualinapatternedshirt,chinos,anddeckshoeswithoutsocks.“Comein, come in, good to see you,” he said to me and Maddie, before eagerlycrouching down to Theo and putting his hand up, palm out, in the universalgesturethatmeans“highfive.”

“Heythere,Theo,”hesaidgently.Theo,forreasonsofhisown,chosetointerpretMiles’sflathandasatarget

tobepunched.“Bouff!”hesaidashehithim.Mileslaughedandstoodup.“Lucy’sthroughhere.”Heledustotherearofthehouse,intoaslate-flooredkitchenthesizeofour

entire ground floor. The blond woman I’d last seen outside the nursery wasstandingbyaredAga,makingtea.Onceagainshewasstylishlydressed,intightwhite jeansandashawlmadeofmohairorangora.“Hello!”shesaidbrightly,comingoverandkissingusbothonthecheek.Isensedshewasjustasnervousaswewere. “Oh, howkind.” She took the flowers and reached under the bigceramicsinkforavase.

“AndthisisDavid,”Milessaidbehindus.MaddieandIturnedasone.MileshadcarriedDavidinfromanadjoiningroom,sohewasatourheight.

Hewas smaller than Theo—a lot smaller—and in the flesh, you could tell atoncetherewassomethingfragileabouthim.Hisfairhairwasveryfine,andhis

featureswereelfin,almostgirlish,whichmadetheresemblancetoMaddieevenstronger.Helookedatusanxiously,alittledull-eyed,asifhe’djustwokenup.

“Hi,”Isaid,steppingforwardandshakinghislittlehandgentlybythewrist.“I’mPete.”

“AndI’mMaddie.”Maddiereachedtowardhimeagerlywithbothhands,asiftotakehim,andDavidshrankback.

“He’squiteashylittlechap,I’mafraid.”Milessquatteddown,stillholdingDavid, so David was in Theo’s eyeline. “We weren’t allowed to have otherchildren around at all until a couple of months ago—he’s still veryimmunosuppressed.You’re just about the first visitorswhoLucy hasn’tmadescrubtheirarmswithalcoholgel.”

“Theo,”Ibegan,meaningtoprompthimtosayhello,butTheohadalreadysteppedforward.Beingatnurseryhadmadehimconfidentwithotherchildren,andnowhehelduphishanddramatically,thrustingthebagofchocolatebuttonsatDavidforinspectionlikeapoliceman’sbadge.“Ho!”hesaidproudly.Davidstaredathim,uncomprehending.

“He’snotallowedchocolate,I’mafraid,”Lucysaid.“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said apologetically. “I thought, since it was a special

occasion…”“It’snotthat.Hecan’tdigestit.Hehasarefluxconditionthat’striggeredby

anykindof fat.Whenhegetsanattackhehas togostraightbackonoxygen,whichhehates.”

“I’ll take that, Theo,” I said quickly, plucking the bag from his hand. Herounded onme, his eyes expressing his outrage, but I’d already pocketed it. Iwas probably going tomake his own snatching problemworse by grabbing itlikethat,Ireflected,butitwasn’tthemomenttoworryaboutthat.“Whydon’tyouaskDavidtoshowyousomeofhistoys?”Iadded.

MilesgentlysetDaviddown.Hewasunsteadyonhis feet, teeteringwide-leggedlikeababy.Fromthebulkinessofhis trousers, itwasclearhewasstillwearingaregularnappyratherthanpull-upsorpants.

“Michaela?”Milescalled.“Yes,Mr.Lambert?”Agirlofabouttwentyappearedinthedoorway.She,

too,wasblond,althoughherhairhadblackshowingat theroots.ShesoundedEasternEuropean.

“CouldyoutakeDavid,andshowTheowheretofindsometoys?”“Ofcourse.Comewithme,Theo,they’reallinhere.”“What toysdoyou like,David?”Maddie askedgently asMichaelapicked

himup.Hedidn’treply,althoughhisheadturnedtowardhercuriously.WithastabofhorrorIrealizedhehadn’tunderstoodthequestion.

Hewasbrain-damaged.Itshouldn’thavecomeasasurprise—thepossibilityhadbeendrummedintous in theNICU,overandover.Butweekbyweek,asTheo had thrived and prematurity slowly lost its grip, we’d started takingnormalityforgranted.Forgettingjusthowluckywe’dbeen.

Orrather,howluckyTheohadbeen.Because—Inowrealized—thedoctorwho’dtoldMaddiehowpoorlyoursonwas,andhowhemightnotsurvivethatinitialepisodeofoxygenstarvationunscathed,hadbeenright.ThechildhehadbeentalkingaboutwasDavid,andhismindwasclearlyimpaired.

“David’s not very chatty,” Lucy said nervously. “He’s not nearly soadvancedasTheo.”

I looked at her, aghast.Was it possible she didn’t know?Orwas she justusing a euphemistic understatement for her son’s condition? The latter, Idecided.Itmustbe.Shewouldhavespentthelasttwoyearstalkingtodoctorsonanalmostdailybasis.

But then I remembered how, even in the NICU, the doctors had alwaysshruggedandsaid,Wejustcan’ttellthefuture.It’simpossibletomakealong-termprognosisuntilaroundthethirdbirthday.

Eitherway,Ireflected,thiswasgoingtomaketheconversationwe’dcomeheretohaveawholelotmoredifficult.

14MADDIE

LUCY POURS US ALL tea, and thenwe stand andwatch the children through thedoorwayoftheplayroom.Theydon’tplaytogether.Davidsitsonthefloorwitha baby gym, repetitively spinning the plastic animals around and around thepole,whileTheostompsaround,pullingthingsoffshelvesandinspectingthem.EventuallyMichaela findshimawooden train andhe settles down tomake itcrashintomountains thatheconstructsfrompilesofDuplo,whileshescurriesaroundpickingupthepieces.

I can’t stop looking atDavid.My son.When I’d first seen him inMiles’sarmsandreachedforhim,ithadn’tevenbeenaconsciousgesture.Andalthoughhe’dshrunkback,myhandshadbrieflymadecontactwithhisribs.Thememoryof that touch seems to linger in the endsofmy fingers, like the sting after anelectricshock.

IglanceatMilesandLucy.MilesiswatchingTheothesamewayI’vebeenlookingatDavid—devouringhimwithhiseyes,ahalfsmileplayingacrosshisfaceeverytimethetrainsmashesintotheDuplo.Lucy…Lucyishardertoread,hergazeflittingfromonechildtotheother.WhenshelooksatTheoshesmiles,amusedbyhisantics,butsheseemsanxious,too.AndwhenshelooksatDavid,there’ssomethingaltogetherdifferentinhereyes.Sadness,perhaps.

EventuallyMiles says, “Shallwe…?” andwe all turn back to the kitchen.PeteandIsitonhighstoolsononesideoftheenormousisland,withMilesandLucy on the other. It feels weirdly like a business meeting at some trendyproductioncompany.

“So,” Miles begins, “thank you for coming today. And please don’t feelthere’sanypressure fromus tomakeany long-termplansyet.As faraswe’reconcerned,we justwanted theboys tomeet, and forus adults to sayaproperhello.”He pushes the lock of black hair back out of his eyes. “The importantthingis,we’retalking.Initself,that’sagoodfirststep.”

Althoughheseemsdiffident,evennervous,itstrikesmehowgoodatthisheis. Charming without coming across as narcissistic, confident without beingarrogant.Good-looking, too, but in aboyish, engagingway that stops it beingthreatening. I can see how he might be worth the enormous salary he’spresumablypaid,inordertoaffordsuchaspectacularhouse.AndhehassomeofTheo’spent-upenergy,too.

Thesubtextofhiswordsis,That’senoughemotionforoneday.Let’sleaveitthere, shallwe?He’s thinking ofLucy, I suspect—she still seems very tense;

muchmoreso thansheeverdid twoyearsago in theNICU. I’venoticedhe’sveryprotectiveofher.Whentheywerehandingoutthetea,forexample,IsawhowhequietlycorrectedherwhensheforgotwhetherPeteorIwastheonewhotookmilk,butunderhisbreath,withoutmakingabigdealofit.

ForamomentIfeeldisappointed.WhenI’vegearedmyselfupforatrickyconversation,Ifinditfrustratingnottohaveit.ButMilesisprobablyright—nopointinrushingthings.

Petedoesn’treadthesituationthesameway,though,orperhapshe’ssimplysotensehecan’thelphimself.Heglancesatme,thenbackatMilesandLucy.“You’vehadlongerthanustothinkaboutthis,”hesaysbluntly.“Youmusthavesomeideawhatyouthinktherightcourseofactionis.”

There’salongsilence.MilesandLucydon’tlookateachother.“Ofcourse,ifyoudon’twanttosay…”headds.“No,it’snot—”Milesbegins,justasLucysays,“Well,tous—”Theybothstop.“Yougo,”Milessays,turningtoher.“Icouldn’tbeartolosehim,”Lucysaysinarush.Shelooksdirectlyatme,

mother-to-mother.“Itdoesn’treallymatterwhichofourwombstheycameoutof,doesit?It’sbeingtheonewhocaresforthemdayafterdaythatcounts.Andwhen they have problems, like David…well, some people say it makes youoverprotective. Perhaps that’s part of it.” She glances at her husband. “Itcertainlymakesthebondevenmorespecial.”

“Actually,darling,it’sPetewho’sTheo’smaincarer,”Milessaysquietly.“Well, then you both must know what I’m talking about.” She looks

defiantlyfrommetoPeteandback.“MilesandIwouldlovetobepartofTheo’slife.Wewouldloveforthetwoofthemtoseeeachotherasfamily.Asforthedetails,wehaven’tgottenthatfar.Butwecouldn’tbeartoswapthemback.Justcouldn’tbearit.”

“Wefeelexactlythesame,”Petesays.Helooksatme,andInodtoshowI’mrightbehindhim.“Bothofusdo.”

Lucyputsonehandtoherchest.“Oh,thankGod.IthoughtforamomentImightberuiningeverything,blurtingitoutlikethat—”

Milesputshishandonherknee.“Youdidverywell.”“We’vetalkedaboutit,too,”Petesays.HelowershisvoicesothatTheo,in

theplayroom,won’toverhear.“Weweretryingnottorushthedecision,justlikeyousaid,butwebothfeel—instinctively—thatit’stherightthingforTheoandDavid not to be ejected from their current families.Butwe absolutely secondwhat you said about the two of them being part of each other’s lives. Wewonderedifyou’dliketobeTheo’sgodparents,forexample.AndwecouldbeDavid’s.”

“That’sawonderfulidea,”Lucysays.“Although actually, David already has godparents,” Miles interjects

apologetically. “Billy Cortauld—the Saracens captain—and Lucy’s friendGemma.And I’mpretty sure theChurchofEnglanddoesn’t allowyou toaddmore after the christening. Lifelong commitment and all that. I can check,though…”He’stappinghisphonescreenashespeaks.“No,youcan’t.Sorrytobe thevoiceofpracticality.Butwe’dbehonored tobeTheo’s, ifyouhaven’tchosenanyyet.”

Pete nods. “Andwewere thinking about setting up regular playdates, andtellingTheothatDavid’shiscousin.Wedon’thavemuchinthewayoffamilyhere inLondon—Maddie’sareall inAustralia, andmineareupnorth.So thiscouldactuallybeablessing,oratleastasilverlining.It’sEastersoon—maybewecouldallspendthedaytogether.That’sjustanexample,obviously.Imean,it’sallgottobeworkedoutproperly,hasn’tit,butthepointis,wecansortthis.”

“Thatsoundswonderful,”Milessays.HelooksatLucy.“Lucy-loo?”“Absolutely.”Sheclaspsherhands.“Youknow,reallywe’resolucky.That

it’susandyou,Imean.Someoneelsemightnothaveseenitthesameway.”“Well,”Milessays.Helooksathiswatch.“Iknowit’searly,butIthinkthis

callsforaglassofsomethingspecial.”

—THE FEELING OF RELIEF in the room is palpable.As if bymutual agreement, the

discussionbreaksupnotlongafterward.PetemakesanadmiringcommentaboutthehouseandMilesoffershimaquicktour,whileLucyandIstaytowatchtheboys.

“CanIholdhim?”Ihearmyselfsay.“David?Ofcourse.”IreachdownandtakeDavidintomyarms.HefeelssoslightafterTheo—he

mustbeatleastthreepoundslighter,likepickingupadelicatelittlegirlinsteadof a chunky, well-built boy. Andwhile Theo, even on one of his quiet days,wouldwriggleandswinghislegsandprobablythrowhimselfbackwardovermyarm to seewhatwould happen,David sits quietly, nestled in the crookofmyelbow.Afteramomenthe turnshisheadandexaminesmesolemnly.Hiseyesare lighter thanmine, but even so there’s something in them that feels eerilyfamiliar. Involuntarily, I grin at him and bounce him gently on my arm. Hedoesn’tsmileback,butheholdsmygazepensively,neverlookingaway.

“Theyeach lookso likeoneparent,don’t they?”Lucycomments. “Theo’sjustlikeMiles,andDavid’ssolikeyou.”

“Yes.”Iglanceather.“Howdidyoufindout,bytheway?Whatmadeyou

firstthinkDavidmightnotbeyours?”“Oh.”Lucyreachesinsidethecollarofhershawlandfreesarowofpearls

that she rubs between her fingers a little nervously. “David’s problems havealwaysbeen a bit of amystery to the doctors.At onepoint, theywondered iftheremightbeadefectivegeneinvolved.Sotheytestedhimand,althoughtheydidn’t find anythingdirectly relevant, theydid find an autosomal recessive—ageneinheritedfrombothparents.Butitturnedoutneitherofuscarriedit.That’swhen it became apparent he couldn’t be ours.Miles spoke to an investigator,whoimmediatelyhomedinonthefactthatI’dgivenbirthinaprivatehospital.That was the weak link, he predicted—the transfer between there and St.Alexander’s.Evenso,ittookmonthstotrackyoudown.Thehospitalsrefusedtogiveoutanynames tobeginwith—trying tohidebehinddata-protection laws.ButIrememberedyourfirstnameandthatourboyswerebornonthesameday,soDonhadsomethingtoworkwith.”

“Petesaidyou’resuingthehospital.”Lucy nods. “It wasn’t really about themoney, though. It wasmore about

forcingthemtogiveupthenames.”“Soyou’lldropitnow?”Alittlereluctantly,IputDaviddownsohecanplay

withthebabygymagain.“I’mnotsure,”shesaysvaguely.“Milesstillthinkstheyshouldpayforwhat

they’vedone.Tostopthemfromlettingithappenagain,Isuppose,tosomebodyelse.Andevenifwedon’tabsolutelyneedthemoney, itmightcomeinusefulforyou.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“Didn’tPetetellyou?Mileshasinvitedhimtojointheaction.”Shegivesme

aquicksmile.“Ofcourse,weprobablywon’ttellthemwe’reallgettingonlikeahouseonfire.Becauseit isdistressing, isn’t it,howeverreasonablewe’reallbeing.Attheendoftheday,we’vebothlostourrealchildren.I’veshedsometearsoverthat,Icantellyou.”

—“THATWENTWELL,”PETEsayswhenwe’reinthecar.HewavestoMilesandLucy,

who’vecometothefrontdoortoseeusoff.“Yes.”Helooksatme,alertedbymyhesitanttone.“Whatdoyoumean?”I pull my coat around me. “I don’t know, exactly. But while you were

lookingaround,LucymentionedthatDavidhadbeentestedforadefectivegene.Thatwasthewordsheused—defective.I’mnotanexpert,butI thinkitmeansanymorechildrenwehavecouldbeatriskofbeinglikeDavidaswell.”

Pete’ssilentamoment.“Iguessweshouldgetourselvestested,too,then.”“Shealsotalkedaboutusallgettingrichfromthelawsuit.”“Iknow.Milesmentioneditwhenhecametoseeme.Thatdoesn’tfeelright,

though,doesit?Suingahospital,ifwe’rehappythewayweare.”“If it can help Theo’s future, maybe we should think about it. And who

knowswhatproblemsDavidwillhave lateron?Hemayneed round-the-clockcare.Wecan’treallygetintheirway.”

“Iguessnot.”Peteglancesatmeashepullsupforaredlight.“Youfoundithardbackthere,didn’tyou?”

“Yes,”Iadmit.“Not them,particularly—theyseemnice,andasLucysaid,we’reluckythatwe’reallsimilarpeoplewhothinkthesamewayaboutthis.Butjust now, walking out of there and leaving David behind…It felt like I wasabandoninghim.Ikeepthinkingofmyselfinhisposition,beingleftallaloneinastranger’shouse.”

“Butthey’renotstrangers.They’rehisparents.”“We’rehisparents.”“Youknowwhat Imean,”Pete saysgently. “They’re thepeoplehe loves.

It’sallgood,Mads.We’regoingtoseelotsofDavidashegrowsup,andthey’llseelotsofTheo.”

“Iknowthat’stherightthingtodo.ButIcan’thelphowIfeel.”Ilookoutthewindow. If I’mhonest, I’m findingPete’s insistence thatnotbeingTheo’sbiologicalparentmakesabsolutelynodifferenceabitfrustrating.NotbecauseIdisagreewith the principle—love iswhatmatters, and families aren’tmade inpeople’s tummiesbut in their hearts, et cetera et cetera.But there is a geneticpull aswell. It’s almost—I think disloyally—as if Pete actually relishes someaspectof thismix-up;orat least, thechance itgiveshim toprove that there’snothingatavisticorproprietaryabouthisdevotiontoTheo.He’sevenshownmeastudyhefoundontheinternet,provingthat,onbalance,adoptiveparentstakebettercareoftheirchildrenthannaturalparentsdo.

Iadd,“Backthere,whenIfirstsawDavidandrealizedtherewassomethingwrongwithhim,justforamoment,Ithought…”

“Thoughtwhat?”Pete’svoiceisstudiedlyneutral,whichishowIknowhe’dactuallythoughtexactlythesamething.

“Howluckyweare.We’veendedupwith…”Theo’sdriftingofftosleepinthe back, but even so I choose my words carefully. “Everything normal, andthey’ve got something much more challenging, haven’t they? You couldn’tblamethemif,rightnow,they’rethinkingthatthesituationisn’tveryfair.”

Petesnorts.“Idoubtthey’rethinkingthat.Afterall,they’retheoneswiththebighouse,thebrand-newBMW,andthelive-innanny.They’reexactlythesort

ofpeoplewhocantakeachildlikeDavidintheirstride.Andtheyclearlyadorehim.Weshouldjustthankourluckystarsweallseethingsthesameway.”

15PETE

ONTHEWAYHOMEIdidmybesttoreassureMaddie,repeatinghowfortunatewewerethatthishadhappenedtopeoplewithsuchsimilaroutlooks.

Anditwastrue—wewerelucky,incrediblyso.WecouldhavedonesomuchworsethanMilesandLucy.Butevenso,Icouldtellitwasn’tgoingtobeplainsailing.

When he showed me around, Miles took me down to the basement—hismanshed, as he jokingly called it. It was vast. The previous owners hadexcavated the original cellar right out under the garden. There was an air-conditionedwineroomdownthere,agym,evenasmallswimmingpool.

“Wow,”Isaid,whichseemedliketheonlypossiblereaction.“It’sall right, isn’t it?”Milesgazedaround.“But it’sonlymaterial things,

Pete.I’dgiveitallforDavidtobeabletowalkandtalkproperly.”“Isthereanychancehe’llcatchup?”He shrugged. “The doctors keep saying,Wait and see. Their best guess is

thathe’llbemildlyretarded.Buthewon’tbeplayingforthefirsteleven,putitthatway.”

Retarded. The word sounded so harsh. In the NICU they’d tended to useeuphemismslikechallengedordelayed.

“WewereluckywithTheo,”Isaid.“Heseemstobeprogressingprettywell.Ineverythingbuthisspeech,anyway.”

“Yes.”Mileshesitated.“Look,Iwasn’tplanningtomentionthistoday,butsincewe’reallgettingonsowell…WhenLucywaspregnantandwefoundoutitwas a boy, I put down a deposit formy old schools—Radley and theDragonSchool. I know it sounds ridiculous, but you need to get their names down atbirth to have the faintest chance of getting in these days. Both are out of thequestion forDavidnow,of course, givenhowcompetitive the entrance is. I’dliketoputtheplacesintoTheo’sname.He’sclearlybrightenough,andyoucantellhe’sgoingtobesporty.Ithinkhemightbenefitfromtheopportunity.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “That’s really kind, but I don’t thinkwe’d everconsidersendingTheotoaboardingschool.We’veactuallygotareallygoodCof E primary a few streets away. And we’ve started going to church.”Mileslookedpuzzled,so Iadded,“Youknow—Onyourknees tosave the fees?Theschool’smassivelyoversubscribed,butifyou’rearegularchurchgoer,thevicarcanallocateyouaplace.”

“Ah.”Milesnodded.“Well,you’veclearlygotitallundercontrol.Boarding

and so on can seem a bit antiquated now, can’t it? But look, Imight aswellchange the places to Theo’s name anyway, and they’ll be there if you everchangeyourmind.Youneverknow,hemightturnouttobeaHarryPotterfan,andactuallyquiteliketheideaofgoingaway.”

Ididn’ttellMaddieanyofthisinthecar.Ithoughtitwasbesttoemphasizethepositives.Isupposethat’ssomethingI’vedoneforhereversincetheNICU—being strong for her. People look at her and see someonewho’s incrediblycapableandtough.Theydon’tknowaboutthestrugglesshehadduringthefirstyearofTheo’s life,particularlyafter Idid thatcharity ride. If I’mhonest, thatwasoneofthereasonsIendedupbecomingTheo’smaincarer.GettingbacktoworkwasallpartofMaddie’srecovery,andonlyIknowhowfragileshestillis.

16MADDIE

FORTHEFIRSTFOURmonthsafterTheo’sbirth,Iheldthingstogether.Myparentsflew over from Australia to see us. The flights had originally been bookedaroundmyduedates,ofcourse,and the ticketsweren’t transferable.Althoughthey’doffered tobuynewones and comewhenTheowas in theNICU, therehadn’tseemedmuchpoint.Whentheydidcome,ofcoursetheywantedtomeetTheo—but there’sonly so longevenadotinggrandfather can sitwith a smallbaby,letalonearestlessgrandfatherlikeJackWilson,andtheywantedtotourthesightsofLondonaswell,whichkeptusallbusy.At least theystayed inahotel,soonlyPetecouldseehowsleep-deprivedandstressedIwasbecoming.TimeaftertimeIfeltmyselfgettingangrywithhimfornoreason,andalthoughI’d been signed off for sex by my GP six weeks after the birth, there wasabsolutelynochancethatwasgoingtohappen.Ididn’teventellPetethedoctorhadsaiditwouldbeallright.Isuspecthegoogledthetimings,though,becauseone nightwhen Theowas about threemonths old he tried to cuddleme. ButwhenIwentrigid,hestopped.

“It’sallright.There’snorush,”hesaidgently.“Toorightthere’snofuckingrush,”Isnapped.Justforaninstant,himtelling

me what was and wasn’t all right about my own body seemed like the mostpresumptuous,patronizingthingever.

Hepeeredatmebythelightofthebedsideclock.“Mads?What’sup?Ionlymeant,it’snotaproblem.”

But itwas aproblem, Iknew—forme,nothim.Sexmeantchildbirth, andpeopleshoutingNowandslicingmybellyopenwithascalpel.Sexmeantsmall,monkeylike babies being fed with nasogastric tubes in the NICU. Sex meantexposingmyC-sectionscar,andalltheotherscarsthatweren’tvisibleaswell.Sex meant adrenaline flooding my veins, and a feeling of nameless dreadclenchingmyinsides.

ButIdidn’ttellhimanyofthat,becauseIdidn’twanttotalkaboutit.

—“I’M THINKING OF DOINGabike ride for theNICU,”Pete said, not long aftermy

parentshadflownback.“Awhat?”“There’saFacebookgroup—DadsBehindtheNICU.Theideaisthatwe’ll

allraisefundsfortheappeal.”

I didn’t even know the NICUwas having an appeal. “Why do they needfunds?St.Alexander’sispartoftheNHS.”

“Yes,but theyhavea separatecharity fornonessentials—thebits theNHScan’t pay for. The main one is, they want to buy a flat near the hospital forparents to stay inwhile their babies are in the unit.Bronagh and some of theother nurses did a sponsored fun run, but they’re still thirty thousand poundsshort.”

Ilookedathim,surprised.“AreyoustillintouchwithBronagh?”“Well, we’re both members of the fundraising group.” He saw my

expression.“It’saFacebookpage,Mads,”hesaidpatiently.“It’snotlikewe’remeetingupforcoffee.”

“Ihadn’trealizedyoumissedyournursiegroupiessomuch.”EvenasIsaidit,Iwonderedatthevenominmyvoice.Whatwashappeningtome?

“Anyway, the dads are thinking of cycling all theway fromEdinburgh toLondon,” Pete went on after a moment. “It’s an opportunity to show ourappreciation to thehospital forsavingourkids,anddosomethingpractical forthematthesametime.”

Putlikethat,howcouldIrefuse?“Whataboutwork?I thoughtyou’dusedupallyourholiday.”

“They’ve offered to convert the time we spent in the hospital tocompassionateleave.They’rerightbehindthis.Theeditor’salreadypledgedtwohundredquid, soeveryoneelseshouldchip inat least twenty. I’vebeendoingsomecalculationsandIreckonIcouldraiseoveragrand.”

“Well,thatsoundslikeit’ssorted,then,”Isaidbitterly.Whichwasstupidofme,Iknew.Icouldfeelmyselfturningintooneofthosepeoplewhoseizeanyopportunitytomakeabarbedremark,evenwhenitmeantforgoingthechancetotellmypartnerwhatIreallyfelt.

So insteadof Idon’t think Icancopewithoutyou, I just said,“SendmeapostcardfromScotland,won’tyou?”

—PETETHREWHIMSELF INTOpreparingfor theride.Heassembledabikefromparts

he hunted down on eBay. He and the other dads met up for several practicerides,allofwhichseemedtoendwiththeminthepub,slappingoneanotheronthe back and telling one another howmuch their calfmuscles ached and howheroictheywere.

Iwas jealous. Ididn’thaveagroup like that,oranygroupfor thatmatter.TheprenatalclassesI’dbookedstartedthreemonthsbeforemyduedate,soofcourseI’dmissedthose.Therewasasupportgroupformothersofpreemies,run

bypeoplewho’dbeenthroughitthemselves,butIwasstillburyingmyheadinthe sand and the thought of getting together with other NICU veterans andendlessly rehashing the experience repelledme. Iwasn’t dwelling on the pastlike them! I was looking forward! Before Theo, my social life had revolvedaroundmyjob—thehardworking,hard-partyingworldofadvertising.Goingonshootsmeantlonghoursonlocation,oftenabroad—itwasn’tunusualforthecalltimetobefiveA.M.orevenearlier,butIalwayshadenoughenergyfordrinksinthe hotel bar at the end of the day, and thewrap parties after the last day offilmingwere legendary. I’dmade somedeep, even intense friendships, but nooneinthatworldreallyhadtimeforachatoracoffeewithanewmum—theymightsaytheydid,andschedulesomething,buttherewasalwayssomecrisisorother thatmeant ithad tobepostponed.Anditwasan ironruleofadvertisingthata lunchorcoffee rescheduledmore thanoncewasnevergoing tohappen.Afterthat,itmadeyoulookdesperatetopursueit.Peoplesaidittookavillagetoraiseachild,butIdidn’tevenhaveacul-de-sac.

PetesetagoaloftwelvehundredpoundsonJustGivingandstartedemailingcolleagues.Withinaweekhe’dreachedtwothousandpounds.Hereadmesomeofthecommentspeopleleftwiththeirdonations,andeverysooftenhe’dhavetostop.“KeepgoingPeteandMaddieandlittleTheo,we’reallthinkingofyou,”“You’llcomethroughthisstrongerthanever,”orevenjust“Suchagreatthingyou’redoing,”allreducedhimtotears,oratleasttomanlysilence.IthadbeenoneofthethingsI’dfirstlikedabouthim—thathewasn’tafraidtocryinfrontofme—butsinceTheo’sbirth,hisemotionsseemedtohavebecomeagushingtap,whileminehadgoneintheotherdirection.

WhenI looked through thedonations later, Inoticed therewasapledgeoftenpoundsfromBronagh.Stilldoing thegreatworkIseePete! she’dwritten.Hehadn’treadthatoneout.

Sometimes,feedingTheointhemiddleofthenight,I’dSkypemyparents.ItwasstrangetoseethemhavinglunchonthesunterracewhileIwasshutupinadarkbedroominLondon,thestreetlightsturningthecurtainssicklyyellow.Ononeoccasion,IputTheodowninhiscotbeforeIcalledthem,onlyforhimtostartwailingafewminuteslater.“Hangon,”Isaidtomymotherwearily.“I’lljustgoandgethim.”

ThenIheardmyfather’svoice,offcamera.“She’sspoiling thatbaby.Tellher,Carol.Youhavetoletthemcry,ortheyneverlearnnotto.”

Iwaited for her to say something, to explain that itwasn’t like that thesedays,butshedidn’t.IstoppedSkypingthemafterthat.

Iwasgettinghardlyany sleep. “Sleepwhen thebaby sleeps,”people said.ButwhatifIcouldn’tsleep?IfeltcompelledtobeTheo’smonitor,tocheckon

himeveryfewminutes.WhenIlaydown,mybrainraced;whenIgotup,thefogdescendedagainandIcouldbarelyfunction.

Pete left for Scotland at the end of July. It was a cool, settled summer—perfect cycling weather. And although cycling from Edinburgh to Londonsoundedarduous,Iknewitwasn’t,notreally.Theroutefollowedcar-freecyclepathsandoldrailwaylinesmostof theway,andthegrouphadacoachwithatrailer thatmet them every afternoon and took them and the bikes to a hotel.Theywereplanningtocycleaboutfivehoursaday,witheveryfourthdayoff.Ididn’tblamethemformakingitaspleasantaspossible,butIdidgetannoyedbytheendless self-congratulatoryupdatesonsocialmedia.Afterall, ifyoucouldstop to take agroup selfiewith awholegangofothergrinningyoungmen incycle helmets and Lycra every time you came to a nice view, you weren’texactly doing theTour de France. So pretty soon I stopped attending towhattheywereuptoandretreatedintomyownprivatehell.

I felt as though I had to be doing something every moment. Sterilizingbottles.Washingbabygrows.Cleaningthehouse.Checkingthebaby.DidIturnon the sterilizer?Did I turn off thewashingmachine?WasTheo breathing? Iwasshakingandfightingnausea,acaptiveanimalpacingupanddown,fullofunfocused dread.Without Pete, there was no one to makeme eat, no one tointerruptmyinnermonologue.Thestreamofthoughtsinmyheadgotlouderandshoutier. What had begun as my own internal voice became an intrusive,deafeningauthorityfigure.Ievengaveitaname:thedoctor.Whatifyouletthebabygetdirty?thedoctoryelledatme.Whatifyouletthebabysuffocate?Whatifyoudropthebabyonthefloorandsmashopenhishead?IwastooafraidtogoforwalksincaseacarhitTheo’sstroller.Ibecameobsessedwithwatchinghim,but Istopped touchinghimincaseIdidsomethingbad tohim.Myheartraced constantly and I was short of breath. When the health visitor came, IdemandedtoknowifshethoughtTheo’seyeswerecrossed,andifso,whetherthatmeant he had brain damage. She looked atme strangely and I heard herthoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken themout loud.Thiswoman isauselessmother.Afterthat,thehealthvisitorjoinedthedoctorsinthechorusofvoicesallshoutingatmethatIwasdoingaterriblejob.

Andthat’swhenthedoctorsstartedspyingonme.Later, thepsychiatristspenta lotof timetryingtounpickwhetherI’dbeen

experiencing actual hallucinations, or simply delusions. It mattered for thetreatment,apparently.HadIactuallyseenthedoctorsontheTVorthescreenofmyphone, tellingme,Notlike that,you’redoingitallwrong,orhadImerelybelievedtheywereinthere?Both,Idecided.WhyelsewouldIhavehurledoneofTheo’sfullnappiesattheTVtoshutitup?WhyelsewouldIhaveflungmy

iPhoneatthewall?Inanycase,itwasareliefnottohavetoworryaboutPete’sincreasinglyconcernedtexts—Ustillangrywithme?Plscall—butthenthebitsfrom the broken phone must have gotten inside the wall because the doctorsstartedusingitasabigscreentoprojecttheirmessagesoninstead.IworkedoutthatifIturnedthemicrowaveontothemaximumsetting,theradiowavesspunout by the revolving turntable would block the messages and give me somerelief,andtheydid.

AndthenPetecameback.He’dabandonedtheride inYorkandboardeda train toLondon.Hefound

me curled up on the kitchen floor, lying on sheets of tinfoil to protectmyselffromthedoctors’messages.Theowasonhisbackafewfeetaway,nappyless.Nearby, I’d lined up twenty full bottles ofmilk, ready to feed himwith. Theradiowasontodrownthesoundofhiscrying,andI’dhookedupacalculatortothemicrowavesoIcouldmonitorhisvitalsigns.

—WHATHAPPENEDAFTERTHAT isfuzzy.Itdidn’t takePetelongtorealizehehadto

call an ambulance, and the paramedics arranged an emergency mental healthassessment. Iwasadmitted toapsychiatricwardandgivenantipsychoticsandmood stabilizers. There were no spaces in a mother-and-baby unit, so PetelookedafterTheountil Iwaswellenough tocomehome. It took threeweeks,andeventhentheyonlyletmeoutwhenIagreedtojointhesupportgroupI’dspurnedbeforeanddoacourseofcognitivetherapy.WhenIgothome,tiredbutcalmagain, I found thehouse fullof flowersandabannerover the frontdoorthatreadWELCOMEHOMEMUMMY.Petehadtidiedandcleaned—hetoldmelaterithadtakentwobottlesofbleachtogetridofthesmellofthesoilednappiesI’dbeenstoringunderbedsandsofasincasethedoctorsneededtoexaminethem—andevenboughtTheoabiggersetofbabygrows.WhenIliftedhimfromPete’sarmsintomine,hesmelledoffabricconditionerandwarmmilkandlove.

“I’msorryaboutthebikeride,”Petesaidsoftly.Ishookmyhead.“Don’tbe.Besides,howcouldyouhaveknownwhatwas

wrongwithme?Even thehealthvisitordidn’t realize.” I lookedaround.“Thisplacelooksgreat.”

“We’vebeenhavingagood time.”Pete strokedTheo’s cheek,nowplumpandfulllikeababy’sshouldbe.“Thoughhe’smissedhismummy,ofcourse,”headdedquickly.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me now, Pete. I left Horrible AngryMaddiebackinthepsychward.”

Henodded.“I’vearrangedtoworkfromhomeforawhile,evenso.”

“Won’t Karen mind?” Karen was his editor, a woman Pete professed toadmirebutwhoIalwaysthoughtsoundedpetulantandpassive-aggressivewhenPetedescribedtheirinteractions.

“She’s really supportive. It’ll mean doing more roundups, but…” Peteshrugged. As newspaper budgets were cut, lists—as opposed to actualassignments—were taking upmore andmore of the travel section. Therewaseven aweekly feature:TwelveTraveltastic…In the past fewmonths, Pete hadcompiled “Twelve Traveltastic Beaches,” “Twelve Traveltastic ChristmasMarkets,” “TwelveTraveltasticTapasBars,” and “TwelveTraveltasticTuscanVillas.”Therewasno actual travel involved, of course—the recommendationswere sourced entirely from the internet, reviews from TripAdvisor lightlydisguisedwiththewordexpect,asin“Expectpale-creamroomsandapoolsidebarbecue,”tocoverthefactthatthejournalisthadn’tactuallybeenthere.Itwasdispiriting,mechanicalwork,andthefactthatPetewasvolunteeringtodomoreofitinordertospendmoretimewithmeandourbabyfilledmewithgratitude.

“SaintPeter.Bronaghwasright.I’msoluckytohaveyou.”“I’mtheluckyone,Mads.I’vegotyouandTheo.”HestrokedTheo’shead,

then glanced at me. “One of the dads who organized the ride—Greg—isn’tgoingbacktowork.He’splanningonbeingastay-at-homedad.”

“That’sbrave.”“Funnilyenough,hesayseveryoneusesthatword.Hesaidtomewhenwe

were cycling, ‘What’s brave about it?No one calls awoman bravewhen shestopswork.’ ”Petepaused.“HeandKateareinasimilarpositiontous,actually.Sheearnsmorethanhedoes.”

I frowned. “I’d always assumedwe’dbothhave towork.Themortgage isprettysteep.”

“Well…Idid a few rough calculations, and it’s not impossible.”He addedquickly,“Butlook,nowisn’tthetimetogointoallthat.Ijustthoughtitwasaninterestingidea,that’sall.”

17Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit14C:emailfromMilesLamberttoPeterRiley.DearPeteandMaddie,LucyandIjustwantedtosaywhatapleasureitwasmeetingyouthismorning—andofcourse,

Theotoo.Tobehonest,we’dbeensomewhatapprehensiveaboutwhatsortoffamilyourbirthsonwouldturnouttobelivingwith.IthinkwecansayforsurethatbothTheoandourselveshavebeenincrediblyfortunate.Wereallyfeelwehaven’tlostasonbutgainedsomenewfriends.

WeweredeeplytouchedbyyoursuggestionthatwebecomeTheo’sgodparents.That’sadefiniteyesfromus,ifyou’resure.

AndPete,Imeanttosay—let’sgooutforabeersometime.MaybethisWednesdayafterwork?IthinkLucyisgoingtogetintouchwithMaddie,too.

Verybest,Miles

18PETE

THEEMAILFROMMILESwaswaitingnexttimeIcheckedmyinbox.IthadbeensentattwoP.M.,justacoupleofhoursafterwe’dleftthem.

“He’skeen,”MaddiecommentedwhenIshowedher.“ShouldI?Goforabeerwithhim,Imean?”“Whynot?Youalwayssayyoumissgoingoutwithyourmatesafterwork.

AndWednesday evening’s a good time—I can be back by six, so youwon’tneedasitter.”

—NEXTMORNING,WEHADaSkypecallbookedwithMaddie’sparents.Wewereboth

slightlyapprehensive—herfatherisabigcharacter,andtherelationshipbetweenhimandMaddie isdefinitelyacomplicatedone.Theyused toclashwhenshewas a teenager—she was impulsive and headstrong, he was authoritarian anddomineering—but she talks about him a lot and he’s very important to her. IsometimeswonderifpartofmyownappealforheristhatI’maboutasfarawayfromhimasshecouldpossiblyget,bothgeographicallyandpersonally.

The call started well. Theo was in good form, taking Maddie’s iPad andproudlyshowinghisgrandparentsatowerhe’dmadefromDuplo.Thenheusedbothfeettokickitallapart.

“Pow!Pow!Pickup,Mika!”hetoldthem.Jacklaughed.“Who’sMika?”“He means Michaela. She’s the nanny for some people we visited

yesterday.”Itookadeepbreath.“Jack,Carol,there’ssomethingweneedtotellyou.JusthangonaminutewhileItaketheiPadupstairs.”OurbedroomwastheonlyplaceinthehousewhereTheowouldn’toverhear,althoughunfortunatelyitmeantIwasnowgoingtohavetobreakthenewstothemonmyown.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked. I didn’t reply until I was safely out ofTheo’s hearing. Then I explained. They didn’t say much, just the occasional“Jesus!”and“Bloodyhell!”fromJack.WhenIgottothebitwherewe’dagreedwiththeLambertsthatweweren’tgoingtoswapback,hewasincredulous.

“What?Butthey’vegotyourbloodyson!”“Yes.Justaswe’vegottheirs.”“Well, if itwas one ofmy children, Iwouldn’t be happy,” Jack saidwith

finality.“Carol,whatdoyouthink?”“Of course we’re not happy,” I said patiently. “We’re really shocked and

upset.Butwhatothersolutionisthere?GiveTheoaway?”“Iguessnot,”Carolbegan,justasJacksaid,“Atthatage,they’dgetoverit

innotime.”“Idon’tthinkthat’strue,”Isaidcoldly.“Haveyouspokentoachildpsychologist?”“No,”Iadmitted.“Whataboutalawyer?”“TheLambertshavespoken toa lawyer.But that’sbecause they’re talking

aboutsuingthehospital—”“Bloodyrighttheyare.”“Wejustthinkthattheproperwaytodealwiththisisthroughdialogueand

compromise,”Isaid.Thewordssomehowcameoutsoundingwrong—priggishandpompousinsteadofreasonableandconsidered.Itriedadifferenttack.“Youalways say,once lawyersget involved in adeal, everythinggoes to shit.Whywouldthisbeanydifferent?”

“Alawyer’salreadyinvolved,”Jacksaiddarkly.“Justnotyours.”Carol started to say something,buthecutheroff. “So tellme,Pete.What

exactlyhaveyoudone,sincebeinghandedthisDNAtestsupposedlyconfirmingthatourgrandson,ourrealgrandson,islivingwithanotherfamily?”

“We’vebeentomeetthem.Andwe’vetalked.Alot.”“Jesus,”Jackmutteredunderhisbreath.“CouldwespeaktoMaddie?”Carolasked.“Ofcourse,”Isaid,resistingtheurgetosigh.Iwentdownstairsandhanded

the iPad back to Maddie, rolling my eyes to indicate that my part of theconversationhadn’tgonewell.

“HiMum,hiDad,”shesaidbrightly.“Justletmeswapplaces.”Shewentupstairsandshut thebedroomdoor—Isuspectasmuch toshield

mefromwhateverherfatherwasabouttosayastostopTheooverhearing.It was fully ten minutes before she came down again. By then Theo had

movedontocrashingengines togetheronhis train track.“Itwasn’t toobadintheend,”shesaidinresponsetomylook.“Ithinktheywerejustabitshocked.”

“Shockedathowwe’redealingwithit,youmean.”“I think they just thoughtwe’re taking it inour strideabit toomuch.”By

which she meant this had simply confirmed her dad’s view that I’m a lazy,unambitious loser.“Funnilyenough, theycamearoundmorewhen Iexplainedabout…”Shelookedatme,notwantingtoputherthoughtintowords,andagainIwasn’t sure if thatwasbecauseofTheoorme.“WhenIexplainedabout theotherchild,”shesaideventually.

Istaredather, incredulous.“YoumeanJackWilsonisnowhappybecause

hethinkswegotthebetterdeal?Thatinsomewaywe’vewon?”“Hecan’thelpbeingthewayheis,”shesaidquietly.AndIdidn’tsayanything,becausepartoftheunspokencontractbetweenus

isthatIdon’tcriticizeherfather,eventhoughshedoesandheusuallydeservesit.

“Hewantstosendusmoneyforalawyer,”sheadded.“Andapsychologist,ifwewantone.”

“Idon’twantapsychologist.Iknowwhat’sbestformyson.”Thewordslippedoutwithoutmyevenbeingawareofit.Itwasonlywhen

Maddie didn’t reply that I realized what I’d said. “He is our son,” I saidpatiently.“Wecan’tspendtherestofourlivesavoidingthatword.”

Shenodded.“ThemostI’mpreparedtodoisconsidersuingthatprivatehospital,”Isaid.

“Assumingitistheirfault,ofcourse.I’lltalktoMilesaboutitwhenIseehimonWednesday.”

19MADDIE

MYDAD’S ANTIPATHY TOWARDPetestartedafter Igotpregnant.Back inAustralia,they’d actually gotten on quitewell—mainly because Pete, beingBritish,wasnaturallypoliteanddeferential,whichDadalwaysliked.EvenwhenIfollowedPete to London it was simply, in Dad’s words, “Madelyn traveling”—like aslightly delayed version of the gap yearsmanyAustralians still take,workingtheirwayaroundEurope.

Whenhefoundoutwewerebuyingahousetogether—somethingIrealizedafterwardIhadn’ttoldhimaboutuntilitwasactuallyhappening—andthatthiswas it,weweremakinga life in adistant country,hewasbaffledasmuchashurt.Whowasthisquiet,reservedpomI’dchosentospendmylifewith?Whatmadehimsodifferentfromalltheotheryoungmenwho’ddriftedinandoutofmylife?

IfI’mhonest,thefactPeteandIhaven’tgottenmarriedisakindofsoptomy dad, a balancing of the books. While we’re just living together, he canchoosetobelievethere’sachanceI’llchangemymind.Besides,he’sthekindofmanwho’dlikehisfutureson-in-lawtoaskhispermission,andPetewouldthinkthatwasaridiculouslyold-fashionedthingtodo.

Andperhaps,deepdown,it’sevenmorecomplicatedthanthat.JackWilsonisalsothekindofmanwho’dloveto throwthebiggestweddingAdelaidehaseverseen,tomakethemostmemorablespeech,towalkhisdaughterdowntheaisle with a ramrod-straight back and a tear glistening in his eye. So by notgettingmarried,IknowI’mtellinghimthatIdon’tcareaboutanyofthat,and,byextension,thatI’mnothisadoringlittledaddy’sgirlanymore.

When I phonedhome to tell him Iwaspregnant, he said jokingly, “Bettercomebackandtietheknotquick,girl,beforetheywon’tletyouonthebloodyplane.” That waswhen I told himwewouldn’t be doing that, not ever. Pete,overhearing,lookedabitsurprised.Butneitherhasheevergottendownononekneeandproposed.

AftertheNICU,whenIgotill,DadblamedPete.Itwasirrationalandwrong—Petecouldn’thavebeenmoresupportive,and,withtheexceptionofthebikeride, hewas there forme andTheo every possibleminute.After all, fourteenfatherswentonthatride,andonlyoneofthemcamebacktoapartnerwhowashavingabreakdown.ButDadhadgottenitintohisheadthatitwasthestrainofbeinganewmother thathadpushedmeover theedge,and thatnarrativeonlyworkedifPetewasalazy,unhelpfulparent.

Somehow,thenarrativemanagedtosurvivePetebecomingTheo’sfull-timecarer aswell. Pete and I had been talking about it off and on throughoutmymaternity—doingthesums,wonderinghowitmightwork.Ittookmeacoupleof months to fully recover from my psychosis, and even then, I stayed on amaintenancedoseofantidepressants.Meanwhile,Petedidthebulkofthecaringwheneverhecould—itseemedtocomeeasilytohim,whileIhadtoadmitthat,muchasInowlovedTheo,Ijustwasn’tasnaturallymaternalorpatientassomeotherwomen.I’vealwaysbeenabitofanadrenalinejunkie.Asateenager,myfirst love was my horse, Peach: We used to go around Australia together,competingatthree-dayevents.It’spartlywhyI’mgoodatahigh-pressurejob,Ithink:At some level, I actually enjoy the constant crises, if only because I’venoticed that I’m usually calmer andmore clearheaded in those situations thanothersare.ButtheflipsideisthatIfoundthequiet,placidrhythmsoffirst-yearmotherhoodmind-numbinglydull,andapartofmecouldn’twaittogetbacktomydesk.Ofcourse,thatwasverydifferentfromthinkingPetewoulddoit—I’dassumed that, like most couples we knew, we’d use a childminder or nannyshareuntilTheowasoldenoughtogotonursery.IfI’mhonest,IwassometimessurprisedthatPeteenjoyedparentingquiteasmuchashedid.Helovednothingbetter than to get home fromwork and start looking afterTheo,while formypart,Icouldn’twaittohandhimoverandpourmyselfaglassofwine.

Perhaps the most serious conversation we had about it was when hisnewspaperputoutacallforvoluntaryredundancies.Hecouldgofreelance,Petepointed out: With fewer staff, the paper would probably end up using moreoutsideresourcesanyway,andthekindofstuffhewasdoingbythen—hismostrecent piece had been “Twelve Traveltastic American Road Trips”—could bedonefromanywhere.Butwhenwecrunchedthenumbers,therewasnogettingawayfromthefactwe’dbepoor.So,alittlereluctantly,weconcludeditwasn’ttherighttime.

Andthenhelosthisjobanyway.Hardlyanyonehadputthemselvesforwardforredundancy,itturnedout—a

staff jobin journalismwasnowsorare,people tendedtoclingto theonetheyhad.And the cuts thepaperneeded tomakewere fardeeper than they’dbeenlettingon.Someoftheotherjournalists,Petetoldmelater,hadseenthecallforredundanciesasthewritingonthewallitwas,andhadaggressivelylobbiedtokeep their jobs,writing spurious but eye-catching stories thatmade them lookuseful or suckingup to seniormanagement.Petehadn’t done anyof that, andnow he seemed almost baffled that those were the journalists managementwanted to keep. The fact was—and this, I ruefully admitted to myself, waswheremydad’sassessmentofhimdidcontaina tinygrainof truth—Petewas

simplytoonicetosucceedinanenvironmentlikethat,whenbackswereagainstthewallandthefightingturneddirty.

Foracoupleofmonthsafterthat,bothofuswereathomewithTheowhilePete tried to pitch freelance articles. Itwas a good time, but scary.The paperwasn’tusingmorefreelancersafterall—quitethereverse:Thesamecost-cuttingdrive that had led to the redundancies resulted in a tough no-freelance policy;they were working the remaining writers twice as hard instead. With hisredundancypaymentdwindlingfast,Icouldn’taffordtotaketheunpaidpartofmymaternityleave,soIwentbacktoworkafterthirty-nineweeks.

ForTheo’sfirstbirthday,PetehatchedaplantogobacktotheNICU,takingTheoandabirthdaycake.Itwassomethingmanyoftheex-NICUfamiliesdid,hesaid:Itboostedthenurses’moraletoseethebabiesthey’dsaveddoingwell.Unfortunately, it clashed with a commercial I was producing with a famousfootballerinBarcelona—theagencywasn’tgivenanysayovertheschedule;thefootballer’s agent simply told us we had four hours on a certain day andexpectedus tomake itwork.Givemylove toyourIrishgroupie, I textedPetefrom the shoot, butwhereasonce Iwouldhave felt bitter andangryabout thewayheandthenursesgotonsowell,nowIjustfeltamused.

Andthat’swhenIhadmyfirstslipup.Afterfilmingweallwentoutforbeersandtapas,thenbacktothehotelbar.

Atsomepointtheattractive-but-wickedcameraassistantstartedflirtingwithme,which felt exhilarating and fun after so long being a milk machine and alaundererofbabygrows.Onenightcapledtoanother,andthenheleanedincloseand whispered his room number in my ear. “If you dare, that is,” he added,sittingbackagain.

Andsomehow,stupidly,Idid.Afterward, I felt wretched. But strangely, not guilty. It was more as if I

was…detached,thewayI’dbeenintheNICU.Thebrutaltruthwas,thesparkjusthadn’tbeentherewithPetesinceTheo’s

birth.Nice Pete, Saint Pete, the Petewho changed nappies andwarmed babyfoodandraisedfundsforcharity,justwasn’taturn-on.Ilovedhim,Ilovedmyfamily,butitwasn’tthatsortofloveanymore.Walkingdownthesilent,dim-lithotel corridor toward thecameraassistant’sdoorhad felt like Iwas seventeenagain,gallopingPeachatfullspeedtowardafenceIwasn’tsurewecouldclear.

But it was a one-off, I told myself. A stupid mistake. A reaction toeverything thathadhappened,fromtheshockofgettingpregnant to theNICUand thenmy illness. It was over and in the past and there was absolutely noreasontoconfessittoPetebecauseitwouldonlyhurthim.

SoIdidn’t.

20PETE

IMETUPWITHMilesinasportsbarclosetoMaryleboneStation.Itwasnexttothe headquarters of a French merchant bank, and the place was full of loudyoungmen inwell-cutsuits, talking inFrenchas theywatchedfootballon thebig screens.Miles paid them no attention, but he was clearly at ease in theircompany.

“Here,”hesaid,handingmeapintandraisinghisown.“Toparenthoodandfriendship.”

Ichinkedmyglassagainsthis.“Parenthoodandfriendship.”“AndIgotyouthis.”Hehandedmeashoppingbag.“Well,notstrictlyyou,I

suppose.”Insidewasaminiature rugbyball—nota toy,a realone. I took itout.The

maker’snamewasGilbert,whicheven Iknewwas theofficial supplier to theEnglandteam,anditwascoveredwithsignatures.

“The2003Englandsquad,”Milesexplained.“Bestsideweeverhad.”“That’sreallykindofyou,”Isaid,touched.Mileswavedawaymygratitude.“Youcan’tstarttooearly.Andmaybe…”“What?”“Maybe I could teachhimhow to throw it sometime? If thatwouldbe all

rightwithyouandMaddie,Imean.”“Of course. I spend most of the day with Theo. It’ll do him good to see

someoneelseonceinawhile.”“WhataboutSaturday?WecouldtakehimtoGladstonePark.”“Soundsgood,butI’dbettercheckwithMaddie.”“Shehandles yourdiary, does she?”Miles’s grin robbed thewordsof any

offense.“It’s just that she doesn’t get to spend much time with Theo during the

week,”Iexplained.Milespattedmyshoulder.“Don’tworry—Iknowwhatit’slike.LucyandI

arethesame.IjustturnupwhereandwhenI’mtold.Speakingofwhich…”Hepulledout his phone. “Youknowwe talked about spendingEaster together? IthoughtmaybewecouldgotoCornwall.Therearethesefantastichousesrightby the beach onTrevoseHead—you literally step out onto the dunes and thesea’sjustthereinfrontofyou.”Hewasflickingthroughphotoswithhisthumbashespoke.“Sand,rockpools—it’llbecold,butyoucangetlittlewetsuits,andsomethingtellsmeTheo’sthekindofkidwho’dlovetobuildasandcastleand

watchthewavescomeandknockitdown.Here,takealook.”Thehouseheshowedmewasmassive,withvastwindowsframingaviewof

picture-perfectCornishbeach.“Itlooksamazing,”Isaidenviously.“Great.I’llbookit.”HescrolleddowntoaBOOKNOWbutton.“Butagain,IshouldtalktoMaddie,”Isaidquickly.“Wemaynotbeableto

affordit.”Miles shook his head. “You don’t have to, Pete. My shout. And we can

alwayscancel.”Hetappedthebutton.“Ican’tletyoupayforeverything.”“Well,youwon’tneedtoafterthehospitalspayup.”Heputthephoneback

intohispocket.“Youreallythinktheywill?”“Of course. The last thing the NHS wants is anxious mothers starting to

panic about whether their baby really is their baby. They’ll make us sign anNDA to protect their reputation, and then they’ll write us a whopping greatcheck.”

“TheNHS?”Isaid,frowning.“Ithoughtitwastheotherhospitalyouweresuing.”

Miles shrugged. “Our lawyer thinks it’s better to sue both, from a tacticalpoint of view. After all, we can’t prove exactly where the mix-up happened.Bettertoletthemfightitoutbetweenthemselves.Andattheendoftheday,theNHShasdeeperpockets.”

“I’m not sure I’d be happy about suing the NHS. As a taxpayer-fundedservice,Imean,”Isaiduneasily.

Mileslookedatmefondlyoverthetopofhispint.“Youknowwhat,Pete?I’mcomingtorealizesomethingaboutyou,whichisthatyouareareallydecentbloke. Iadmire that.But Ialsoknowyou’ddoanything forTheo,amI right?And the way I look at it is, if I can make you and Maddie just a little bitwealthier, or at leastmore comfortably off, I’ll be doing something for Theo,too. As well as removing one of the biggest difficulties about this wholesituation.”

“Whichis?”“Well.” Miles had the grace to look awkward. “That it’s currently

somewhat…asymmetric.”“Asymmetric?”Iechoed.“Yes. To put it bluntly, we’ve got more money than you have. And

obviously,I’dhatetoseeTheobeingheldbackbecauseoflackoffunds.Withthepayoutinyourbankaccount,conversationsliketheonewehadtheotherdayaboutschoolsaregoingtobeawholeloteasier,amIright?”

“NotwantingTheotogotoboardingschoolisn’taboutmoney.”“Maybe not at the moment. But when you can afford the best education

money can buy, perhaps you’ll view things differently.All I’m saying is, it’llgiveyouoptions,andthatcan’tbeabadthing,canit?”

I felt wewere getting into dangerous territory. “Look, I’ll talk toMaddieabout litigation. But not schools. A boarding school is completely out of thequestion.”

Mileshelduphishand, theone thatwasn’twrappedaroundhisglass, inagestureofsurrender.“Ofcourse.Yourcallentirely,Pete.Soit’sayestosuing,butanotoHogwarts.Anotherpint?”

“Yes.Butthistimeit’smyround,”Isaidfirmly.

—THATONEDISAGREEMENTASIDE,wegotonsurprisinglywell,giventhedifferencein

ourbackgrounds.ThreepintsinIrealizedwe’dbettersteerclearofpolitics,afterImentionedVladimir Putin andMiles frowned. “Saywhat you like about theoligarchs, Pete, but at least they’ve put that country back together.” Mostly,though,we talked about our children.Miles never tired of quizzingme aboutTheo’s achievements—“Can he jump with both feet yet? Stand on one foot?What’shelikeonmonkeybars?”—althoughInoticedhewasfarmoreinterestedin physical milestones than social ones. It would have been awkward not toreciprocate about David, so rather than ask about his progress, which wouldinevitably have led to negative comparisons with Theo, I asked what he wasinterestedin.

“Oh,youknow,”Milessaid.“Movement.Topsandspinnersandthingslikethat.Poorlittlechap.”

“Right,”Isaid.Theredidn’tseemtobeanywheretogowiththat.“Youknow,theworstthingaboutitiswhatit’sdonetoLucy.”Miles’stone

wassuddenlyserious.“She’snotlikeyourMaddie.She’s…fragile.Andhavinga child likeDavid brings out her anxious side. It’smade her overprotective, Isuppose.”

Tobreak thesilence, I said,“Actually,Maddie isn’tas toughasshe looks.She reallysufferedafter theNICU. Iwon’tgo intodetailsbut…itwasn’teasyforher.Andallparentsareoverprotective,Ithink.IoncelostTheofortwentyminutes inSainsbury’s,anditwasoneof themost terrifyingthingsthat’severhappenedtome.Itturnedouthe’donlywanderedofftolookforcartoonsonthebackofcerealpackets,but…”Ishookmyhead.Iwasalittledrunknow,unableto articulate the full horror of that time, the sudden irrational fear that Theomighthavebeenabductedorhitbyacarinthecarpark.“Itwasvisceral.That

wasoneof the things thatmademe realize…It’snot aboutgenetics, is it? It’saboutwhoyoulove.”

“I’lldrinktothat.”Milesclinkedhisglassagainstmine.“ ‘Tolove.’ ”Webothdrank.“Thoughasocialscientistwouldprobablysaythisisquitean

interestingexperiment,”headded.“Howso?”“Youknow—natureversusnurture,allthatstuff.Willourchildrentakeafter

theirbiologicalparents,orwilltheybeshapedbytheirenvironments?Or,toputitanotherway,willTheoturnout tobeadriven,competitivelittlebuggerlikeme, or an all-around decent bloke like you?” He nodded. “You should writeaboutthat.It’dmakeaninterestingarticle.”

“Maybethey’llgetthebestofbothworlds,”Isaid.“Driveanddecency.”Miles laughed. “Exactly the answer I would have expected an all-around

decentbloketogive.Comeon,let’sgetanother.”

—ANDTHENTHEREWASamoment,halfwaythroughthefourthandlastpintof the

evening,when—ourtonguesloosenedbydrink—wewererelivingthedramaofourfirstmeeting.Itseemedalmostfunnynow,lookingback.

“Youknowwhat I thought,whenyoufirst toldmeTheowasyourson?”Idemanded.

Milesshookhishead.“Elucidateme,Pete.Whadidyathink,whenIfirsttoldyouTheowasmyson?”

“Just foramoment, I thoughtyoumeantyou’dshaggedMaddie.Thatyouand she…” I shookmy head in disbelief at how stupid I’d been. “So that’s asilverlining,anyway.”

“True,” Miles said sagely. “Silver lining for you, anyway. But I tell youwhat,Peteoldson.”Heswayed incloseandwhispered inmyear.“I.Totally.Would. She’s gorgeous. And ballsywith it. You are a lucky bastard, Pete. Avery luckybastard.”He stuckout his hand forme to shake. “Congratulations.Yougotthegirl.Yougotthekid.Welldone.”

21Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit15:ExtractsfromtheinternethistoryofPeterRiley.

SecretEscapes,retrieved23:12P.M.:TremerrionHouse,TrevoseHead,Cornwall:Thisstunningpropertyoffersuptotenguestsluxury

self-catering accommodation just a stone’s throw from the sea and the SouthWest Coastal Path. From£8,400pw(lowseason).Checkavailabilityhere.

WashingtonPost,retrieved23:18P.M.:MOTHEROFSWITCHEDBABYSUESFOR$31M

ThemotherofagirlswitchedatbirthwithanotherbabyissuingtheVirginiahospitalsheclaimsis responsible for $31million, to compensate her for the pain and suffering she says themix-upinflicted.Theother family involvedhasalreadyacceptedamultimillion-dollarsettlement fromthestate.

TheGuardian,retrieved00:14A.M.:“STAGGERING”RISEINNHSPAYOUTSBLAMEDONNO-

FEELAWYERSAtotalof£22.7billion—nearlyone-fifthofthehealthservice’sannualbudget—isbeingsetaside

eachyeartosettlecompensationclaims,newfigureshaverevealed.ExpertslastnightsaidthescaleoftheNHS’sliabilitieswas“staggering,”withEnglishdamages

nowamongthehighestintheworld.MPsandothercommentatorshaveblamedthecourts,sayingthat theUK’sbroaddefinitionsof

medical negligence andmalpractice, alongwith the rise of no-win no-fee legal firms, havemadelitigation“almostridiculouslyeasy.”

22MADDIE

I’MINBEDWHENPetestumblesinfromhisdrinkwithMiles.I’mnotasleep,butI’ve finishedmost of a bottle ofwinemyself and don’t feel like chatting, letalonecuddling,soIdon’tanswerwhenhewhispers,“Youawake,babe?”

Byhalfpastfive,Theo’swrigglingintoourbed.Webothtrytoignorehim,but there’sonly so longyoucan ignorebeinghitover theheadwithawoollyrabbit.EventuallyIgiveupandturnover.Luckily,PetesuccumbedjustbeforeIdid. Theo is now straddling his stomach as if riding a horse, impatientlybouncinghisbottomwheneverPetestopsjiggling.

“Howwaslastnight?”Isayblearily.“Itwasallright.”Petethinksforamoment.“Hebroughtupschoolsagain.”“Bloodyhell.Whatdidyousay?”“Averyfirmno.Ouff!Gently,Theo.”“Didhegetthemessagethistime?”Peteyawns.“Yes,actually.Tookitquitewell.That’s thethingabout these

Citytypes.Theydon’tgoinfornuance.Youhavetobeforcefulwiththem.”“Well,I’mgladyouwereforceful.”Pete gives me a look, unsure if I’m teasing. “We talked about suing St.

Alexander’s,too.”“Geeup,Daddeee,”Theocomplains.Reluctantly,Peteresumesbucking.“And?”“Maybeit’snotsuchabadidea.Quiteapartfromanythingelse,it’lllevelthe

playingfieldbetweenusandthem.Stopitbeingquitesoasymmetric.”Iconsider.“Well,it’llmakeDadhappy.Andhedidsayhe’dsendusmoney

foralawyer.”“Idon’tthinkwe’llneedit.ThesolicitorsMilesareusingareno-winno-fee.

Ifweusesomeonefromthesamefirm,hethinkstheycancoordinatetogetusboththebestpayout.”

Inod.I’veneversharedPete’squalmsaboutsuingahospitalanyway.LikemanyBrits,heseemstohavealove-haterelationshipwiththeNationalHealthService, both incredibly proud of it in principle and totally despairing andfrustrated by it in practice.Tome, it seemsno different from suing anyotherlargeorganizationthat’smadeamistake.ButIamabitsurprisedthatMileshasmanagedtogetPetetoovercomehisscruplessoquickly.

23Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibits16A–C:Emailsfrom(A)MilesLamberttoPeterRiley,(B)Peter

RileytoMilesLambert,and(C)MilesLamberttoPeterRiley.HeyPete,Great to seeyou last night.Bit of a soreheadon the7:03 thismorning (even skipped the run

beforehand)…Justdidaquicksearchforsportslessonsfortwo-year-oldsandcameacrossthese.Theylookace!www.rugbytots.co.ukwww.teddytennis.comMaybeworthcheckingout?Best,MilesHiMiles,Thanks for the links. To be honest we’re pretty snowed under right now, what withMonkey

Music,SwimStarz,andSmartyPilates,butI’lladdthemtothelistforwhenwehavetime!SpoketoMaddieaboutthelawsuit—we’rein.Whatdowedonext?Speaktoyourlawyer?Best,PetePete,I’llcallyou.M

24MADDIE

LATERTHATDAY, IgetaFacebookrequestfromLucy.I’mnotreallyintosocialmedia—IsometimesdipintoitasanalternativetoreadingbeforeIdriftoff tosleep,butonlyforafewminutes;Icertainlynevermanagetogettothebottomofmynewsfeed.ButIacceptLucy’srequestandspendafewminutesglancingthroughherpostsonmyphonewhileIeatasandwichatmydesk.

ThefirstthingInoticeisthatshehasonlythirty-eightfriends.Imightbealow-frequencyuser,butevensoI’vemanagedtocollectacoupleofhundred—contemporariesfromcollege,girlfriends,colleagues,neighbors,peopleI’vemetonshoots,evenafewclients.Itseemsincrediblethatanyonecouldhavesuchasmallsocialcircle.Shehasn’tpostedmuch,either—justphotographsofDavid,mostly. Lying on a mat in what looks like a specialist sensory room. In aphysiotherapy chair, with the comment, “Trying really hard!” On a breathingventilator—“Hopefully just a brief trip back to intensive care!” In a ball pool,immobileandalittleforlorn,staringatthecamerawithananxiousexpression.Witheachone,lookingathiselfinfeatures,IfeelanechoofthesamematernaltugIfeltwhenIheldhislight,slenderbodyinmyarms.Ithinkofthelasttimewe tookTheo to a ball pool, the exuberancewithwhich he’d flailed his legs,kickingthecoloredballsintoavolcanicblurbeforedecidingtohurlthemtwoatatimeatafair-hairedlittlegirlplayinginthefarcorner.We’dhadtowadeinandforciblyhaulhimout,histinybodywrithingandkickingsohardinprotestthathisshirtactuallycameawayinourhands,likepoddingabroadbean.

I scroll on through the feed, hungry for more images of David. Most ofLucy’spostsaren’tevenrealposts,justsharesoffunnyvideosthatalreadyhavemillionsofviews,warningsaboutscammers,orappealsforchildrenwithcancertobesentathousandChristmascards.ButfinallyIreachsomepicturesofDavidinhiscotathome,postedoverayearago.There’sanoxygentubeuphisnose—youcanjustseethecylinderunderthecot—andabundleofwiressnakingfromunderthesheetthatsuggeststhepresenceofamonitor.Helookssovulnerableand,yes,solikemethatsomethinginmyheartopenstohim.That’smybaby,Ithink with a sudden stab of longing. My firstborn. From inside my womb.Unexpectedly,IfindI’mblinkingbacktears,rightthereinouropen-planoffice.That’sthelittleboywhosebodymybodyfailed.Ifeelapangofanguishthatthisdelicate,fair-hairedcreaturewillneverburrowunderapileofcoloredballstheneruptthroughthemlikeajack-in-the-box,thewayTheodid.

AndevensadderthatI’llnevercuddlehiminhissleepanddrowsilyinhale

thescentofhishair,thewayIsometimesdowithTheo.IhovermyfingeroverthepostandpressLIKE.

—THATEVENINGISHOWPete.“TherebutforthegraceofGod.”Hestudiesthepicture.“Sweet,isn’the?”“Itmademecryatwork.”“Really?”Heseemssurprised.“You feel it, too,don’tyou?” Ipress.“Whenyou lookat thatpicture,you

mustfeelsorryforhim.”Petefrowns.“Iseeacutelittleboy,that’sall.”“Butdoyouthinktheylovehim?Reallylovehim,Imean,thewaywelove

Theo?Ordoyouthinkhis…”Ihesitate.“Hisproblemsmakeitdifferent?”“Mads,ofcoursetheylovehim,”Petesayspatiently.“Afterall,iftheswitch

hadneverhappenedandDavidwaspartofourfamily,we’dlovehim,wouldn’twe?WhyshouldtheLambertsbeanydifferent?Besides,youheardwhatLucysaid—sometimesthebondisevenstrongerwhentheyneedyoumore.”

“Hmm,”Isay.IwonderifPeteisbeingcompletelyhonestwithme,orifmyfeelingsaboutDavidareacanofwormshe’drathernotopen,incaseeverythinggetsfeminineandmessy.

AsItaketheiPadback,IseeI’vegotfourteennotifications.Lucyhasbeenthroughallmyposts,likingeveryphotoofTheoandaddingcomments—“Suchahandsomefellow,”“Soooooadorable.”IpictureherdoingthesamethingIdidearlier, eagerly scrolling throughmy Timeline, devouring every image of herbirthson.Iwonderif,likeme,theexperiencemadehercry.

25MADDIE

ONSATURDAY,THEOSWALLOWSsalt.We’re having a relaxing morning. Pete and Theo are downstairs making

pancakes—butterandlemonforPete,NutellaforTheo,vanillaandmaplesyrupwithextra-thickbatterforme,whatbackinAustralia theycallapikelet.FromwhatIcanhear,PetehashisworkcutoutpreventingTheofromdroppingeggsonthefloor,ormixingNutellaandmaplesyrupinsomecrazynewconcoction.Formypart,I’mlazinginbed,thinkinghowluckyIamtohaveadomesticgodforapartner,whenIhearPeteroar,“No!”

“What’sup?”Icall.“Jesus!”Petesays.IttakesalottomakehimswearinfrontofTheo,soIrun

down.Petehasthetubofcookingsalt inhishand.Theo,who’sclamberedontoa

chairandisnowsprawlingacrossthekitchentable,islookingbothpleasedwithhimselfandslightlyapprehensive.Inthemiddleofthetableisabigmoundofsaltandaspoon.

“Iturnedaroundandhewasjustgobblingitup,”Petesays.He’sgonewhite.“I’ll call 111,” I say, reaching formy phone. I get through to a recording

sayingthattheNHShelplineiscurrentlyexperiencinghighlevelsofdemand.Iringoff.“Perhapswe’dbettergototheemergencyroom.Justincase.”

“You’remeant tomake themdrinkwater.”While I’vebeenon thephone,Pete’sbeengoogling.“Thoughnooneseemsahundredpercentsure.Hangon.SomeoneonDadStuffmayknow.”

“I’mnotsureaninternetforumisthebestwaytodealwiththis.”ItakeTheoovertothesink,tryingnottosoundasalarmedasIfeel.“Okay,Theo.Thatstuffreallyisn’tgoodforyou,soIneedyoutodrinkaverybigglassofwater.”

I find a pint glass in the back of the cupboard and fill it to the brim. Hedrinksaboutathird—he’sclearlyverythirsty.

“I’llputsomeRibenainit,”Petesays.HeonlyletsTheohaveRibenaasanoccasionaltreat,sothisisalmostguaranteedtomakeTheodrinkmore.

IpressREDIALandgetthesamerecordedmessage.“It’s Saturday morning,” Pete points out. “If we’re lucky, the wait at the

emergencyroommightonlybeafewhours.”Welookateachother.Iknowexactlywhathe’sthinking.Twoyearsago,we

made thedecision to getmybumpcheckedout, just in case, and it savedourbaby’slife.

Iringoff.“Emergencyroomitis,then.”“Yuck,” Theo says helpfully, licking his lips and making a face. “More

’bena?”AsIdriveustothehospital,Ireflecthow,notlongago,somethinglikethis

wouldhavegivenmeflashbacks to theNICU,maybeevenapanicattack.Buttimeisagreathealer.Ithelps,ofcourse,thatPete’sprettysureTheodidn’teatmorethanafewspoonfuls.“Iliterallyturnedmybackonhimforaminute,”hesays,turningaroundtocheckonhim.

“Don’t beat yourself up.He’s a two-year-old.He probably thought it wassugar.”

Intheback,Theo’sgoneveryquiet.WhenIpullupoutsidetheemergencyroomandPeteliftshimoutofthecarseat,hethrowsup.

By the time I’ve found a parking space and joined them in the hospital,Theo’sfloppedinPete’sarms,lookingverypale,andPete’stalkingtoanurse.

“Don’tworry,”she’ssaying.“It’shardtodomuchdamageeatingsalt—it’sanemetic,soyoudid theright thingbygivinghimplentyofwaterandlettinghimgetitoutofhissystem.Youcanstaytoseeoneofthedoctorsifyouwant,buthe’llprobablyjustgoonbeingsickforanhourortwo.Givehimplentyoffluids andmake him comfortable.” Theo chooses that moment to lean out ofPete’s arms and throw up again, splattering vomit all over the shiny hospitalfloor.Petestartstoapologizeandthenurselaughs.

“There’ll be plenty more of that before the weekend’s over. I’ll call acleaner.Andfindyousomethingforhimtobesickin.”

Shebringsusacardboardbedpan.Theohasbynowgonehotandstickyanddoesn’twant to leavePete’s arms, so I sit beside them, holding it.He vomitsthreemoretimesbeforeheeventuallyperksup.

“Ithinkwecanprobablyriskthejourneyhomenow,”Petesays.Thenearestparkingspacewecanfindisastreetawayfromwherewelive,

so it’s onlywhenwe reach our house on foot,with Pete carrying a tired andfloppyTheo,thatweseeMilesandLucyoutsideourfrontdoor.Milesisholdingabackpack.

“Whatthehell?”IsaytoPeteundermybreath.“Don’taskme.”Hesoundsmystified.“Milesdidmentionsomethingabout

teachingTheotothrowarugbyball.Butwenevermadeafirmarrangement.”“Bugger.”Iplasterasmileacrossmyface.“Hithere!”“Hey, big man!” Miles says to Theo. “Hey Pete, Maddie. Lucy’s baked

cookies.”“Andbroughtyouabottleofwine,”Lucysaysanxiously.“Ihopeyoudon’t

mind us randomly turning up like this.We were just around the corner, and

David’swiththenanny,so…”“No,it’sgreattoseeyou!”Isaybrightly.“Thoughit’sluckyyoufoundus

in,actually.We’vejustbeentotheemergencyroom.”“Nothingdramatic,Ihope?”Mileslooksconcerned.“Only a bit of salt Theo swallowed.We’re all a bit hot and vomitty, I’m

afraid.”“Thenit’sabadtime,”Milessays,pickinguponmyhint.“We’llcomeback

anotherday.”Hereachesintohisbackpackandpullsoutafoamrugbyball.“I’llleave this with you. I bought it on the interweb—apparently they’re easier tocatchthanthoselittleleatherones.”

Theoimmediatelyreachesfortheball,perkingupasalwaysatthesightofanewtoy.Petesays,“Well,maybewecouldgiveitaquicktry.Thepark’sonlyjustaroundthecorner.”

“Shouldn’tTheobetakingiteasyforawhile?”Iaskpointedly.“Wewon’tbelong,”hesaysmildly.“Thenursesaidtostayquietforanhour

ortwo,afterall,andwe’rewellbeyondthat.Whatdoyousay,Theo?Quiettimeorpark?”

“Park!”Theosaysimmediately,asPetesurelyknewhewould.

—“THEY’RE ALL GETTING ON like a house on fire, aren’t they?” Lucy says, when

they’vegoneandI’mmakingthetwoofustea.Inod, thoughactually I’mwonderingabout theoriginsof thatphrase.Are

housesonfirereallyagoodthing?Or is itoneof those innocuous idiomsthatactually refer to some horrible disaster, like the Great Fire of London or theBlackDeath?

“MilesreallylikesPete,”sheadds.“Thisissogoodforhim.Hedoesn’thavemanymalefriends.”

“Really?” I’m surprised. I’d assumed someone as good-looking andcharmingasMileswouldhaveahugesocialcircle.

“Heusedtoseealotofhisrugbyteammates,theMayfairMayflies.Butthenhe damaged his knee and had to stop playing.And heworks in a very smalloffice now he’s left Hardings and set up on his own—it’s just him and threeothers.”

Inod.“It’sthesameforPete,workingfromhome.There’sagroupofdadsfromtheNICUwhomeetupoccasionally,butmostofthetimetheyonlyseemtointeractonDadStuff.”Iglanceather.“ThankyouforlikingthosepicturesofTheo,bytheway.”

“Oh,they’regorgeous.Milesenjoysgoingthroughthemoveradrinkwhen

hegetsbackfromwork.Mostofthoselikeswerehis,actually.”“MilesusesyourFacebookaccount?”Isay,surprised.Lucy nods. “He doesn’t have one of his own—he always used to say he

didn’t knowwhy people bothered.But it’s different now.” She hesitates, thensays ina rush,“In fact—ifyouwereable—Imean, IknowPete’s theprimarycarer,butifbetweenyou,youcouldperhapspost,say,onepictureeveryday…Andwe’ddothesameforyou,ofcourse.It’ssuchagoodwayofkeepingontopofwhatthey’redoing,isn’tit?Andthisperiodwhenthey’resmallissoprecious.They’llgrowupsoquickly.”

“I’llaskPete.I’msurehe’llbedelighted.”I’mgenerallytoobusytokeepupwiththestreamofpictureshetakesofTheo,sograduallyhe’sstoppedsendingmeall but themost photogenicones.But it looks as if he’s found a receptiveaudiencenow.

—ATSOMEPOINTTHEdoorcrashesopenandtheyallchargein.MileshasTheoon

hisback,horsey-style,Theo’sfeetstickingstraightoutfromunderMiles’sarms,hislittlefacebeamingwithexcitementoverMiles’sshoulder.Pete’scarryingthefoamrugbyball,hisjacketandtrousersstreakedwithmud.

“Goodtime?”Iask.“Theo just trounced the All Blacks twenty-nine nil on his very first

appearance in theEngland lineup,”Milessaysproudly.“Andhe’sgotaprettyheftytackleonhimalready.”

“Great,” I say. “Though I thought theydidn’t actually do tackling now, inschoolrugby.Isn’titallmeanttobeplayedbytouch?”

“It’sgoodforhimtoworkoffsomeofthatenergy,”Milessays,unperturbed.He lowers Theo to the floor and ruffles his hair. Theo instantly charges intoMiles’slegs,wrappinghisarmsaroundhiscalves,andMilesobedientlysinkstohisknees.“Arrgh!Kickon!Anyway, Ican’t thinkofanythingmore fun foratwo-year-oldthanhavingbothhisdads’undividedattentioninthepark.”

“I’llmakesomemoretea,”Isay.

—“ ‘BOTHHIS DADS’?” I sayquietly toPetewhen they’ve finallygoneandTheo is

watchingCBeebies.“Isthatsomethingyouagreedto?”“IcouldhardlypullhimuponitinfrontofTheo.Butwehaven’tdiscussed

whatMilesshouldcallhimself,no.”Heglancesatme.“HowwasLucy?”“Anxious.”Itellhimaboutthephotorequest.“Ithinkwe’regoingtoneeda

conversationwiththemaboutboundaries.”

“Really?”Petesoundssurprised.“Well…Whenweweremaking the decision about thepark andwhether it

wastoosoonforTheotobeplaying…Ifeltabitoutnumbered.Likethereweresuddenlyfourparentsinsteadoftwo.”

“Theydidn’t takeanypart indeciding togo to thepark, though.Thatwasme.”

“Yes,butyouknewMileswantedyoutogo.”“Okay,” Pete says, a word that somehow contains the sentiment I think

you’reoverreactingbutI’mtoosupportivetocallyouonit.“I’llspeaktoMiles.I’msuretheywantclarityjustasmuchaswedo.Butwedidsaythatwe’dtrytomakesureTheo’sapartof their lives.”Hegetsup from thekitchenchairandstretches.“Wehadagoodtimetoday,actually.I’dforgottenhowmuchfunitisjusttogoandchuckaballaround—it’ssomethingIcan’treallydowithTheoonmyown.”

“LucyaskedmeifI’dbookedEasterweekoffyet.Ihadtostallher—Ihadnoideawhatshewastalkingabout.”

“Yes,youdo.Thatplan toget togetheronEasterDay? It’s evolved intoafewdaysdowninCornwall.Mileshasfoundthismassivehousebythesea.”

“I’mnotsureIwanttobestuckwiththemforawholelongweekend,”Isaydoubtfully.“Imean,yes, theyseemlikenicepeople,anditwouldbelovelytospend more time with David. But we shouldn’t rush things—this is way tooimportant to riskgetting itwrongandhaving itblowup inour faces.Besides,thewayLucywastalkingitsoundedlikemorethanjustacoupleofdays.”

Peteshrugs.“I think itcouldbe fun,actually.AndIdogetabit stir-crazysometimes in London, stuck in this tiny house with Theo. But I’m sure theywon’tmindifwesaywecanonlygoforanight.I’lltalktoMilesnextweek.”

26Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit17,retrievedfromDadStuff.net.

HELP!JUSTFOUNDTODDLEREATINGSALT.WHATSHOULDWEDO?

Homedad85—Level5poster.Membersince2018.Noideahowmuch.Bigpileofcookingsaltfromoneofthoseplastictubs.Givenhimplentyof

water.Shouldwebeworried?ActiondadNHSDirectDarrenYeah,dial111forNHSDirect.Homedad85Tried111,stillinthequeue.Shouldwegotoemergency?ThedadinatorGivehimsomewater.FourlovelydaughtersSurelymustbeself-limitingastastessobitterandhorrid?Maybeaskifhewantsanymore—ifhe

says yes,maybe he likes the taste so could actually be in real danger? Iwould just giveLOTS ofwater.FourlovelydaughtersMindyouI’mnotamedicalprofessionalsopleasedon’trelyonmyadvice.DarrenOutofinterest,whatdidyoudecidetodo?Darren@Homedad85?Everythingokoverthere????Homedad85Sorry, got back from emergency after three hours (basically, all fine but projectile vomiting—

nursesaidwe’ddoneexactlytherightthing)andfoundvisitorswaiting.HadtogoandplayrugbyintheparkwithDSandDS’snewgrown-upfriendMiles,aka“Moles”asDScallshim.Prettyinspiringstory actually—how friendship, positivity, and good communication aremaking what could havebeenareallytrickysituationintoanall-aroundsuccess.DarrenSoundsintriguing@Homedad85—dotell?

27MADDIE

“YOU KNOW, THIS MILES andLucy thingwouldmake a great feature,” Pete saysoversupper.“Imighttrytopitchittoafeweditors.”

Ilookup,frowning.“Isn’titabitsoonforthat?”“Well,evenifsomeonedoesgoforit,it’lltakemeawhiletowriteit.And

I’ll clear itwithMiles andLucy before I send anything out, obviously.But Ithink it’s thekindof thing an editormight really like—unconventional familydynamics,abeaconofcooperationata timeofglobaldivision,all thatkindofstuff.”

“Willyoudisguiseouridentitiesthistime?”“Ofcourse.”Heseesmyexpression.“Iknowthatwasamistake,before,”he

saysquietly.“ButthisiswhatIdo,Mads.I’majournalist.”

—AFTERHISREDUNDANCY,PETEstruggled.NotwithTheo—helovedbeingafull-time

dad—but professionally. It turned out the articles travel editors really wantednowweretheonestheiroverworkedstaffwritersnolongerhadtimetowrite,theones that required actual traveling: fourteen days trekking through Patagonia,say,orareviewofanewhotelintheArcticmadeentirelyofice.ThatwasoutofthequestionforPete,ofcourse,withTheotolookafter.Sohestartedpitchingmoregeneralarticlestothefamilysections:piecesaboutbeingafull-timedad,mostly.

He didn’t tellme hewaswriting aboutmybreakdown, not at first. Itwasabout theNICU, he said vaguely, andwhatwewent throughwhenTheowasborn.ItwasonlywhenheshowedmeadraftthatIrealizedjusthowfrankhe’dbeen. Itwasall there—howhe’dgottenbackfromthebikerideandfound theTVcovered indriedshit,bitsofbrokenphoneallover thefloor, thegibberishI’dbabbledaboutthedoctorswhowerewatchingme.“Mypartnerisamazing,”he’d written. “Because, however good the NHS was at keeping our tinyprematureinfantalive,whenitcametohismother’sbrain,theywereintheDarkAges.Shewaslefttofightmostofthatlonelybattlebyherself.”

“Whatdoyouthink?”he’daskedwhenI’dfinishedreadingit.“It’s powerful,” I saiddoubtfully. “Andverywellwritten. I suppose I just

wasn’texpectingittobeso…honest.”“We always say there shouldn’t be any stigma around mental health,” he

pointedout.“Howarewegoingtoremovethestigma,ifwedon’tspeakout?”

“I’mnotsureIwanttobethetrailblazer,that’sall.”“You know how hard it is to find stories that haven’t been done to death

already,”hesaidquietly.“I really think thisonecouldgetpickedup,Mads. ItcouldbethebreakIneedtogetmenoticedasafreelancer.Butifyouwantmetospikeit,Iwill.”

Eventually we agreed he wouldn’t use my real name. Because he had adifferentsurname,wereasoned,therewouldn’tbeanydirectlinktome.Andhewasrightaboutitbeingpickedup.TheSundayTimesranitintheStylesection,and it was immediately reposted on various blogs. A well-known yummymummywithoverahundred thousand Instagramfollowersposteda link to it,alongwithagratefulcommentaboutherownstrugglesafterherprematuretwinsspent three weeks in intensive care. I felt good about that—we were doingexactlywhatPetehadsaid,startingaconversationaroundwomen’sexperiencesofchildbirthandmentalhealth.Foraweekorso therewas theexhilarationofcheckingtheblogsandTwittereveryfewhours,watchingthelikesandreblogspouring in, a cascade of affirmation and solidarity. And praise for Pete, ofcourse.Notmanymenwouldhavehadtheemotionalmaturityorthepatiencetopick their partner up like that, was the consensus, let alone take over thenurturingofourchild.

ThenIrealizedpeopleatworkhadreadit,someofwhomknewPetethroughme and so knew exactly who he was writing about. A few made supportivecomments,whichwasnice.Otherssaidnothing,whichmademewonderwhattheythought.ThenIheardIhadanewnicknameonthecreativefloor:MaddieMadDog. I started to feel furiouswith Pete for not hidingmy identitymorethoroughly.

IwenttoPraguetofilmaChristmascommercialforabigelectricalretailer.ThistimeitwastheartdirectorIslippedupwith.

Jenny,myCBTtherapist,usuallyshiedawayfromthetouchy-feelystuff,butsomehowitcameoutatournextsession.She listenedpatientlyas Ispilledallmyconfusionandself-loathingtoher.

“Didyourfatherhaveaffairs?”sheaskedwhenI’dfinished.Istaredather.OfallthethingsI’dbeenexpectinghertosay,thatwasn’tone

ofthem.“Yes.Atleastthreethatweknewof.”“Andyourmotheracceptedthem?”“Well—not happily. But therewas always a feeling that itwas up to him

whetherheleftusfortheotherwomanornot.That,ifhedecidedtostay,she’dstillbethereforhim.”

“Somethingofasaint,then.Oratanyrate,amartyr.Andnowhereyouare,thebreadwinnerofthefamily,repeatingthesamebehavior.Onlythistimewith

thegenders reversed.”She lefta longpause.“I thinkyouneed to talk toPete.Perhaps with the help of a couples therapist. You’ve clearly got some buriedresentmentaboutthewayyourparentingroleshaveturnedout.”

Meanwhile,PetewastryingtofollowupthesuccessofhisNICUstory.Hediscovered that our local pizza place didn’t let men use the baby-changingrooms,which had been designed as part of the female toilets, so he started acampaigntogetthemtochangetheircorporatepolicy.Itworked,ononelevel—peoplewerehappy to clickon thepetitionwhen it cameup in theirFacebookfeeds,buttheydidn’treallycareenoughtopostmessagesofencouragement,thewaytheyhadwiththementalhealthpiece.Theonlynewspaperhecouldinterestwasalocalone,andeventhen,whenthearticleran,hediscoveredtheeditorhadcutittohalfitsoriginallength.

Gradually,hetalkedlessandlessaboutideasforarticlesandmoreandmoreaboutbeingaparent.Theohadpointedat thesnowandsaid,“Bubbles!”Theohadbeen on the roundabout in the playground.Theohad thrown a tantrum inSainsbury’s.IgotusedtoreachingforabottleassoonasIgothome,lettingtheredwinetaketheedgeoffasImentallytriedtoshiftgearsfromtheracing-carfrenzy that was advertising to the kiddie rides of Pete and Theo’s routine.Sometimesitworked.Moreoften,IwasstillthinkingaboutaknottyproductionproblemwithonehalfofmybrainevenasIsmiledandnoddedalongtosomestoryofplaygroundperil.

SoIcompletelyunderstandnowwhyPetewantstowriteaboutwhatwe’redoingwiththeLamberts.It’sachancetobetheoldPeteagain,thejournalist,tohavepeople readwhathewrites.But it’s alsoachance tobeNICUPete, too,SaintPeter:tobaskintheaffirmationofanonlineaudience,theinvisiblecrowdofspectatorswho’llclickandlikeandshareandtellhimwhataninspirationheis.

Idon’tstophim,ofcourse.HowcanI?But,disloyally,itdoesoccurtomethat, in the olden days, saints all had one thing in common.They didn’t havewivesorpartnerstothinkabout.

28Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit18,DRAFTdocumentsavedbyAUTORECOVER,retrievedfrom

PeterRiley’sharddrive.Thisisastoryabouttwobrokenfamiliesdeterminedtoheal.Thisisastoryaboutaboltfromthebluethatcouldhaveledtodiscordandhatred—butinstead

hasledtofriendship,dialogue,andtrust.Thisisastoryaboutfouryoungprofessionals,tryingtofigureoutamodernsolutiontoanancient

problem.IntheBible,KingSolomonwasfamouslyfacedwithanigh-impossiblecase.Twowomenboth

claimedtheywerethemotherofababyboy.They’dgivenbirthatroughlythesametime,butonechildhaddied.Eachwasnowaccusingtheotherofstealingtheliveinfant.

Callingforasword,Solomoncraftilydeclaredtherewasonlyonesolution:dividethechildandgivehalftoeachwoman.Immediately,oneofthewomenfelltoherknees,sayingsherenouncedherclaim.Shewould rather the childwasbroughtupby someoneelse than see it die as the result ofSolomon’sbrutaljustice.Solomonthenorderedthatthebabybegiventoher,asshehadjustprovedherselfthetruemother.

Whateverthistellsusaboutstandardsoftransparencyandopennessinthefamilycourtscirca900BC—whatwouldSolomonhavedone ifneitherwomanhadcriedout,orbothdid?Carriedouthisoriginaljudgment,presumably—itspeakstoanancienttruth:Ourchildrenmeanmoretousthanwedoourselves.

Butwhat if you are suddenly told that the child you are bringing up—the child you have fed,bathed,playedwith,taughtthelettersofthealphabetto,parentedfortwowholeyears—isn’tyours?Whatifyoudiscoveredthatyourchildhadbeenmistakenlyswitchedwithsomeoneelse’satbirth?

Thatiswhathappenedtomypartnerandme…

29PETE

“OH,PETE.PETEYPETEYPetey.”It was Miles, calling on my mobile. I’d emailed him my article, with a

requestforacoupleofquotes.ButIcouldtellfromhistonehewasn’thappy.“It’sonlyafirstdraft,obviously,”Isaid.“Ifthere’sanythingyoudon’twant

metouse,justsay.”Therewasashortsilence.“It’snotright.Noneofit.I’msorry,Pete.”“Inwhatway?”Isaid,confused.“Imean—it’strue,isn’tit?Weareworking

thingsoutbetweenus.”“Ofcourse.Buteyeson theprize,yes?Thinkhow this isgoing to read to

whoever’sgiventhejobofworkingouthowbigachecktheyshouldbewritingus. This looks like mitigation, Pete. Instead of mental distress and anguish,everyone’s getting along like one big happy family. The way this is written,you’dthinkweshouldbepayingthem.”

“Ah.” I hadn’t thought of it like that. “So you don’t think I should writeanything?”

“I’mnotsayingthat.Infact,anewspaperarticlecouldprovideuswithaverygoodpaper trail.Butyouneed to recast it.Basically, ever since I knockedonyour door, your life’s been a living hell, yes? Every time you look at Theo’ssweet little face, you find yourself staring into another man’s eyes. Yourfamily’sbeenviolatedandyourrelationshipwithyourchildupended—”

“Hangon,”Isaidanxiously.“Stuffhangsaroundonlineforeverthesedays.Iwouldn’twantTheotoreaditonedayandthinkIfounditdifficulttolovehim.”

“Fair enough,” Miles allowed. “But there might be other ways. YoumentionedthatMaddieexperiencedmentalhealthissuesaftertheNICU.Maybetheshockofallthishasbroughtsomeofhersymptomsback.”

“I’llhavetoaskher,”Isaid.“Ihaveafeelingshemightnotbetookeenonthat.”

“Well,tellheritcouldbeworthanextrahalfmil.Thatshouldbeenoughtoconvinceher.”

30Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit18B,attachmentsentbyPeterRileytoseveralnewspaperfeature

editors.Thisisastorythatwillstrikefearintotheheartofeveryparent.This is a story about two broken families, who, just when they were finally recovering from

tragedy,heartbreak,andmentalillness,weredealtafreshblowofunimaginablehorror.Because the shocking truth is that, at any moment, a stranger could knock on your door and

announce that the child you have fed, bathed, played with, taught the letters of the alphabet to,parentedfortwowholeyears,isn’tyours.Andeverythingyouthoughtyouknewaboutyourfamilycouldbeblownapartinaninstant.

Iknow,becausethatiswhathappenedtomypartnerandme…

31PETE

I REWROTE THE PIECE the wayMiles had suggested. It wasn’t as good—if I’mhonest,partofmymotivationfordoinganarticleinthefirstplacehadbeentocelebratethewaywewerealldealingwiththis:Itwastwofingersuptopeoplelike Jack Wilson who thought cynicism and distrust were the only correctresponsestoaproblemlikeours.ButIcouldseeMiles’spoint,andinanycasepitchingitasanupdatetomysuccessfulmentalhealtharticlemadeiteasiertoplace. TheDaily Mail picked it up immediately, although they couldn’t saywhen they’d run it.When the subwhowas fact-checking it emailedme backwith somequeries, I saw they’daddedaheadline:TWOYEARSAGO,ABOTCHEDBIRTHLEFTMYWIFEPSYCHOTIC.NOWADNATESTREVEALS:ITISN’TEVENOURBABY.

IwenttoseeasolicitoratthemedicalmalpracticefirmMileswasusing,attheirgleamingofficewithaviewoverTowerBridge.I’dhadavagueideathatno-win no-fee lawyers were all hustlers, but Justin Watts was bright andpersonable and charming, clearly a product of the kind of expensive privateschoolMileswouldhavelikedTheotoattend.

Hemademegothroughthewholestoryagain.“Well,”hesaidwhenIwasdone, “as actions go, this one seems pretty straightforward—legally speaking,that is. I’ll get a letter of claim off andwe’ll seewhat they come backwith.Presumablyyou’reawarethatSt.Alexander’shashaditsNICUdowngradedtoLevelTwo?”

Ihadn’tbeen.“Why?Whathappened?”“Their mortality rate last year was nearly two percent higher than the

national average. Thatmight sound small, but it equates to a jump from fourdeathsayeartonine.Something’snotrightoverthere,soLevelThreeserviceshave been transferred to Guy’s while an investigation’s carried out. It’s goodnewsforyou,though.ThetrustwillbehopingtheycanreopenasaLevelThreeasquicklyaspossible, so the last thing they’llwant isyoukickingupa stink.Thishasquicksettlementwrittenalloverit.”Hetappedmyarticle,lyingonhisdesk.“Butholdoffgettingthispublishedfornow,yes?Thehospitalmightwellprefertokeepthewholeepisodequiet,inwhichcasethisisonlyusefulleverageuntilyouactuallyrunit.”

Inodded.ItwouldannoytheMailtobetoldtheycouldn’tprintthepieceyet,buteveryeditor isusedtobeingtold thatarticlesaresubjudice.“AndIreallydon’thavetopayyouanything?”

“Well,there’llbesomeexpensesthat’llneedtobecoveredastheyarise.But

onceweenterintotheConditionalFeeArrangement,youwon’tpayformytimeunlesswewin.Atthatpoint,we’llchargeourfeesinfullplusasuccessfee,bothofwhichwillgetsettledbytheothersideascosts.They’llhavetopaybackyourexpenses,too.”

“Andifwelose?”“Ifwelose,intheorytheboot’sontheotherfootandyouhavetopaytheir

costs.Inpractice,you’lltakeoutwhat’scalledafter-the-eventinsurancetocoverthatpossibility.Andyoucanadd the insurancepremiumto thecosts theothersidehastopayifyouwin.”

Itallsoundedtoogoodtobetrue.Ihadtoremindmyselfthatthiswashowthingsworked, that itwassomeoneelse’sfaultwewereinthissituationin thefirstplace.“Anddoyouknow…”Ihesitated.Itseemedpoor taste toaskHowmuch,butJustinwasaheadofme.

“We’llaskfortwomillion.Idoubtwe’llgetquitethatmuch,butit’sgoodtostarthigh.Ofcourse,that’snothingtowhattheLambertswillbeaskingfor.”

“Why’sthat?”I’dassumedwe’dgetroughlythesame.“Because of David’s disabilities. Maddie was told by the doctor who

performed her cesarean that her baby might have been starved of oxygen—correct?”

Inodded.“And later,whenyou senther thatpicture from theNICU, itwasofTheo

being treated for possible oxygen starvation with a cooling blanket. But,assumingthebabieshadalreadybeenswappedbythen,itwasthewrongbabywho was being cooled. The Lamberts can make a good case that David’sproblemswereexacerbatedbynegligence—andwiththoselikehimnowlivinglongerandcostingmore,thepayoutcouldpotentiallybeintheveryhightensofmillions.”

—MY SECOND MEETING THAT day was with our local vicar, to talk about the

christening.TheReverendSheilaLewis lived ina tinymodern rectorynext tothe church, a complete contrastwith JustinWatts’s sleekoffice.As itwas theafternoon,IhadTheowithme,butforoncehewasonhisbestbehavior,happilyplayingonthefloorwithanancientnativityset.

“Will it be a problem that Theo’s older than most kids are when they’rechristened?”Iasked.

ReverendSheilashookherhead.Shewassmallandsmileyandenergetic—I’dheardfromotherparents thatshe’dhadasuccessfulcareerasabiochemistbeforebecomingavicar.“Theonlyrequirementisthatthegodparentshavealso

beenbaptized.Andthatthey’repreparedtotaketheirdutiesseriously,ofcourse.Canyouvouchthat’sthecasehere?”

“I’llhavetocheckwiththem—thebaptismbit,thatis.I’msurethey’lltaketheir duties seriously.” Somethingmademe add, “We haven’t actually knownthemverylong.”

ReverendSheilaraisedhereyebrows.“Choosingagodparentisn’tadecisiontobemadelightly.”

“Itwasn’t.Quitethereverse.”Ilookedaround,butTheowasstillengrossedinthenativityset,cheerfullyimpalingtheVirginMaryontheox’shorns.“It’squite an unusual situation, as it happens,” I said quietly. “They’re actuallyTheo’srealparents.”

Forthesecondtimethatday,Ifoundmyselfrelatingthestoryofthemix-upat St. Alexander’s. Reverend Sheila listened with a rather more quizzicalexpressionthanJustinWattshad.

“Firstofall,Ithinkit’swonderfulthatyou’realltakingsuchapositiveviewofwhatcouldclearlybeaverydifficultsituation,”shesaidwhenI’dfinished.“ButIhavetotellyouthatthisisnotagoodreasontohaveachildbaptized,orindeed tochooseagodparent.Godparentshaveveryspecific responsibilities—appointingoneisn’tsimplyagestureoffriendship,evenif itsometimesseemsthat way. And I’m very concerned that it will give Theo, not to mentionyourselves,noprotectionifanythinggoeswrong.”

“We’re very much hoping nothing does go wrong. That’s one reason wewanttoformalizethings—toshowourcommitment.Andwe’dbeenintendingtohaveTheochristenedanyway.”

“Hmm.”ReverendSheilastilllookedunconvinced.“Howaboutaprayerofblessing for the six of you—Theo, David, and the two sets of parents? Thatwould seemamuchmore appropriatewayof invitingGod into this particularrelationship.”

“Wedon’tactuallyhavemanyotherpeoplewecanasktobegodparents,”Isaid. “And I’mcertain thatMilesandLucyare religious.” Ihadabsolutelynoidea if thatwas thecase,ofcourse,butIwasprettysureMileswouldn’tmindtellingasmallwhitelie.

“Well,giventhat it’sahighlyunusualsituation,I’llspeaktothembeforeImakeadecision.”ReverendSheilareachedforapad.“What’stheirnumber?”

32PETE

ONTHEWAYHOMETheodemandedadiversiontothepark,andthenitwastimefor us tomake his tea—arancini balls, baked not fried,madewith homemadebreadcrumbs—soitwasawhilebeforeIhadachancetophoneMilesandwarnhim.

“Pete!”hesaidcheerfullyashepickedup.Heclearlyhadmynamestoredasacontactnow.“How’sthings?”

“Good, thankyou.Look, this is justaheads-up.SomeonecalledReverendSheilaLewismightcall—”

“Toolate.She’salreadydoneit.”“Really?”Thatwasquick.“Howdiditgo?”“Allsorted.She’sactuallydoingacoupleofbaptismsduringtheservicethis

comingSunday,soIsaidwe’dmuckinwiththose.Thatallrightforyou?”“Er—Ithinkso.I’dprobablybetter—”“CheckwithMaddie,” he finished forme. “Of course.You’ve got a great

vicar,bytheway.Reallylikedher.”

—“IT WAS EXTRAORDINARY,” I toldMaddiewhen shegothome. “Withme, shewas

almostdisapproving.ButMilesseemstohavehadhereatingoutofhishand.”“Well,he’sverycharming.Andforallweknow,heisreligious.”“Orjustverygoodatlying.”“Persuadingpeopletoseethingsyourwayisn’tnecessarilylying.Besides,I

thought you really like Miles. The two of you are thick as thieves at themoment.”

“I do like him,” I said. “I like him a lot. I’m just slightly in awe of howeffectiveheisatgettinghisownway.”

“Haveyoutoldhimyetwe’renotgoingtoCornwallforEaster?”“Notyet.Itneverseemstherightmoment.”Maddieraisedhereyebrows.“Iknow,Iknow,”Isaidwithasigh.“IsupposeIkeepputtingitoffbecause

Ifeelbadaboutit.I thinkIgavehimtheimpressionweweredefinitelyupforit.”

“WhynotsaymybrotherandhisfamilyarecomingoverfromAustralia?Hecanhardlyobjecttothat.Butdon’tleaveittoolong.Hemayneedtimetofindsomeoneelse.”

33MADDIE

I FIND THE CHRISTENING awkward. Because it’s a joint baptismwith three otherfamilies, regularmembers of the congregationwho know one anotherwell, itfeelslikeourgroupareinterlopers.Itdoesn’thelp,either,thattheotherchildrenare all babies, only one of whom is even grizzling slightly.Whereas Theo…Theosimplydoesn’tdokeepingalowprofile.

Thechurch isoneof those trendyones thatpride itselfonhavingaboxofbooks to keep kids entertained—there’s even a poster advertising somethingcalled Messy Church, every third week—but because this is a christening,everythingisslightlymoreformal.Theoisoverexcitedfromthestart.AssoonasheseesLucyandMilesheshouts“Moles!”beforerunningatthemandtryingto rugby-tackleMiles.Miles just laughsandruffleshishair.Our friendsKeithandAndyarewithus—Andyhasagreedtobethethirdgodparent—sotherearemutteredintroductionsandhandshakes,andInoticesomeoftheregularsturningaroundtoseewho’smakingallthisnoise.

LucyiscarryingDavid.Heliesinherarmsveryquietly,lookingaroundwithaslightlyfearfulexpression.Ireachoutandstrokehisfine,softhair,itchingtoholdhimmyself.Likelasttime,hedoesn’treact,justlooksatmewithhisbig,solemneyes.ButIliketothinkhe’salittlelessanxiousafterthat.

Theospots theboxofbooksandmakesabeelinefor it.Butsincehecan’tread,tohimit’sjustabigboxofstoriesthatrequireanadulttoreadthemaloud.“Daddy!Daddy!”hecallseagerly,butPeteonlyputshisfingertohislips.Thevicarhasstartedherintroductionnow,somethingaboutthecontinuedrelevanceof the Church and how important it is to welcome the next generation ofworshippers. Theo takes out some books and starts throwing them at a sidechapellikeaknife-thrower,usingthemetalcrucifixashistarget.Whenhehitsit,itgivesanaudibleclang!andthevicarlooksover,perturbed.

“Yeah!”Theoshoutshappily.Pete excuses his way out of the pew and goes to deal with him. After a

moment,Miles follows.Theomust think it’s agame,orperhaps something inPete’sgrimexpressionwarnshimhe’s in trouble,becausehedecides tomakehimselfscarce.Divingbeneaththebackmostpew,hewrigglesbetweenthefeetof thepeople in itandthenkeepsgoing,onto thepewsinfront.Becausehe’scomingfrombehind,thefirstanyoneknowsofitiswhenasmallbodypushesitsway through their legs. By the time they’ve realized what’s happening, he’sgone.

Petealwayshates itwhenTheodoesn’tbehavewell inpublic—as if it’s areflectiononhisparentingskills.“Theo!”hesays,inavoicethattriestobalancesternness with not shouting over the vicar. “Come here! Now!” Theo justchortlesandcommando-crawlshiswayonward.

“Sorry,chaps.Ballcoming through!”Milescontributescheerfully,keepingpacealongsideTheointheaisle,butnotactuallyabletogettohim.

Petegoes tostandat thefront, readytograbTheowhenhecomesout,butTheospotshimandsimplyreversesdirection.Luckilyawomanfourrowsbackhasthegoodsensetoclapherlegstogether,trappinghimlongenoughforPete,bynowredwithangerandembarrassment,tomakehiswayalongthepewandhaulhimout.

“OurLordJesusChristhastoldusthattoenterthekingdomofheaven,wemustbebornagainofwaterandtheSpirit,”thevicarissaying.

“Naughty step. Now!” Pete hisses, dragging a wriggling Theo toward thedoorofthechurch.Thenhestopsandlooksaround.

Hisproblem,Irealize,isthatifhetakesTheooutside,hewon’tknowwhenthey’reneededforthebaptism.Soheimprovises,puttingTheodownonthebigstonestepthatleadsfromthechurchdoorintothenave.

Pete’s a big believer in the naughty step. It was invented by some TVsupernanny who insists it only works if you follow a set of very preciseinstructions,whichPetealwaysdoes,totheletter.First,youtakethechildtothestep in silence and sit them down. Second, you explain to themwhat they’vedonewrong.Third,youwalkawayandsetatimerforoneminuteperyearofthechild’sage.Whenthetimergoesoff,youexplainasecondtimewhythey’reonthenaughtystep.Thentheyhavetoapologizebeforetheycangetup,atwhichpointyougivethemhugsandkissesasarewardforapologizing.

Personally,IthinkPetebelievesinthenaughtystepmainlybecauseitofferssomekindofreassurancethathe’sdiscipliningTheotherightway,whenalltheevidenceseems tosuggest thatactually,Theo isalmostcompletely impervioustodisciplineofanykind.ButPeteclaimsitworks,soIneverinterfere.

PetebodilypushesTheodownontothestep,thenstartstoexplain.“Thisisachurch,Theo.InchurchpeoplearequietsotheycanlistentoGod—”

“Bababababababab!”Theoyells,puttinghishandsoverhisears.“Herewe are clothedwith Christ, dying to sin thatwemay live his risen

life,”thevicarintones.Theo drums his shoes on the stone floor, making a satisfying echo.

“Babababab!”“AschildrenofGod,wehaveanewdignity,andGodcallsustofullnessof

life—”

“…sowehavetositstill,withouttalkingorplaying,justlikealltheseotherpeopleare…”

“Letusnowpray,insilentcontemplation—”“Sowwy,Daddy.”“It’snottimetosaysorryyet.Youhavetowaitforthetimer.Twominutes.”“I’msowwy,Daddy.”Mileslaughs.“Oh,comeon,Pete.Littlebeggar’ssaidhe’ssorry.”Heopens

hisarms.“C’mon,bigman.Givemeahug.”TheojumpsupfromthestepandrunsintoMiles’sarms.“Huh-hay!”Miles

says, swinging him up so their heads are level. “You going to come and sitquietlywithmenow?”

“Yesss!”Theosays,veryloudinthecontemplativesilence.

—IT’S A GOOD THINGwe’re still in the middle of the service. Pete’s so angry at

Miles’sintervention,hecan’tmeetmyeyeashecomesandsitsdown.Theositsmeekly on Miles’s lap, occasionally sneaking glances at Pete over Miles’sshoulder.Then—proofthatmiraclesdohappen—hestarts listeningtowhatthevicar’ssaying,orperhapsthesingsongwayshe’ssayingitcaptureshisattention.Andsoon it’s time for theexcitingbit,gettingall theparents,godparents, andchildrentocomeandstandaroundthefontandlightingalongwhitecandleforeachchild.Theo’seyesgoverybigwhenhe’sgivenhiscandle tohold.Sincecandlesareusuallyforblowingout—he’dbeenencouragedtoblowouttheonesonhisbirthdaycake,afterall,justashortwhileback—hetakesabigbreathandpuffsouthischeeks,untilthevicarstopshim.

“Notyet.YouhavetowaituntilI’veputwateronyou.”“Wow!”Theosays,amazed,andeveryone—not just thepeoplearound the

front,butinthepewsaswell—laughs.Somehowhe’smanagedtocharmthemall.It’sonlyPete,gloweringbesideme,who’sstillfurious.

MileslooksatTheowithfatherlypride,andIrealizethatofcourseIknowexactlywhereTheogetshischarmfrom.

—“I’MGOINGTOHAVEtospeaktoMiles,”Petesaysassoonastheserviceisover.“Yes,”Iagree.“Youare.But,Pete…”“What?”Itrytochoosemywordscarefully.Pete’sawonderfulparent,butsometimes

hecan take itallabit seriously.“I think itwasagenuinemisunderstanding. Idon’tsupposeMilesknowsanythingabout thenaughtystepand timersandso

on.Ithinkhejustwantedtohelp.”“Well, it’s time he did understand.” Pete strides over to where Miles is

chatting to Keith and Andy. I hear him say firmly, “Can I have a moment,Miles?”Thetwoofthemmoveoff.Andycatchesmyeyeandpullsaface,oneofhisparody-campones—Ooohh!—thatareonlyhalfaparody.

PeteandMilestalkforaboutaminute.Milesisnodding.ThenheclapsPeteontheshoulderandputsouthishand,whichPeteshakes.

“Everythingallright?”IaskPetewhenhecomesback.“Fine,”hesays.Hesoundsalmostsurprised.“Hecompletelytookmypoint.

Apologizedandsaiditwon’thappenagain.”I lookoveratMiles.Theexpressiononhis face—eager, friendly,alert—is

familiar, somehow.Then I recallwhere I last saw it. It’s the same expressionTheohadonhisfaceonthenaughtystep,whenhesaidsorrybeforeitwastime.

34PETE

“MR.RILEY,COULDIhaveaword?”ItwasSusy,thewomanwhoranthenursery,interceptingmeasIcollectedTheoatlunchtime.

“Ofcourse.”Ifollowedherintoheroffice.Webothsatdown,andIwaitedforhertosayitwasnothingtoworryabout.

Shedidn’t.Insteadshesaid,“I’mafraidweneedtohaveadifficultconversationabout

Theo.”“Inwhatway,difficult?”Ifeltthehairsonthebackofmyneckgoup,butI

wascarefulnottoletthetensionshowinmyvoice.“Issomethingwrong?”“Thismorninghehitanotherchildwitha tumbler.Onthehead,quitehard

I’mtold.Therewasbleedingandwehadtocallthechild’smothertotakehimhome.”

“Whichchildwasit?”“I don’t think that’s relevant. The point is, this was quite deliberate. The

other child had a toyTheowanted to playwith. Theo had previously tried tograb it, but been told by the nursery assistant he’d have towait his turn. Sheturnedherbackforamoment,thensheheardacryandfoundTheohittingtheotherchild.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. The fact is, he’s had a rather overstimulatingweekend.Hewasbaptizedyesterdayandalltheattentiongothimquiteexcited.”Ismiled.“I’msurehe’llbecalmertomorrow.”

“Well, possibly.” Susy paused. “The boy’s mother has made an officialcomplaint.Andbecausetherehavebeenwarningsbefore…”

“Hangon.Whatwarnings?”“We’ve talked about Theo’s behavior on more than one occasion, Mr.

Riley.”“Talked, yes.But thoseweren’t formalwarnings.” I had a horrible feeling

thatIknewwherethisconversationwasheading.“There’sapatternofbehaviorherethatwedon’tseemtobeabletochange.

Andthesafetyofallourlearnershastobeournumberonepriority.”“He’stwo,forChrist’ssake.Two-year-oldsdothis.”“Please,moderateyourlanguage.Gettingangrywon’thelpanyone.”“I’mnotgettingangry.Orrather,myangerisjustifiedandappropriate.And

beforeyousaythatmegettingangrymightbewhyTheoisviolent,Idon’teverlose my temper with him.” A thought occurred to me. “No doubt this other

parentwasangrythatherchildgothit.Ibetyoudidn’ttellheritwouldn’thelpanyone.”

Susy blinked. “In the circumstances, we’ve reluctantly come to theconclusion that Theo needsmore structured support thanwe can offer him atAcolRoad.”

“You’reexpellinghim.He’stwo,andyou’reexpellinghim?”“WethinkitwouldbeinTheo’sbestinterests—”“I’llspeak to theotherparent.Wecouldput insomesupervisedplaydates,

getthetwoofthemtomakefriends—”“I did suggest something along those lines.Mrs. Tigman didn’t think that

wouldbeaneffectivesolution.”“Hangon.SoitwasZackTigman?Thelittleboywhocriesallthetime?You

don’tthinkmaybetherearebiggerissuesgoingontherethanwhetherTheocansharetoys?”

“Zackhastakenawhiletosettleatnursery,”Susyallowed.“Whichiswhyit’sevenmoreimportantthathedoesn’tgetbeatenupwhilehe’shere.”

“Beaten up?” I scoffed. “We’re talking about one two-year-oldwhackinganotherwith a cup.Andwhywas a tumbler full of liquid at hand in the firstplace, without proper supervision? That’s a health and safety violation for astart.”

“We don’t have the resources to make hitting impossible,” Susy saidpatiently.“Andyes,itisnormaltwo-year-oldbehavior—toacertainextent.Butifthechilddoesn’tgrowoutofit,wesimplyhavenochoicebuttowithdrawtheofferofaplace.”Shestoodup.“I’msorry thingshaven’tworkedouthere forTheo. But I really think that, in the long run, this is the best thing for allconcerned.We’llrefundyourfeesforthewholeofthisweek.”

35Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit19A,textsbetweenPeterRileyandMadelynWilson.BloodynurseryhaveexpelledTheoforhittingZackTigman!!!WHAT!!!!Plusgivenmepompouslecturerehimneeding“morestructuredsupport.”TOSSERS.OMG.Whatarewegoingtodo?Godknows.I’lldosomeresearch.Wanttotalkitthrough?Icanstepout.Betternot.Stilldon’ttrustmyselfnottorant,andTheo’shere.Haven’ttoldhimyethewon’tbe

goingintmrw…ARRGH.Helovesitthere.Let’stalklaterXXCaseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit19B,retrievedfromDadStuff.net.

CHILDMINDINGATWO-YEAR-OLD—WHATDOTHEOPTIONSCOST?

Homedad85—Level5poster.Membersince2018.MyDShasjustbeenexcludedfromnurseryforhittinganotherchild.I’mbloodyangryactually

asIdon’tthinkthey’vehandleditatallwell.Butattheendoftheday,it’stheirdecision.Myquestion is,whatnow?Money’spretty tightsoweneed to lookat thecheapestoption.Au

pair?Nannyshare?Childminder?Heprobablydoesneedabitmoresupervisionthansomeotherkidshisage.Graham775InyourshoesIwouldspeaktoyourlocalnanny/childcareagenciestodiscusswhatyouneed,and

howmuchyoucouldexpectittocostinyourarea.Onefineday“Weneedtolookatthecheapestoption.”Thisisachildyou’retalkingabout,notflat-packfurniture.ManUman151“Thisisachildyou’retalkingabout,notflat-packfurniture.”OP is simply asking for some indicative figures to help him reach a decision, Onefineday.

:rolleyes:ZombieparentWasn’tthereathreadrecentlyaboutaupairsandhowlegallytheycan’tbegivenresponsibility

forunder-fives?OnefinedayAu pairs are NOT qualified childminders. They are young foreigners who get free board and

lodginginreturnforLIGHTdomesticdutiesandOCCASIONALbabysitting.If your local nursery was run by a group of Romanian teenagers without qualifications or

backgroundchecks,nofirst-aidtraining,noinsurance,noexperience,noinspectionreport,andverylimitedEnglish,wouldyousendyourchildthere?TanktopWe pay our nanny £14 ph in southwest London, if that helps. She’s self-employed so that

includestax,NI,etc.Onefineday“She’sself-employedsothatincludestax,NI,etc.”Nanniescan’tbeself-employed.She’slyingtoyou—probablybecauseshedoesn’thavetheright

paperwork.LewishamdadRegisteredchildminder=£7ph

Nursery=£8.50phNanny=£13–£18phMother’shelpaged18–20=£5.90(specialminimumwageforthisagegroup)Wouldn’trecommendamother’shelpthough.Ironicallytheonewehadwasn’tmuchhelp.Onefineday“Ironicallytheonewehadwasn’tmuchhelp.”Perhapsyougaveheraneasyridebecauseshewasayounggirl.Silverback71Sounds like your best option is a nanny share.A qualified nannywill understand the relevant

child development issues, there’ll be at least one other child to interactwith, and the costwill becomparabletoanursery.Lewishamdad“Perhapsyougaveheraneasyridebecauseshewasayounggirl.”I’mnotevengoingtorespondtothat,Onefineday.OnefinedayAndyetyoudid.WhosthedaddyFight,fight,fight…OnefinedayHandbagsatdawn.Homedad85Thankstoeveryonewho’sanswered.Havingconsidered,Ireckonourbestbetisanothernursery.

IthinkIhavetocomecleanthoughandtellthemaboutthehitting—itmayputsomeoff,butatleastiftheytakehimit’sbecausethey’reconfidenttheycandealwithit.

36PETE

ISOONDISCOVERED,THOUGH,honestywasn’tthebestpolicy.Therewasanothernurserynearby,butwhenIexplainedthatTheohadbeen

a little rough with another child, they point-blank refused to take him, citing“staff shortages.” Strangely, they hadn’t mentioned any staff shortages whentheyweretellingmeaboutthefees.

Iphonedtheonlyothernurserywithinwalkingdistance.Theyhada three-monthwaitinglist.IputTheoonit,justincase.

“It’snoteventhatImindbeingwithhimallday,”ItoldMaddiethateveningafterafruitlessafternoonofgooglingandphoning.“It’sjustclearlynottherightthingforhimtobeisolatedfromotherkidsrightnow.It’sthemheneedstolearntoplaywith,notme.”

Shetoppedupherwine.“There’sboundtobeaplacesomewhere.”Thedoorbellrang.Maddiedidn’tstir,soIwenttoansweritbeforewhoever

it was rang again. At that time of night, it was probably Deliveroo with atakeawayfornextdoor,whichwasannoyingbecauseTheohadonly justgonedownandthebellwasalmostcertaintowakehim.

ItwasMiles.“Surprise,” he said. “Hope that’s all right. Iwas passing, so I thought I’d

dropbyandseemytwofavoriteboys.Andgirl,ofcourse.Hi,Maddie.”AshesteppedinsideheraisedtheHamleysbaghewasholding.“Thisisonlyforoneofyou,though.”

I took it. Insidewasanelectronic fire station—Icould tell from thebox itwas going to be all flashing lights, whirring machines, and beeping buttons.Theo would love it, but in a small house like ours it would drive me crazy.“Thanks,Miles.Theo’sgonedownforthenight,actually.”

“Already?”Mileslookedcrestfallen.“Iwashopingtogiveittohimmyself.It’sonlyjustgoneseven.”

“Hedidn’thaveanaptoday.”Ikeptmyvoicelowsoitwouldn’tfloatupthestairs.“Andit’sbeenalongdayforallofus.”

“Theo’sbeenkickedoutofnursery,andPete’sbeenscouringnorthLondonforanewone,”Maddieexplained.

“What!”Mileswasoutraged.“Kickedout?Why?”“HehitZackovertheheadwithatumbler.”“He’stwo,forChrist’ssake!”“Exactly what I said.” There was a long, drawn-out yell from the baby

monitor.Miles’soutragehadwokenTheo.“Whatdoyouthink?Shallwebringhimdown?”Maddieaskedme.I shookmy head. Theo and I had a whole bedtime routine worked out—

showingMummywhatwe’dmade today, bath,milkydrink, quiet time, story.Breakingitwouldmeanstartingagain.Plushe’donlylearnthathecouldgetupwheneverheliked,ifheyelledloudenough.

“Specialoccasion,though,”Milessaidwinningly.“Youcouldshowhimhispresent.”Hecaughtthelookonmyface.“Ormaybenot.Bestleavethemtocry.Yourparentingstyleandallthat.”

“Actually, we don’t just leave him,” I began, but thenMiles snapped hisfingers.

“I’mbeingdim.Theodoesn’tneedanursery.Youcanshareournanny.”MaddieandIexchangedglances.“Areyousure?”Maddieasked.Milesnodded.“Ofcourse.It’stheperfectsolution.TheoandDavidwillget

tospendtimetogether,andit’llbegoodforDavidtobearoundanotherkid—itmightevenhelphimcatchupabit.”

“We should talk about the cost,” I began, but Miles waved the objectionaway.

“Forgetit.We’llsettleupwhenthecompensationcomesthrough.It’llbeapleasuretohaveTheoatours.”

“Andwe’dneedtoworkoutafewgroundrules.”“Likewhat?”“Well…Howmuchtimethenannyspendsineachhouse,forexample.”“Really?”Mileslookedaround,clearlypuzzled.“Imean,youwanttowork,

don’t you?You couldn’t really share this roomwith a nanny and a couple oftwo-year-oldsandexpecttogetanywritingdone.Butlisten,anythingyouwanttochangeaboutthesetup,justsay.That’showthiswholethingworks,isn’tit?Like you said in your article—the original one, I mean. Dialogue andcompromise.”

“Itdoessoundlikeaprettygoodsolutiontome,”Maddiesaid.Whichwasslightly disloyal of her, because she must have realized that, for reasons Icouldn’t altogether articulate, Iwas feeling slightlyuneasyabout thisproposalandwas trying to thinkofways togetoutof it,orat leastnot tocommit to itbeforeI’dthoughtitthrough.

“Andyou’llgettoseemoreofDavid,”Milesadded.Helookedfromonetotheotherofus.“Thatiswhatyouwant,isn’tit?”

“Ofcourse,”Isaid,surprised.“It’sjustthat…”Milesgesturedathisfeet.“HereIam.Makinganeffortto

seemybirthson.WhereasIcan’thelpnoticingthatyou…”Hisvoicetrailedoff.

“It isn’t like that!”Maddie exclaimed, just as I protested, “Of course wewanttoseeDavid.”

Therewasasilence,brokenonlybyarenewedshoutfromthebabymonitor.“Isupposewewerewaitingforanotherinvitation,”Iadded.

“Well,don’t,”Milessaid.“Justturnup.Micasaessucasa.Anyway,you’llbe able to seehimwhenyoudropTheooff now,won’t you? I’ll tellLucy toexpectyoutomorrow.”

37PETE

“YOUNEVERHADTHATconversation,didyou?”Maddiewhispered.Wewereinbed.InthenextroomTheowasstillgrizzling,despitethefacthe

was now exhausted andwe’d repeated thewhole bedtime routine frommilkydrinkonward.Or rather, Ihad.Maddiehadopenedanotherbottleof redwineand talked to Miles downstairs, while I was upstairs trying to make HairyMaclary from Donaldson’s Dairy sound as boring and soporific as possible.WhenMilesfinallyleft—whichtookmepointedlyputtingtheemptybottlenexttotherecyclingbin,whereitjoinedthetwoMaddiehadalreadypolishedoffthatweek,andsayingfirmly,“I’mgoingtobed.Theo’llbeawakeagainbysix,andit’sbeenalongday”—weweretootiredtodoanythingexcepthitthesack.

“Whichconversation?”Iwhisperedback.“Theoneaboutboundaries.”“YesIdid.At thechurch.Isaidthiscouldonlyworkifwerespectedeach

other’sparentingstyles.Andhecompletelyagreed.”“I’m not sureMiles is sensitive enough to realize thatmeans please don’t

turnuponourdoorstepanytimeyoufeellikeit.”“Youweretheonewhoopenedmorewine.”“Icouldn’treallystandtherewithaglassinmyhandandnotofferhimone.”“Maddie…”Isaid.“OhGod.Seriousvoice.WhathaveIdonenow?”“You’redrinkingquitealot.”“Iknow.Itrelaxesme.”Hervoicehadtightened.“It’snotbecauseyou’re…unhappy?”“Jesus.No. It’sbecause Ihaveahigh-stress jobandwinehelpsmeswitch

off.”“Okay.Butyouwilltellme—”“Don’tlectureme,DaddyPete.Notnow.Cuddleme.Wehaven’tmadelove

forages.”That’s because you neverwant to, I almost said.Not unless you’re drunk.

ButofcourseIdidn’tsaythat,becauseitwouldbeapassionkiller,andoneofthe consequences of not making love for ages is that you take it when it’soffered.Eventhoughyouknowit’sonlybeingofferedtoshutyouup,there’sagrizzlingchildnextdoor,andyoupreferitwhenbothofyouaresober.

I started to kiss her neck,which she likes, then pushed herT-shirt up andmoveddownhershouldertowardherbreasts.

“AtleastTheolikesMichaela,”Maddieadded.“Ithinkit’llbefine.”Irubbedhernipplegentlywithmynose.“Andifitdoesn’tworkout,you’vegothimonthewaitinglistforthatother

nursery.Sothat’llbegood.”Sheyawned.“IthinkI’llgotosleep,actually.Doyoumind?I’mnotquiteinthezone.”

38PETE

NEXTMORNINGIPUTTheointothecaranddroveovertoHighgate.Itwasafiddly,crosstown journey, complicatedbyhaving toget through at least half a dozenschool drop-off zones. A drive that had taken less than twenty minutes on aSaturdaytookalmostfortyinrushhour.

Lucycametothedoorinanelegantpairofdesignerjeansandaknee-lengthwoolencardigan. “Pete,” she saidwarmly. “How lovely to seeyou.Andhellothere,Theo.”

“ ’SMoleshere?”Theoaskedhopefully.She laughed. “No, he’s at work. That’s what daddies do.” She stopped.

“Sorry,Pete.Ididn’tmean…”“That’sallright.Areyoureallysurethisisokay?Idon’twanttoimposeon

you.”“No,it’swonderful.Tania’sbeenbakingfat-freecakesforthemboth.Come

inandsayhello.”“Tania?”Isaid,puzzled,asIfollowedherthroughtothekitchen.“Thenanny.Tania,thisisTheo,andTheo’sdad,Pete.”A dark-haired young woman turned toward us from the Aga. She was

wearingovenglovesandcarryingabakingtray,butsheimmediatelyputthetraydownandtookherhandoutoftheglovetoshakemine.“Pleasedtomeetyou,”shesaidpolitely,inFrench-accentedEnglish.Sheevengavemealittlebob.

I lookedatLucy. “I thoughtMichaelawas thenanny.” In thecar I’dbeenkeepingTheo’smoraleupbyspeculatingaboutwhatcrazygamesheandMikawouldbeplayingtoday.

“Wehadtolethergo.Mileswasfuriouswithher,actually.”“Why?Whatdidshedo?”“Hedoesn’tlikethenanniesbeinggluedtotheirphonescreenswhenthey’re

being paid to look after David. And he doesn’t let them use the coffeemakerwhenevertheyfeellikeit—theyhaveNescaféandtheinternetintheirbedroom,for when they’re not working. Anyway, last week he saw Michaela on thenannycam, drinking a cappuccino and scrolling through social media. So ofcourseshehadtogo.”

“Youhaveanannycam?”Lucynodded.“Youhaveto,really,don’tyou?It’snotthatyouevenneedto

lookatitveryoften.Milessaysit’sjustaboutmakingsureyoucantrustthemtosticktotherules.”

Ilookedaround.Icouldseeacappuccinomaker—amoreexpensivemodelthanmine—butnocamera.Milesmusthavehiddenit,Irealized.

“Right,Theo.Betterbeonyourbestbehavior,”Isaidbrightly.“Somebodymightbewatchingyou,sothinkaboutthat.”

Slightlyself-consciously, Iwent into theplayroomandsquatteddownnexttowhereDavidwassittingonthefloor.“Hi,David.”

Hiseyes turned towardmecuriously.Maddie’seyes, theexactsameshapeand shade, but without Maddie’s energy, her ever-changing, expressiveliveliness.Helookedawayagain.

“Whatareyouupto?”Iaskedgently.Again,nothing.“I’vebroughtTheotoplaywithyou.”Iwasn’tsureifherecognizedTheo’s

name, or whether it was because Theo just happened to charge in at thatmoment,butitseemedtomethatDavidshrankbackslightly.Ipattedhimonthehead.Hisblondhairwassofine,Icouldfeeltheshapeofhisskull.ItwaseerilysimilartoMaddie’s,andsodifferentfromTheo’sheavyblackcurls.

“Well,I’llseeyouattwelvethirty,”IsaidtoTheoasIgotup.“Remembertoplaynicely.”

“There’sreallynorush,”Lucysaid.“Bythetimeyou’vegottenhome,you’llbesettingoffagain.Whydoesn’tTheostayfor lunch?Thenhecanrest inthecaronthewayback.”

—I WENT HOME, BUT itwashard to concentrate.DrivingacrossLondonhadbeen

moretiringthanthestrolltothenurseryusedtobe.Butitwasn’tjustthat.Ikeptthinking ofDavid, sitting in thatmassive playroom, surrounded by shelves oftoys he couldn’t play with. There’d been something shut-in about him,somethingpassive. Itwouldbe so easy to ignore a child like that, particularlywithafireballlikeTheoaround.

Ourhouseissmall,soonceTheo’sgrownoutofatoywetendtoputitintheattic.Iwentandfoundacrateofbookshe’denjoyedateighteenmonths.JuliaDonaldson’sToddleWaddle,EricHill’sSpotstories,ChrisHaughton’sShh!WeHaveaPlan.Ipulledoutsomewithsliders,flaps,andothergizmos,too.

WhenIwentbackthatafternoon,IshowedLucy.“Theodoesn’treadtheseanymore,butIthoughtDavidmightlikethem.”

Shelookedatthemdoubtfully.“He’snotabigreader,I’mafraid.”“Ofcoursenot,”Isaidpatiently.“Buthemightlikemetoreadtohim.”IwentandsatdownnexttoDavidintheplayroom.“Look,David,”Isaidgently,holdingupWe’reGoingonaBearHunt.His

eyes turned toward it. Theo would have snatched it out of my hands in an

instant,asapreludetoeitherhurlingitaway,ifhewasn’tinterested,orhittingmewith ituntil I read it, ifhewas.Daviddidneither. Instead,he reachedoutandtoucheditexperimentallywithhisfingers.

Openingit,Istartedatthefirstpage.“ ‘We’regoingona—’ ”“Mnnneow,”yelledTheo,chargingintotheplayroomwithaLegorocketin

eachhand,followedbyTania.“Hi, Theo. I’m just going to read this with David. You can watch if you

want.”“Neow-neow.”Theocrashedtherocketsintomyhead,oneaftertheother.“Tania, could you takeTheo into the other roomandhelp him rebuild his

rockets?IjustwanttofinishthisstorywithDavid.”“Ofcourse.Comeon,Theo.”Sheledhimaway.“ ‘We’regoingonabearhunt,’ ”Irepeated,turningthepage.

—DAVID SAT RIVETED TOWe’reGoing on a BearHunt, followed byEach Peach

PearPlumandWhere’sSpot?WhenIbroughtoutDearZooheeagerlyreachedoutandturnedtheflapstorevealtheanimalsbehindthemasIread.

“ ‘Theend,’ ”Isaidatlast,closingDearZooandputtingitdown.I’ddoneallthenoises,thoughI’dkeptthelion’sroartoaquietpurrsoasnottostartlehim.

“Thatwaswonderful,”Lucy’svoicesaid.“Simplywonderful.”Ilookedup.Shewasfilmingmeonherphone.“Pete,you’reamarvel,”she

added.

39PETE

“PETE,YOU’REAMARVEL,”Maddiesaiddrily.Ilaughedintomyphone.“Ofcourse.Buthowdidyouknow?”“Lucy’sputavideoofyoureadingtoDavidonFacebook.Youcanhearher

voicebehindthecamera.”Itwasbarelyfouro’clock.“Thatwasquick.”“Well,Iguessonehastodosomethingwhilethenanny’sgettingtea.”“Thenannylookedprettyshell-shocked,actually,afterawholemorningof

Theo.Speakingofwhich,Mika’sgone.Thisone’scalledTania.”“What’sshelike?”“Seemsallright,”Isaidguardedly.“Theo’sdubbedherTanner.”“Well,it’sonlyatemporaryarrangement.I’dbettergo,mymeeting’sabout

tostart.”Shepaused.“ItwaslovelyseeingyoureadtoDavid,though.Itmademewanttoreachoutandputmyarmsaroundyouboth.”

—ATHALFSIXTHEdoorbellrang.DeliverooorMiles?Iwondered.ItwasMiles.“I leftworkearly this time,”hesaidcheerfully, stepping through thedoor.

“Hopethat’sallright.Ah!Thereyouare,bigman.Stillup,Isee.”“Onlyjust,”Isaid.Theowasonthesofainhispajamas,watchingacartoon.“Don’tworry,Iwon’trazzhimup.We’lljustsitquietlyforabit.Here.This

isforyou.”Mileshandedmeasquarepackage.“Youdon’thavetobringusgifts,”Isaidautomatically.“Yougaveusallthosebooks.Smallgestureofgratitude.”Iopened thebox. Insidewasan iBabymonitor,oneof theexpensiveones

witharemote-controlledcamera.“It’sthedog’sknackers,”headded.“IhavethesamemodelforDavid.Wi-

Fi,4G,omnidirectionalmicrophone,nightvision…Itclaimsthehumiditysensorcan even alert you when there’s a wet nappy, though I guess that’s notsomethingyouneedwithTheoanymore.”

I lifted the camera out of the box. It was satisfyingly heavy, sleek, androunded,with the lenspartmounted inakindofgyroscope.“It’sgreat,Miles,but…Thosebookswereonlysittingintheattic.”

“Thatmonitoryou’vegotwouldhavebeenoutofdateintheDarkAges.I’veset it all up for you—just put in yourWi-Fi password and you’re away. It’s

nothing,really.AndLucy’sbeenravingabouthowgoodyouwerewithDavidtoday.Shesentmealinktothevideo.”

“Itwasapleasure,”Isaid,shrugging.“Mindyou,Theolookedquiteputoutwhenyousenthimawaylikethat,”he

added.HesatdownnexttoTheo,rufflinghishair.“Poorlittlechap.”“Theogetsplentyofattention.”“He’snotusedtosharingyou,though,ishe?”Milestookoffhistieandput

itinhissuitpocket.“Youcouldtellhewas—whatdotheycallit?—actingoutabit.Whatarewewatchingthisevening,Theo?”

“Po’manPat.”“IlovePostmanPat.Doyouknow,theyhaditwhenIwasyourage?IbetI

alreadyknowthisone.”

—MILESWAS STILL THERE,watchingTV,whenMaddiegotback fromwork.Theo,

sleepynow,hadcollapsedagainsthim,thumbinmouth.Milesbeamedather.“HiMaddie,”hesaidinastagewhisper.“Ourboy’stired.”“SoIsee,”shesaid inhernormalvoice.Shewent to thefridgeandpulled

outabottle.“Doyouwanttoputhimdownandreadhisstory?”Iasked.Shenodded.“WhenI’vehadaglassofwine.Longday.”“I’lldoit,”Milessaidimmediately.“No,really—”Ibegan,buthecutmeoff.“YoustayhereandtalktoMaddie.Firstchanceyoutwohavehadtotalkto

eachotherallday,Ibet.I’lljustreadTheoastoryandthenI’llbeoff.”Itwasthewords“I’llbeoff”thatpersuadedme.Ithadbeenalongdayfor

me,too.“Allright.Thankyou.”Miles slid his armsunder a limp, sleepyTheo,who allowedhimself to be

carriedupstairs.Itwasodd,butastheywentupthestairs,withTheodrapedcrosswiseover

Miles’s arms, I couldn’t help thinking of a man carrying his bride over athreshold.

—“MICASAESSUcasaagain?”Maddiesaidwhentheywereupstairs.“Yup,”Iagreed.“Andwhat’sthis?”SheindicatedtheiBaby.“It’saninternet-enabledbabymonitor.ApresentfromMiles.”“Well…Isupposeyouhavebeencomplainingaboutoursforages.”

“Yes. It’s very generous of him.” I hesitated. “Lucy told me earlier thatMilesfiredMichaelabecausehesawheronanannycam,infringingoneofhisrules.”

“Mileshasrules?Whoknew?”Inodded.“Surprisinglystrictones.Andaone-strike-and-you’re-outpolicy.”Maddietookanotherswigandtoppedupherglass.Shedidthata lot these

days,Inoticed:drink-and-refill,soherglasswasneverempty.AndshefilleditclosertothetopthanIdid.“So?”

“Miles said he’s already set it up. All we have to do is enter our Wi-Fipassword.MaybeI’mbeingovercautious,but…”

Shewassilentamoment.“Youthinkhemightbetechnicalenoughtohackit?”

“I don’t think he’d even need to be very technical. Look.” I typed somewords into my laptop’s search engine and showed her. The search Are babymonitors easy tohack? gaveover ten thousand results, and fromwhat I couldsee, the answer from all of them was a resounding yes. “But if I’m beingparanoid,tellme,”Iadded.

“I don’t think youare being paranoid,” she said slowly. “Imean, hemayjustify it to himself by saying that it’s his son, so why can’t he watch himsleeping.But there have to be limits, don’t there?When he comes down, I’mgoingtosaysomething.AboutEaster,too.It’stimewegotthissorted.”

—“HE’S ASLEEP.” MILES CAMEdownstairs smiling. “God,he lookspeacefulwhenhe

closeshiseyes,doesn’the?Likealittlecherub.”“It’stheonlytimehedoes,”Maddiesaiddrily.“Incidentally,Miles…”“Yes?”“Thereareacoupleof thingswe’vebeenmeaningtomention.I’mafraidI

can’t take any time off at Easter—I’m just too busy atwork.And one ofmybrothers and his family are comingover fromAustralia on theSaturday, so itwouldbealmostimpossibletogetallthewaytoCornwallandbackjustforonenight.I’mreallysorry—Ithinkwe’regoingtohavetobail.”

“Noneed,”Milessaidcheerfully.“Bringthem,too.Thehousesleepsten,sothere’splentyofroomattheinn.”

“I’msureyou’dratherfillitwithyourownfriends.”Miles’ssmiledied.“Isaid,bringyourbrother’sfamily,too.Easterwasyour

idea,afterall.Andthehouseisbookedandpaidfor.Ican’tcancelitnow.”Maddielookedatme,puzzled.“Ithoughtitcouldeasilybecanceled?”“Well,itcan’t.”Milessoundedpeeved.

“Miles—it’s my fault. I should have said something earlier,” I said. “ButMaddiehardlyevergetsachancetoseeherfamily—”

“Fine.”HegesturedatMaddie,aslicingmovementofhishand.“MaddiecanstayinLondonandseeherbrother.YouandTheocancometoCornwall.”

“We’llwanttospendEastertogether,”Maddiepointedout.“AndmybrotherwillwanttoseeTheo.”

“Well,howelseareyougoingtosortthis?”Milesdemanded.“IwanttoseeTheo,too.”

He looked so exactly like Theo when Theo was denied something—mutinousandtruculent,hislowerlipthrustout—thatwithoutthinkingIspokeinthe same tone I usedwithmy two-year-old. “We can’t always havewhatwewant,though,canwe?”

Irealizedassoonasthewordswereoutthatitsoundedhorriblypatronizing,butMilesdidn’tgivemetimetosayso.

“That’s so true, Pete. So very true.” He sounded strangely distant andunemotional,almostasifhewerespeakingtohimself.

Andthenhewasgone,ablastofcoldairfromthedoorhe’dleftopenbehindhimchillingourlittlesittingroom.

40Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit21,emailfromJustinWatts,FoxAtkinsLLP,toPeterRiley.

YourMatterDearPete,This is just to confirm that I have submitted our letters of claim and have received a holding

response.IwillletyouknowwhenIhavefurthernews.Kindregards,JustinWattsAssociatePartnerFoxAtkinsLLP

41PETE

I TOOK THEO TO theLamberts’nextmorningfeelingslightlyapprehensive.Thechange inMiles’s manner had been so abrupt—the cheeriness and bonhomievisibly draining from him—that I was sure he must have been genuinelyoffended.NotthatIregrettedwhatMaddiehadsaid—itwasonlywhatI’dbeenstrugglingtosaymyself—butIdidregretmyowntactlessintervention.

Ontheotherhand,Idecided,ifMileshadtakenoffense,itwasachancetotalkitallthroughandthrashoutsomedetails—aweeklytimetableofvisits,say,orattheveryleastagreeingtocheckbytextbeforeweturnedupateachother’shouses. Itwasbecoming increasinglyclear thatMileswasgoing toneedquitecarefulhandlingifweweretokeeprelationsassmoothasthey’dbeeninitially.

Butintheevent,Mileswasn’thome,andLucyseemedherusualfriendly,ifhigh-strung, self. “Oh, hello, Pete,” she said in her vagueway, as if it was asurprise that I’dmanaged tofindmywaytoHighgateatall, letalonebangonnineA.M.“AndTheo.Howlovelytoseeyou.”

I’dtakenanoldplaymatofTheo’s,aquiltwithvariousinsectsandanimalssewnonit—aladybird,afrog,acaterpillarthatsqueakedwhenyousqueezedit,aspiderhidingunderaleaf.IliftedDavidontoitandreadhimTheVeryHungryCaterpillar while he ate some grapes that Tania had washed and cut in half.When I’d finished, I put thebookbehindme and saidgently, “Canyou see ahungry caterpillar anywhere on the mat, David?” He looked around, and Ipointedtowardthecaterpillar,thensqueezedit,makingitsqueak.Helaughed.IsuddenlyrealizedI’dneverseenhimlaughbefore.Itlituphiswholeface,andjust foramomenthedidn’t lookbrain-damaged.He just looked likeany littlekidhavingagoodtime.

AlittlekidwithMaddie’seyes.“Squeaksqueak!”Isaid.“I’mstillhungry!Givemesomegrapes!”Ipretended to feed thecaterpillaroneof thegrapes.“Squeaksqueak!That

means‘thankyou’incaterpillar.”“You’resogoodwithhim,”Lucysaid,watching.“Well,he’ssweet.”“Milesthinkshemightbemusicalwhenhe’solder.Becausehe’ssensitive,

andhelistensalot.”Inodded.ItriedtothinkwhetherMaddieandIhadeverhadaconversation

aboutwhatTheomightdoasanadult.Butperhaps itwasdifferentwhenyourchildhadaconditionlikeDavid’s.

IpattedDavid’sheadandgotup.“Incidentally,Lucy…”“Yes?”“DidMilessayanythingaboutlastnight?OnlyIthinkImighthavespokena

bittactlessly.”“Last night?” She looked bemused. “I didn’t even know you two were

meetinguplastnight.Didyougoforadrink?Hedidn’tsayanythingwhenhegothome.AndI’mafraidIwasasleepwhenheleftthismorning—helikestogetofftoworkearly,afterhisrun.”

“I’mprobablyoverthinkingit,”Isaid.“I’llsendhimatextorsomething.”

—AROUNDLUNCHTIME ILOOKEDatFacebook.LucyandTaniahadtakenthechildren

tothezoo.Lucyhadalreadypostedhalfadozenpictures—Theoatthepenguinpool,Theopettingasnake,Theostandingnexttoagiraffe’sleg.Davidwasinastroller,sotherewerefewerofhim.

The problem with this arrangement, I reflected, was that Theo was nevergoingtolearntosharebetterwhilehewaswithachildsomuchlessadvancedthan him. If anything, he was just going to get used to having the undividedattention of two adults at once. And what was having a nanny with limitedEnglishgoingtodotohisspeechdelay?Itreallywasonlyastopgapsolution.

ButIsuspectedMilesandLucydidn’tseeitthatway.Iwonderedhowlongitwouldtaketogetsomekindofpayoutfromthehospital.Afterthat,hopefully,we’dbeabletosortoutourownchildcareagain.

—THE REST OF THEweekpassedwithout incident, andwithoutword fromMiles.

Andon theplusside,nowthatTheowasno longeratnurseryIdidn’thave tobotherwithacostume forWorldBookDay. Itgavemequietpleasurewhen Ibumped into one of the nursery mums by the organic fruit and veg inSainsbury’sandspottedaWhere’sWally?costumeinhertrolley.Irememberedhername:SallyRussell.She’dbeenoneoftheprimemoversbehindthegroupI’ddubbed“themotherhood,”constantlymakingsnideremarkstotheeffectthatfull-timedadsmadecluelesscarers.

“Howlovely,”Isaid,glancingdown.“Harrywilllooksocuteinthat.”Sally flushed. “Iwasgoing tomakeone,butheabsolutely refused tobea

mouseagain.Andit’sonlysevenpoundsfifty.”“So it is,” I agreed. “Makes youwonderwhere they source it, doesn’t it?

Long-sleeved shirt, trousers,and hat. Is itFairtrade cotton?” I leaneddown tolook.“Oh.Polyester.Cambodia.Shame.”

Ishouldn’thavebeenenjoyingmyselfsomuch,butiftheboothadbeenontheotherfoot,she’dhaveshownnomercy.Anditdidn’ttakeherlongtocomebackswinging.

“Andhow’spooroldTheo?”shesaid,hervoicedrippingwithconcern.“Wewereall soupset tohearhe’dbeenexcluded.Wheredidyoumanage toplacehim,intheend?”

“Theo’sfallenonhisfeet,actually.We’vefoundareallygoodnannysharewith”—Ihesitated—“withfriends.”

“That’sgreat.Heprobablywasn’tquitereadyforpreschool,washe?”“Probablynot,”Iagreed.Ireallywasn’tbotheredbyherbarbedcomments,

whichwasniceasIwasfairlysureshewasbotheredbymine.“Goodtoseeyou,anyway.”

AsImovedoffshesaidsuddenly,“DidyouhearaboutJaneTigman?”Iturned.“No.Whathappened?”“Shegotknockedoffherbikeandbrokeherleg.”“Knockedoffhow?”Sallyshookherhead.“Shecan’trememberanythingabout it.Shethinks it

wasacar, rather thanavanorbus,butshe’snotabsolutelysure. Itmusthavejust touched her backwheel, she thinks, and sent her flying.Whoever itwas,theydidn’tstop.Luckilyitwasjustaftershe’ddroppedZackoff,orhe’dhavebeenonthebikewithher.”

“That’sterrible,”Isaid.JanemighthavebeenresponsibleforTheoleavingthenursery,but itwas impossiblenot to feel sorry forher. “Sendhermybestwishes,willyou?”

42MADDIE

I’M AT WORK, REDOING the budget for a commercial—the client has arbitrarilydecided it should cost 20 percent less, but is adamant it shouldn’t look 20percentlessgood—whenIngifromreceptioncalls.

“Maddie,therearesomepeopleheretoseeyou.FromtheNHS.”“Okay,”Isayslowly.“Isthereanywherewecantalkinprivate?”“The Surfer room is free. I’ll put them in there, shall I?”All ourmeeting

roomsarenamedafterfamouscommercials,whichtendstoconfusetheclients.Obviously, this must be to do with our claim. But I’m surprised they’ve

cometoseemewithoutanappointment.Isitsomekindofambush,tocatchmeoff guard? Or is this the way they do things here in the UK? Either way, Idecide, there’snopoint ingettingworkedupabout itbeforeIknowwhat theywant.

Inthemeetingroom,amanandawomanarewaiting.Bothwearsuitsandopen-neckedshirts.Theman,who’syounger,hasalaptopinfrontofhim,whilethe woman, who’s short and stocky, is sorting through a bulging folder ofpaperwork.

“Hello,I’mMaddieWilson,”Isaybriskly.“Iunderstandyouwanttospeaktome?”

“Yes.” It’s the woman who answers. “I’m Grace Matthews, and this isThomasFinlay.We’refromNHSResolution,thepartofthehealthservicethatdealswithlitigation.”

Isitdown.“It’sregardingourclaim,Iassume.”GraceMatthewsnods,causingherglassestoslipdownhernose.Shepushes

themupwithafinger.“Firstofall,wewantedtoassureyouthattheNHStakesincidents like this one very seriously.We’re working with the private clinicsinvolvedtounderstandwhathappened.”

Nowit’smyturntonod.“Good.”“Thatmaytakesometime,sopleasedon’tworryifyoudon’thearfromus

foralittlewhile.”“Ofcourse.”“In the meantime, we’ll need access to your patient records, to assist our

investigation.”GraceMatthewstakesaformfromherfolderandslidesittowardme.“Ifyoucouldsignthis,tosayyougiveyourconsent.”

Ilookdownattheform.“Ishouldprobablygetourlawyertolookthroughitfirst.”

“Well,ofcourse,ifyouwantto.”GraceMatthewssoundssurprised.“It’sthestandard form that anyone has to sign when clinical negligence claims areinvestigated.”

Ithink.“I’lljuststepoutsideandcallhim.”“Couldyoureadmetheform?”JustinWattssayswhenI’veexplainedwhy

I’m calling. I’ve only gotten through the first few lines when he stops me.“That’sallright.It’sstandardforthesecases.”

“Doesthatmeanthey’llseemypsychiatricrecords,too?”“Yes,butsincewe’reclaimingmentaldistress,thoserecordswillbolsterour

case,nothinderit.”I feel uneasy. It hadn’t really occurred tome thatmy psychosismight be

relevant to our claim, when the truth was, I would have reacted like thatirrespective of whether it was Theo or David I went home with. But we’recommittedtothispathnow.“Okay.Thanks.”

Igobackintothemeetingroom.“Hesaysit’sfine.”“Good. I’ve got a pen here,” Grace Matthews says. As I sign, she says

casually,“Where’sTheonow,bytheway?Withyourpartner?”Still writing, I say, equally casually, “No, with some friends. We have a

nannyshare.Why?”GraceMatthewstakesherpenback.“Justcurious.”

43PETE

“HEYMATE,”MILESSAIDcheerfully.“Miles. Hi,” I said cautiously into my phone. It was the first time we’d

spokensinceheleftourhousesoabruptlythatnight.“Babymonitorworkingallright?”“Fine, thanks.” I hadn’t actually plugged it in. The thought of Theo being

watched—or even more pertinently, listened to with that omnidirectionalmicrophone—spookedme,andourhousewassosmall,youdidn’treallyneedamonitortohearhimcryinganyway.

“Great.Look,I’vegotafavortoask.WhatwasthenameofthenursewholookedafterTheointheNICU,theIrishonewholookedlikeshehadthehotsforyou?”

“IthinkyouprobablymeanBronaghWalsh?Butshedidn’thavethehotsforme.”

Helaughed.“Ifyousayso.”“Whydoyouwanttoknow,anyway?”“It’sfor thelawyer.He’scompilinga listofall theNHSpersonnelwecan

remembercomingintocontactwith,fortheinvestigators.”Isuddenlyfeltapprehensive.“Investigatorsintowhat?”“Howthemix-uphappened,ofcourse.Presumablytheyhaveproceduresto

stopthatkindofthing,andinthisinstancetheydidn’twork.Sothey’llwanttotry to find out what went wrong. Which is a good thing, isn’t it? Stop thishappeningtosomeotherpoorbastard.”

Myfeelingofanxietywasdeepening.“Butnoone’sgoingtotrytopinthisononeofthenurses,arethey?BecauseBronaghwasfantastic.”

“Well,ifyousayso,Pete.Butsomeonecockedup,didn’tthey?”“I suppose,” I said uneasily. “So long as they don’t try to scapegoat

Bronagh.”“Whodefinitelydidn’thavethehotsforyou,ofcourse.Anyway,bettergo.”“Miles…”Isaid.“Yes,mate?”“We’regood,right?There’snothingbotheringyou?”“Likewhat?”“Just that we haven’t seen you for a few days. And last timewe spoke I

probablydidn’texpressmyselfverywell.Iwastired,andsomehow—”Helaughed.“Thereyougoagain,Pete.Alwaysworryingaboutwhatother

peoplethink.No,ofcoursewe’regood.I’vejustgotabigpushonatwork.Givemylovetothebigman,wouldyou?Tellhimit’sashameaboutEaster,butI’llseehimsoon.”

—“SO WHAT DO YOU want to do for Easter, nowwe’re not spending it with the

Lamberts?”Maddieaskedthatevening.Iopenedthefridgeandtookoutabeer.“IthinkanEasteregghuntismore

orlessmandatory,isn’tit?They’redoingoneonHampsteadHeath.Andthere’sa lambing weekend at Forty Hall—it’ll be good for Theo to be around someanimals. We should probably put in a couple of appearances at church, too,whilewe’restillfreshinReverendSheila’smemory.”

“WhataboutgettingsomefriendsoverontheSaturday?”“Goodidea.Wehaven’tseenGregandKateforages.”“AndtheyknowSophiefromwork,don’tthey?I’vebeentryingtoarrange

somethingwithherandRichardforawhile.Shallwedosupper?”“Blimey.Who’scooking?”Maddiestretched.“I’lldodessertifyou’lldothemain.”“Deal.”“God,it’llbenicetohavesometimeoff.It’sbeensofull-onrecently,hasn’t

it, what with all the Miles and Lucy stuff? We really need some time toourselves.”

44MADDIE

IT’SGREATTOHAVEfriendsaround.SophieandRichardhavebookedababysitter,butGregandKatebringLilyandAlfiewiththem,puttingthemdowninourbedwhilePetecooks.Thenweallsqueezearoundthetableanddrinkwineandeatandtalk.Aboutourkids,mostly.Kate’slikeme—shewentbacktoworkwhileGregstayedathome,soit’snicenottofeeljudgedforonce.Atonepoint,whenPete and Greg are getting all competitive about what they cook with theircharges—“Well,lastweekwemadearanciniballsfrompankobreadcrumbsandsomeleftoverrisotto,andwedidn’tskimponthechiliflakes,either”—shegivesmeasidewaysglanceandrollshereyescomically,whichmakesmesnortintomywine.

Greg sits back. “I meant to ask you, Pete—you posted something onDadStuff awhile back, about some kind of inspiring story youwere involvedwith?”

“Ohyeah.”Petelooksatme.“Wecantalkaboutthisnow,right?”Ishrug.“Idon’tseewhynot.”SoPete—keepinghisvoicedown,incaseTheoisstillawake—tellsthestory

ofhowthebabiesgotswapped,andhowwe’redealingwiththefallout.He’sagood storyteller—that’s the journalism, I suppose:He knows how to structurefactssuccinctlyandnotgooffontangents.Butthey’dbespellboundinanycase.Hearinghimrelatethewholethingfromstart tofinish,andseeingourfriends’stunnedreactions,bringsithometomealloveragainjusthowextraordinarythiswholesituationis.

“Andwhataretheylike?”KateaskswhenPete’sfinished.“Doyougeton?”“Well,”Petebegins,“that’swherewe’vejustbeenincrediblylucky.They’re

verynice.Andreally,reallycommittedtomakingitwork.”“They’reabitweird,”Isay.Peteshootsmealook.IrealizeI’vespokenalittlethickly,butsodit:Itisn’t

asifI’mdrivinganywhere.“Imean,Pete’sright,”Iadd.“Theyarecommitted.Butit’sarelieftohavea

breakfromthem,actually.TheywantedusalltogoawaytogetheroverEaster.Imanagedtogetusoutofit,but—putitthisway,they’rehardwork.”

“It’sabitlikenatureversusnurture,thissituationofyours,isn’tit?”Richardsaysthoughtfully.

Petenods.“That’swhatMilessaid,too.”Igivehimalook.“Whenwasthis?”

“Whenwewentoutforadrink.”Petelookssurprised.“IthoughtItoldyou.Milessaid, it’llbe interesting tosee ifTheo turnsoutas successfulashim,orwhetherbeingwithuswillmakehimlesscompetitive.Orwordstothateffect.”

There’s a short silence. “That’s actually quite insulting, though, isn’t it?”Sophiesays.

Richardfrowns.“Hesoundsabitofaprick.”“Well,wehaveverydifferentideasofwhatsuccesslookslike,”Petebegins,

justasthedoorbellrings.For amoment, I think, It’s him. Then I relax. Of course, it can’t be—the

Lambertsare250milesawayinCornwall,andinanycase,MilescomesearlierthanthiswhenhewantstoseeTheo.“I’llgo,”Isay,gettingup.

ItisMiles.AndLucy,bothofthemsmilingexpectantlyatmeasIopenthedoor.Milesiswearingadarkblazerandfadedbluejeans.Inonehandhehasabottleofexpensive-lookingwine,intheotherashoppingbag.

“Thoughtwe’d come and introduce ourselves,” he says cheerfully. I’m sodumbfounded, I let him step pastme into the house.He looks around the fullroom.“Quiteapartyyou’vegothere.”

Petefindshisvoice.“Miles.WethoughtyouwereinCornwall.”“Didn’tfancyitonourown.”Mileswavesatthetable.“Greetings,oneand

all.”“Right.”Petenods,abittoovigorously.“MilesandLucy,everyone.”“I’m guessing you must be Maddie’s brother,” Miles says to Richard,

extendinghishandacrossthetable.“I’mRichard,”Richardsays,confused.“MywifeworkswithMaddie.”Miles turns toGreg inquiringly.But thenakindofshadowfallsacrosshis

face.“WeknowPeteandMaddiefromtheNICU,”Gregsays.Mileslooksatme.“Whereareyourbrotherandhisfamily?”heasksquietly.

There’sastrange,palelightinhiseyes,likeabigcat’s.“They’renothere.”“Whynot?”Ibarelyhesitate.“Theirflightwasdelayed.”“Whichairline?”Miles’svoiceissoft.“Wedidn’tfancycomingtoCornwall,”Isaydefiantly.“Itwasawhitelie,

okay?”There’salongsilence.Milesshakeshishead.“No.Itisnotokay,Madelyn.

Itisnotokayatall.”HespeaksinthesamedistantvoiceIheardlasttimehewashere,eerilycalm.

“Mate—”Petebegins.Milesturns.

“I’mnotyourmate,Pete.ThoughGodknowsI’vetriedtobe,forthesakeofmyson.”Helooksatthetable.“Well,budgeup.Twomorefordinner,now.”

Anothersilence.Thereisclearlynowayanyonecansqueezeupanyfurther.Itakeadeepbreath.“Miles,Lucy.It’salwaysgreattoseeyou,butthisisn’t

agoodtime.Asyoucansee,we’vegotguests.”“Guests,”Miles repeats. “And they’remore important than themotherand

fatherofthatlittleboyupstairs,arethey?”“It’snotlikethat—”Peteprotests.“We’renotgoodenoughforyou,isthatit?”Milessays.“Becausewedon’t

workinthemediaortakedrugsorreadthefuckingGuardian?”“Jesus,”Sophiesaysnervously.“Ican’tbelieveI’mhearingthis.”“Youshouldgo,”IsayfirmlytoMiles.“Yes,Miles.” Lucy’s voice is littlemore than awhisper, andwhenMiles

turnstowardher,sheflinches.It’satinymovement,barelymorethanatwitch,but with a sudden flash of intuition I think: She’s scared of him. “Let’s gohome.”

“GivethistoTheo,”hesaystonooneinparticular,pullingaboxoutoftheshoppingbag.It’sanEasteregg,ahugeone.Heputsitonthetable.

I suddenly realize thatPeteand I shouldhavegottensomething forDavid.We should have investigated low-protein eggs, or thought of a non-chocolatealternative.Butithadn’tevenoccurredtous.

Miles puts thewine on the table aswell. “Comeon,” he says to hiswife.“Let’sgetoutofthisshithole.”

45Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit23,emailfromPeterRileytoMilesLambert.

Miles,Afteraday’sreflection,itseemstoMaddieandIthatnoneofushandledyesterdayeveningvery

well. Certainly, we shouldn’t have told that white lie about Maddie’s brother coming over fromAustralia.Pleaseunderstand thatweonlydidsooutofadesire tospareyourandLucy’s feelings.We’vebeenseeingquitealotofyourecently,whichhasbeenonthewholeagreatpleasure,andwejustwantedalittletimetoourselves.

Alsoonreflection,itwasremissofusnottositdownwithyoubothmuchsoonerandworkoutsomegroundrulesforhowthisisgoingtowork.Clearly,theeffortwe’veallbeenmakingtokeepitfriendlyandinformalisgoingtohavetobesupplementedbysomeagreementsaboutvisitingtimes,responsibilities,howmuchinputweshouldeachhaveintoeachother’sparentingstyles,thingslikethat.Andweareallgoingtohavetobeveryclearaboutwhatisandisn’tacceptablelanguagetousewitheachother.

Inmanywayswethinkit’sagoodthingthatharshwordshavenowbeenspokenandtheairhasbeencleared.That’swhathappens infamilies, isn’t it—arow,followedbyreconciliation.Andwedefinitelyareakindoffamily,evenifit’sanunconventionalone.

Whatdoyousay—shallweagreetoputlastnightbehindus,forthesakeofourchildren,andtakeitfromthere?Therearesomanypositives tobehadfromthissituation,evenif it isgoingto takeeffortandcommitmentonbothsidestomakeitworksmoothly.

Bestwishes,PeteandMaddie

46MADDIE

PERSONALLY,ITHINKTHEemailiswaytooconciliatory.I’mstillfuriousatthewayMiles and Lucy ruined our evening, and it’s taken all Pete’s powers ofpersuasion to convince me that the future relationship with them is worthswallowingmyangerfor.

“Think ofDavid,” he said quietly. “Think of our biological son, sitting inthat huge house with a father who virtually ignores him because he’ll nevermake the first eleven. Are we really going to walk away from our son justbecauseMilesisturningouttobetrickierthanwefirstthought?Davidneedsustobebiggerthanthat,Mads.”

Atwhich,Iburstintotearsandtoldhimtowritewhateverheliked.Ihaven’ttold Pete this, but sometimes at work I get up that Facebook video of himreadingtoDavidontheplaymatandwatchitoverandover.That’sthefamilyIcouldhavehad.Shouldhavehad,even.And—muchasIadoredthefamilyIdidhave—Ididn’tfindtheideaoff-putting.PetejustlookedsorightwithDavid,sonatural.Soifhe’scorrect,andamollifyingemailiswhat’snowrequiredtoresettherelationshipwiththeLamberts,it’sapriceworthpaying.

Ourfriends,ofcourse,hadbeenstunnedbywhatthey’dwitnessed.“Anutteraswellasaprick”wasRichard’sassessment,anditdidseemapt.Asusual,Petetriedtoseebothsides—“He’s just likethat.Heblowshis top,andthenit’sallforgotten”—butevenhehadtoadmitthatMiles’sbehaviorhadbeendownrightweird.

Andbesides,Mileshadn’tblownhistop.Thatwasoneofthethingsthatwassostrangeaboutit—theeeriecalmwithwhichhe’dhurledhisinsultsatus.

I made Pete take out a bit in the first draft where he apologized moreprofuselyfornotgoingtoCornwall,though.Itmighthavebeenoursuggestionto spend the day together, I pointed out, butwe’d never signed up for a longweekend,letaloneawholeweek.Ifweimpliedwewereinthewrongaboutthat,Mileswouldsimplywalkalloverus.

Itwasmewhoinsistedonthebitaboutunacceptablelanguage,too.BecauseI’mnothavingsomerichentitledpomthinkinghecanwalkintomyhomeandcallitashithole.

—WEFINALLYSENDTHEemailatfourP.M.Milesdoesn’treply.Notthatevening,or

onEasterMonday.

“What do I do tomorrow?” Pete says over supper. “Take Theo to theLamberts’asusual,orkeephimhere?”

“God,Idon’tknow.”Ithink.“Isuppose,ifyoudotakehim,atleastit’llbeachancetotalktoLucy.Findoutwhereshestands.”

“Ortheremightbeamassiverow.IfMilesisthere,Imean.”“Maybeamassiverowiswhat’srequiredrightnow.”“Um,”Petesays.“InfrontofTheo?”I glance at him. If Pete has a weakness, it’s that sometimes he’ll try to

smooth things overwhenwhat’s really required is a bit of shouting.But he’sright, of course—we shouldn’t be teaching Theo that shouting is how adultsresolve disagreements, at least not while his own behavior is still so erratic.“Thenwhynotkeephimhomeforaday?”Isuggest.“ThatmightgiveMilesareasontogetbackintouch,afterall.”

47PETE

SOIKEPTTHEOhome.Aroundeleven,whileTheowasdrawingwhatheclaimedweredinosaurson

thegiantpadwekeptespeciallyforrainydays,myphonerang.Iglancedatthescreen.MILESLAMBERT.Slightlyapprehensive,Iansweredit.“Hello?”

“Pete,mate.What’sup?”Milessaidcheerfully.“IsTheoallright?”“Theo’sgood,thanks.Why?”“Lucytextedtosayyouhadn’tturnedupthismorning.”“That’s right,” I said cautiously. “You hadn’t replied to our email, so we

weren’tsureifyouwereexpectinghim.”“Of coursewewere.Thatwas the deal, right?Daytimes at ours, nights at

yours.”Ifrowned.“Idon’tthinkweexactlyformalizedthatintoadeal,Miles.”Silence.“Didyoureadouremail?”Iadded.“Yes.Well,thefirstfewlinesanyway.Itwasabitlong,tobehonest.ButI

gotthegist.Look,apologyaccepted.Waterunderthebridge.Andlet’sfaceit,Iprobablyspokealittlehastilyaswell.”

Itookadeepbreath.“Miles,weneedtosortthisout.”“Consider it sorted. Anyway, now we’re all good, how soon can you get

TheoovertoHighgate?”“Ineedtothinkaboutthat,”Isaidfirmly.“Definitelynottoday,andasfor

tomorrow…Look, you should know that we have reservations about how thiswholenanny-sharethingisgoingtowork.Whetherit’sreallythebestthingforTheo.Inthelongterm,Imean.”

Therewasabriefsilence.Then, in thecalm,distantvoiceIwasgettingsofamiliarwith,Milessaid,“Well,don’tthinktoofuckinglong,Pete.”

Andthenthephonewentdead.

—IRELATEDALLTHIStoMaddiewhenshegothome.“It’slikeaswitchinsidehim

suddenlygetsthrown.Then,whentheswitchgoesbackagain,it’sasifitneverhappened.”

Maddienodded.“IthinkLucy’sscaredofhim,too.”As if on cue, our doorbell rang.We looked at each other. “Speak of the

devil,”Isaidquietly.

Iwentandpulledthedooropen,determinedthatthistimeIwasn’tgoingtogiveanyground.

Butasthemanonthedoorstepmovedhisumbrella,Isawitwasn’tMiles.ItwasDonMaguire, the private investigator. Hewas holding out a thickwhiteenvelope,rapidlyspottingwithraindrops.

“Ineed toserveyou this,”hesaid.WhenI took it,headded,“I’msorry itdidn’tworkout.”Thenheturnedandwalkedawaythroughtherain.

Mystifiedandslightlyalarmed,Itooktheenvelopeindoorsandopenedit.Itcontained a thick bundle of documents. At the top were two sheets, slightlydamp,bothheadedNoticeofProceedings.IsawMiles’sname.

“Whatisit?”Maddieasked.“I’mnotsure.Butwhateveritis,itdoesn’tlookgood.”Quickly,Ipulledthe

papers out and flicked through them. An official-looking document headedDeclaration of Parentage. A photocopy of a birth certificate—Theo’s.Something about mediation. And several blank forms headed Respondent’sCopy.

“They’relegalpapers,”Isaid,baffled.“There’sadateforsomesortofcourthearing.ButIdon’tunderstand.WhenIspoketoMiles,hedidn’tsayanythingaboutthis.”

Underneath theNotice ofProceedingswas a formheadedC1:Applicationforanorder,ChildrenAct1989exceptcareandsupervisionorders,Section8ordersandordersrelatedtoenforcementofacontactorder.Noneofthewordsmeant anything tome. Iwent through it line by line, desperate to understandwhatwasgoingon.ThefirstsectionwasheadedAboutyou—Personcompletingthisapplication.Mileshadfilledinhisownnameandaddress.

Section2washeadedThechild(ren)andtheorder(s)appliedfor.Foreachchildstate(1)thefullname,and(2)thetypeoforder(s).Underneath,Mileshadwritten:

1. DavidLeopoldLambert—SpecialGuardianshipOrder

2. TheoRiley—ChildArrangementsOrder

“OhmyGod.”Ifelttheblooddrainfrommyface.“What?”Maddiesaid,concerned.“IsitTheo?He’snottryingtoswapthem

backafterall?”“It’sworsethanthat,”Isaidslowly.“Ithinkhe’stryingtogetthemboth.”

48Caseno.12675/PU78B65:CAFCASS“WelcomePack”letterreceivedbyPeterRileyandMadelyn

Wilson,signedbyLynEdwards,FamilyCourtAdviser.DearMs.WilsonandMr.Riley,CAFCASS,theChildrenandFamilyCourtAdvisoryService,hasbeenaskedbythecourttowork

withyouandyourchild/ren.Ourjobistoprovidethecourtwithadvicetohelpitdecideonfuturearrangementsforyourchild/ren.

Iunderstandthatthisisadifficulttimeforyouandyourfamily.AtCAFCASSourjobistomakesurechildrenaresafeandthattheirviewsandinterestsaretakenintoaccount.ThismeansthatIneedto ask questions about your situation. In the first instance I will telephone you to discuss anyconcernsyoumayhaveaboutthesafeguardingofyourchild/ren.Iwillalsotelephoneotherpartiesinthecasetoseektheirviews.Followingthosecalls,Iwillwritealettertothecourtsettingoutwhetherthereareanysafeguardingissuesthatthecourtshouldbeawareof,andifso,whatIthinkshouldbedoneaboutthem.

WerecognizethatyoumaynotbeinagreementwithrecommendationsImaymaketothecourtandthiscanbechallengedduringthecourtproceedings.If,however,youareunhappywithanypartofmypractice,pleasetellmeormymanagerassoonaspossiblesothatwecanquicklyunderstandyourconcernsandtrytoputthingsright.

Yourssincerely,LynEdwardsFamilyCourtAdviserWhereverpossibleCAFCASSusesrecycledpaperandblackinktoreducecostsandourcarbon

footprint.Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit24,retrievedfromDadStuff.net.

HELP—NEEDGOODCHILDLAWSOLICITORURGENTLY.Homedad85—Level5poster.Membersince2018.Needa lawyerwhoknowsabout family law. Just been served2xNoticeofProceedings—first

hearing is inTHREEWEEKS. Received a bunch of forms (C1,C100,C1A, and a letter from somepeoplecalledCAFCASS)andSOMEONEAPPEARSTOHAVEGOTTENACOURTTOCHANGEMYSON’SBIRTHCERTIFICATEWITHOUTUSBEINGTOLDABOUTIT.Theformhasournameandaddressbutoneletterofourpostcodehasbeenchanged.Thatmakesitillegal,surely?

Pleasehelpasap.Goingoutofourmindswithworry.Graham775YourbestbetistofindasolicitorusingthesearchengineontheLawSocietywebsite.OnefinedayBirthcertificateisforrecordingchild’sparents.Someoneappearstohaveconvincedacourtthat

yourDSisn’tactuallyyours.Iwonderhowthatcanhavehappened?TanktopWentthroughcourtandCAFCASSwithmyex.Horribleexperience,butcan’trecommendAnita

Chowdryhighlyenough—childlawyeratBurnhamPhillips.She’snotcheapbutshe’swortheverypenny.Onefineday“Childlawyer,”Tanktop?Wouldn’tOPbebetteroffwithagrown-up?

49MADDIE

“IT’S A HIGHLY UNUSUAL situation,” Anita Chowdry says, looking up from thebundle.Sheseemsimpressed,evenfascinated,byjusthowunusualitis.

“We’ve been so naïve,” Pete says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe howstupidwe’vebeen.”

“Well,you’reherenow,”Anitasaysbriskly.“Wouldyoulikemetoexplainwhattheapplicantshavebeenupto?”

IlikeAnita.SheseemsbrightandcapableandentirelyateasewithherhijabandpronouncedsouthLondonaccent.“Yes,please.”

“Thefirstthingtheydidwastoapplytothefamilycourtforadeclarationofparentage order. That involved them getting a court-approved doctor to takeDNAsamplesfromTheo—”

“Hangon,”Pete says. “They tookTheo toadoctor? I thought theyusedasippycup.”

Anitaglancesdownatthedocument.“Thedoctorcametotheirhouse.Thecourtwouldneedtobesuretherewasabsolutelynochanceofmisidentification,sotheyrepeatedthetests.Butthedoctorwouldonlyhaveneededcheekswabs,soTheoprobablywouldn’thavebeenawareofanythingunusualgoingon.TheLambertsthenaskedthecourttoconfirmthatthey’reTheo’snaturalparents,andhavingdone that, todirect thathisbirthcertificatebeamended.”SheholdsupherhandtoforestallPete’sprotests.“NotsendingtheNoticeofProceedingstothecorrectaddresswassneaky,but there’sabsolutelynochance thecourtwilloverturnitonthatbasis.TheLambertsprobablyjustdidn’twanttoalertyoutowhattheyweredoing.”

“Wehadnoidea,”Petesays,shakinghishead.“Noideaatall.”“Inanycase,beingdeclaredhislegalparentsmeanstheynowhavetheright

toapplyforaChildArrangementsOrder—whatusedtobecalledcustody.”Peteputshisheadinhishands.“There was something in the bundle about mediation,” I say. “We didn’t

quiteunderstandit,butitdefinitelysaidmediationwouldtakeplace.”Anitanods.“Actually,it’salreadyhappened.”Pete’sheadshootsup.“What?”“It’s a legal requirement that applicants for a Child Arrangements Order

attendamediationmeeting.Butthere’snoabsoluterequirementthattheyattendwiththeotherparty—iftheycanconvincethemediatorthey’veexploredallthepossibilitiesandthatfurtherdiscussionwouldn’twork,themediatorcansimply

signthecertificatethatallowsthemtoproceed.Besides,youhavetorememberthat mediation is primarily aimed at divorcing couples. Here you’ve got asituationwhereahusbandandwifebothturnuptogether,singingoffthesamehymnsheetandprobablybothsayinghowaccommodatingthey’vetriedtobe—it’shardlysurprisingtheywerewavedthrough.”

Pete slumps again. He’d been pinning all his hopes on the mediation, Irealize.It’sallpartofhisgeneralbeliefthatreasonablenessanddialoguearetheanswertoeverything.

“Thecourtcanstillordermediationat the initialhearing, if itchooses to,”Anita adds. “Iwouldn’t get your hopes up, though.A judgewon’t usually dothatifthedelaycouldleadtopotentialharmtothechild.”

“Harm!”Petestaresather.“ToTheo?Whatharm?That’sridiculous.”“Thedefinitionofharmin theChildrenAct isprettybroad.Theapplicants

havelistedseveralexamplesontheC1Awhichtheybelievemayqualify.OneisthatyouletTheowanderoffandgetlostonashoppingtrip.Anotheristhatyouallowedhimtoeatatubofsalt,resultinginavisittotheemergencyroom.Theyalsosaytheyhavephotographicevidenceofbruisingtohislegs—”

“HebruisedhislegsplayingrugbywithMiles!”Peteshouts.“Of course,” Anita says calmly. “I’m simply telling you what they’ve

alleged,whichisthatthebruiseswerecausedbyyouforciblyholdinghimdownonachurchstep,infrontofwitnesses.Oh,andthey’reaskingforanacceleratedprocessbecausetheyclaimthethreeofyoucouldbeaflightrisk.”Shelooksatme. “You’re anAustralian citizen, I understand?AndTheo has anAustralianpassport?”

I nod. “We visited his grandparents last Christmas. And since Pete and Iaren’tmarried,itwaseasiertogethimanAustralianone.”

“Then I think it’s highly likely they’ll succeed in getting the processexpedited.Whichinsomewaysisunfortunate,becausethey’vealreadystolenamarch on you.”Anita turns a page. “They’ve also asked the court tomake aProhibited StepsOrder preventing you from taking Theo abroad, on the basisthat the people listed in his passport as his parents no longer have parentalresponsibilityforhim.”

“What do you mean—‘no longer have parental responsibility’?” I say,baffled.“We’restillhisday-to-daycarers,surely?Atleastuntilacourtdecidesotherwise?”

Anitaconsiders.“Haveyoutoldthecouncilyou’reprivatefostering?”“Idon’tevenknowwhatthatis,”Petesaysdespairingly.“Caringforsomeoneelse’schild.Itmighthavegivenyousomeprotectionif

thecouncilhadalreadylookedintothesituationanddecidedyouweredoinga

good job.As it is, notifying them is a legal requirement that you’ve failed tocarryout,whichisn’tabigdealbutprobablydoesn’thelpus.”Thesolicitorputsherpendown.“I’mafraidyou’re inaveryunusualsituation, legallyspeaking.Generally,youcanonlyapplyforcourtorders todowithchildren ifyouhaveparental responsibility for them—and while that would automatically includeanychildwho’d livedwithyou for threeyears,anything lessdoesn’tcount. Ifthe child is two, and you aren’t his parents or legal guardians and you’re nolongerlistedassuchonhisbirthcertificate,youeffectivelyhavenorightsoverhimwhatsoever.”Shepullsanotherdocumentoutofthebundle.“Sowhen,forexample, theapplicants say theywantTheo tocontinuecoming to theirhouseeverydaytobe lookedafterby theirnanny, technically that’s theirdecision tomake.”

“Overmydeadbody,”Petesays,clenchinghisfists.Anita glances at him. “You might want to think through the possible

ramifications before you decide not to comply,” she saysmildly. “As you’veprobablygathered,there’sanorganizationcalledCAFCASSthat’llbeinvolved—independentsocialworkerswho’llmakearecommendationtothecourtbasedonwhattheythinkisbestforthechild.It’svery,veryrareforthejudgenottogoalong with their views. If the applicants can argue you’re not acting in thechild’sbestinterests,andtheCAFCASSofficeragrees,itmaynotbehelpfultoyourcase.”

Pete shakes his head. “This nanny share isn’t in Theo’s best interests. Heneeds to socializewith childrenwho are the same developmental age as him.BeingattheLamberts’withanannywhobarelyspeaksEnglishandachildwithspecialneedsisn’thelping.”

“Andcanyouofferhimanenvironmentwherehewillbewithotherchildrenhisage?”

AfteramomentPetesighs.“Notrightnow.Hewasthrownoutofnurseryforhitting.”

“Sowhereishetoday?”“Ataneighbor’shouse.Shehomeschools,butherkidsareolder.She’sjust

doingusafavorsowecouldbothcometothismeeting.”“Well,IstronglysuggestyoutalkitoverwiththeCAFCASSofficerbefore

yougo against thebiological parents’wishes.But ifTheo’s beenviolentwithotherchildren,bepreparedforthemtoasksometoughquestionsaboutyourownparentingstyleaswell.”

“Jesus,”Petesays.“Jesus.Ican’tbelievethisishappening.”“That’snottosaytheLambertswillsucceedintakingTheoawayfromyou,”

Anitaadds.“Usually,thecourtsworkonwhat’scalledthenoorderprinciple—

inotherwords,when indoubt, leave things as theyare.This is clearly averyunusualcase,butthebottomlineisthatthecourtwillhavetodecidereturningTheotohisbirthfamilyisinhisbestinterests.Hopefully,they’llconcludethatthestatusquoisactuallybetterforallconcerned.”

“Well,itobviouslyis,”Petesays.“Andthat’swhatMilesandLucythought,too,beforeitallwentcrazy.”

“Didtheyputanythinginwriting?”Pete shakes his head. We’ve been back over every email, looking for

something that might prove what the Lamberts agreed to, but there’s nothingspecific,justvagueprotestationsoffriendshipandgoodwill.

“Whendidtheystartallthislegalstuff?”Iask.Anitachecksoneoftheforms.“Abouteightweeksago.”“Yousee?”Isayquietly toPete.“Eightweeks.Thatwouldhavebeen just

afterourfirstmeetingwiththem.”Hedoesn’treply.Hiseyeslookhaunted.IturnbacktoAnita.“AndDavid?Whatdoesthismeanforhim?”“David’scaseiscompletelydifferentfromTheo’s.TheLambertsareasking

the court’s permission to apply for a Special Guardianship Order. SGOs arequitearecentinvention—they’resometimescalledsuperguardianships,becauseonceyouhaveone,youcanoverrulethewishesofeveryoneelseconnectedwiththechild,eventhenaturalparents—inotherwords,you.However,it’snotclearwhethertheLambertsactuallyqualifyaspotentialguardiansundertheChildrenAct—justasyouhaveveryfewlegalrightsoverTheo,theyhaveveryfewoverDavid.They’rearguingthat,ashehassuchcomplexneeds,they’realreadyhisdefactoguardiansandit’sinhisbestinterestsforthattoberecognizedinlaw.Again,Ithinkthesocialworker’sreportwillbecrucial.”

Myheadisswimming,butIforcemyselftoremaincalm.“Willwestillbeallowedtoseehim?Iftheygetwhattheywant,Imean?”

Anitaconsultsthebundle.“Toacertainextent.Oneofthethingsthejudgehas to consider iswhether the natural parents canmeet the child’s needs.TheLambertshavewrittenastatementtoaddressthatpoint.”Shereadsaloud,“ ‘Therespondentshaveconsistentlyshownlittleinterestintheirbirthson,visitinghimonlywhenpressedtodoso,orwhendroppingtheapplicants’birthsonoffforfreechildcare.Theyhavedisplayedlittleawarenessofhismedicalcondition,onone occasion giving him chocolate, which would have necessitated hospitaltreatmenthadwenotintervened.Theyhaveneverboughthimgifts,apartfromsome secondhand books the applicants’ birth son had grown out of that werestored in their attic. The bookswere later found to bemoldy, causing a chestinfection which required hospital treatment. Nevertheless, recognizing the

importancewhichthecourtsplaceonparentalcontact,theapplicantswilloffertherespondentsaccesstoDavidbymeansofasupervisedtwo-hoursessionataregisteredcontactcenteronceamonth.’ ”

“Unbelievable,” Pete says furiously. “They’ve twisted everything. ThatchocolatewasbeforeweevenknewDavidhadamedicalcondition.AndIswearthosebooksweren’tmoldy.”Hesnapshisfingers.“Waitaminute.There’sproofwe care about David. A film of me reading to him on Facebook. And Lucycallingmeamarvel.”

Hegetsouthisphoneandstartsscrolling.Afterafewmomentshisshoulderssag.“She’sdeletedit.”

“Or rather, Miles has,” I say slowly. “He has access to her Facebookaccount.”

“I’m afraid that kind of thing’s to be expected,” Anita says. “The familycourts are, quite literally, a law unto themselves. Everything hinges on theinterestsofthechild—and,sincethat’sacallusuallymadebyajudgesittingonhis or her own without a jury, tiny scraps of evidence can become quitesignificant.Butdon’tdespair.They’realsoprettygoodatseeingthroughallthechaffandfocusingontherealissues.AndjustaswithTheo,we’llarguethenoorderprinciplewithDavid—that thestatusquoisbest forallconcerned.Ifwecangetthesocialworkersonboardwiththat,thecourtislikelytoagree.”

Petenods.“Thatmakessense.Anysocialworkerworththeirsaltisboundtoseethroughthisnonsense.”

Isayslowly,“Idon’twanttodothat.”Theybothturntome—Petesurprised,Anitaconcerned.Iadd,“We’vegottofightforTheo,obviously.Butwecan’tabandonDavid.

Yes, I think Lucy loves him in her ownway, butMiles—deep down, I thinkMiles despises him. I think he only wants to keep him for Lucy’s sake, andbecausehe’shopingforamassivepayout ifhis lawsuit’ssuccessful.Andhe’sourson. Iwon’t leavemychild tobebroughtupbyaman like that. Ican’t. IwanttofightforDavid,too.”

50MADDIE

PETELOOKSATME,aghast.Istarebackathimdefiantly.“It’ll be harder to argue,” Anita says mildly. “Effectively, you’ll have to

mirrorwhattheLambertsaredoing—aDeclarationofParentageOrder,aChildArrangementsOrder,andaSpecialGuardianshipOrder.Butyou’reeightweeksbehind them—which means the first hearings in Theo’s case will take placebeforeyou’reevenoffthestartingblockswithDavid.”

“He’smychild,”Irepeat.“Ican’tleavehimtobebroughtupbythat—thatmonster.All along,we’ve letMiles push us around.Well, it stops now.He’spickedthewrongfamilytobully.Ifhecanfightforbothkids,socanwe.”

“Mads…” Pete says. “Are you really sure about this? Bear in mind howcomplexDavid’sneedsare.Couldwereallycopewiththat?”

I look at him steadily. “I knowwhat I’m asking is unfair, because as theprimarycareryou’llbetheonewhohastodothemostforhim.Don’tforget,weshouldhaveaccesstothemoneyfromhishospitalsettlement,whichwillhelp.Butevenwithoutthat,you’reabrilliantdadandareallycaringperson.I thinkyoucandoit.Butit’sgottobeajointdecision.Ifyoudon’twantto,wewon’t.”

Afteramoment,Peteblowsouthischeeks.“Allright.Let’sbeatthebastardathisowngame.Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying that.Butyou’re right.WeneedtorescueDavid,too.”HeturnsbacktoAnita.“Isthereanythingelse?”

“ThefinaldocumenthereisanapplicationforchildmaintenanceforDavid.Again,youcouldreciprocatebymakingasimilarclaimforTheo,butofcourseDavidhassignificantextraexpensesassociatedwithhisspecialneeds,includingafull-timenanny.”Anitalooksupfromthepapers.“Givenwhatyou’vetoldmeabouttheLamberts’situation,Iimaginethey’rejusttryingtoaddanelementoffinancialpressureontopofeverythingelse.Speakingofwhich,youshouldbeaware that fighting for custody of both children is going to be a lot moreexpensivethanarguingforthestatusquo.”

“Howmuch?”Peteasks.“If the case is straightforward, I’d estimate between fifteen and twenty

thousand pounds. But something tellsme this onewon’t be—straightforward,that is.Theother side is already throwingeverything they’vegot at it. I thinkthey’ll take every opportunity to escalate it further. So really, the sky’s thelimit.”

“Idon’tsupposeyou’dactonano-winno-feebasis,”Petesayshopefully.Anitashakesherhead.“Mytimecostsarethreehundredpoundsanhourplus

VAT.Andstartingfromthemomentyouaskmetoactforyou,you’llneedtopaymeweekly.Ifyougetintoarrears,I’llhavetostopwork.I’msorryifthatsoundsbrutal,butthisisasmallpracticeandwe’regoodatwhatwedo.Ifyouneedto takeoutasecondmortgageonyourhome,whichiswhatmanyofourclientsdo,Ihaveacolleaguewhocanhelpwiththat.”

Petelooksatme.“We’dbetterspeaktoyourdad.”

—THATNIGHT,ISKYPEmyparents.Idoitinthebedroom,leavingPetedownstairs.

He doesn’t object.We both knowmy dad is going to point out thatwewerebloodyfoolsfornottakinghisadvicesooner.

To be fair, he hears me out. Telling him what’s happened, I find myselfcrying, almost for the first time since theLamberts’ legalbundle arrived.PeteandIarestilltryingtobepositiveforeachother,reassuringeachotherthattheLamberts’ lieswon’tbebelieved.Butnow,puttingeverything that’shappenedintowords,Isoblikealittlegirl.

“Okay,”DadsayswhenIfinallygettotheend.“Sowhat’stheplan?”I smile through the tears. It had been a catchphrase of my childhood—

What’s the plan,Madelyn?—said every time I got into trouble or faced someknottyproblem.“Weneedmoney.We’regoingtofightforthemboth.”

There’salongsilencebeforehesays,“Thereisanotheroption.”“Suchas?”“Pack a bag for you andTheo, go to the airport first thing tomorrow, and

comehome.”Ishakemyhead.“Ican’tdothat.Besides,Ithinkthey’regoingtonotifythe

passportpeople.”“Thejudgewon’truleonthatuntilthefirsthearing,though,willhe?Ifyou

leavetomorrow,you’llbefine.Andonceyou’rehome,there’llbenothingtheycan do. We’ll tie them up with lawyers if necessary. By the time they getanywhere,TheowillbeatschoolhereinAustraliaanditwon’tbeinhisintereststobeuprootedagain.”

“AndPete?”Isaygently.“Whatabouthim?”“Well,that’sbetweenthetwoofyou.Butifhelovesyou,he’llfollowyou.

It’snotlikehe’sleavingbehindsomehigh-flyingcareer,isit?”Just for a moment, I’m tempted. To walk out of this mess, to leave

everythingbehindandflitbacktomyfamilyontheothersideoftheworld.I’llgetanotherjobinadvertising,andPetewillbeinaforeigncountry,asatraveljournalist should be. Perhaps he can evenwork for a newspaper again. But Ican’tdoit.

“I can’t leave David,” I say. “If I came home, I’d be abandoning yourgrandson.”

Daddoesn’treplyforamoment.“Youwerealwaysheadstrong,Madelyn.”I start cryingagain. “Like father, likedaughter, then.Will you lendus the

money?”Hesighs.“I’mabusinessman,girl.Abloodytoughoneatthat.IfI’mgoing

tolendyoumoney,Iwantareturnonmyinvestment.”Idon’tunderstand.“Whatdoyoumean?”“Atimelimitonhowlongyou’llstayintheUK.”IstareathisgrainyfaceontheiPadscreen.“I loveyou,”headds.“AndImissmylittlegirl. Imissyoulikehell.”His

ownvoicecracks.“Icanstandanotheryearofthis,butthenIwantyoubackforgood.Youcanevenbringthatbludgeryou’veshackedupwith—I’llfindhimagoodjobinmycompanyifneedsbe,somethingtomakehimselfuseful.It’snotmuchtoask,isit?”

“Iknowyouloveme,Dad,”Iwhisper.“I’vealwaysknownthat.”“Well,then.Letmeknowhowmuchyouneed,andI’llwireittoyou.”

—AFTER THE CALL ISover, I cry somemore, thenwashmy eyeswith coldwater

beforegoingdownstairs.“How’ditgo?”Peteaskssoftly.“Itwasfine,”Isayshortly.“We’reremortgagingthehouse.”

51PETE

WE BOTH TOOK THEO to theLamberts’ nextmorning.We’d talked long into thenightaboutwhethertogoatall,but,asMaddiepointedout,itwouldbecrazytopayalawyerthreehundredpoundsanhourandthenignoreheradvice.

Iwasapprehensivebutdetermined.I’dbeenawakeearly,evenbeforeTheocameintoourbed,runningthroughdifferentversionsofthesceneinmymind.IfMileswas there, I’ddecided, I’dbe icybut polite. I certainlywasn’t going togivehimthesatisfactionofthinkinghe’dmanagedtofrightenus.

MaddieandIwerebothsilentinthecar,whileTheochunteredquietlyintheback.Hehadn’tbeenhappyaboutgoingtoourneighborthedaybefore—whenwecollectedhim,she’dtoldushe’ddeliberatelykickedherson’sprizedmodelof the moon across the room, breaking it. Theo, listening, had only saidmutinously, “Want to go to Moles’s house.” Now, when he recognized thebuildings on our route, he started chanting. “Moles’s house!Moles’s house! IlikeMoles’shouse!”

“Molesisnotasniceaswethought,”Isaidtoshuthimup.Maddiegavemeawarningglance.

“Why?”Theodemanded.“Why,Daddy?”“Longstory.”Theowassilent.Helikedstories,butnotlongones.WhenweclimbedthestepstotheLamberts’frontdoor,itfeltalmostlikea

rerunofourfirstvisit.Butthistime,itwasn’tMileswhoopenedthedoor,butTania.

“Good morning, good morning, Theo,” she said in her heavily accentedEnglish. For a moment I thought Lucy must have sent her to the doordeliberately,toavoidmeetingus,butthenLucyherselfappearedinthehallwaybehindher,elegantlydressedasalways inapairofdesigner jeansandablackpashmina.

“HelloPete.Maddie.Hownice to see you.AndTheo, of course.Are youcomingin?”

Maddiesaidfirmly,“Yes.I’dliketoseeDavid.”“Ofcourse.He’sintheplayroom.”Lucyindicatedtheway.“Lucy…”Isaid,lingeringbehind.“Yes?”I said quietly, “How can you behave as if nothing has happened?You’ve

servedNoticeofProceedingsonus.”

Hervaguesmiledidn’twaver.“Well, it’s just legal stuff, isn’t it? I’msureyouunderstand.Milessaidwehavetogothroughtheproperprocessandit’llallcomeoutinthewash.I’mnotreallythinkingaboutthatsideofthings,actually,”sheaddednervouslyasshegesturedme toward theplayroom.“Andasyou’vealwayssaid,weshouldalltrytobenicetoeachother,whatever’sgoingon.”

“That’snotwhatIsaid,Lucy.AndIdon’tthinktryingtotakeoursonawayfromusisbeingnice.”

Justforamoment,thesmilecrumbled.Shesaidinasmallvoice,“Ifyou’donlybeenabitmorereceptivetotheschoolthing.AndthenCornwall.Miles—he’sveryfair.Hejustdoesn’tlikeitwhenpeoplearen’tstraightwithhim.”

“ ‘Theschoolthing’?”Istaredather.“That’swhatthisisabout?He’sgoingto all this effort to take Theo away from us, just so he can pack him off toboardingschool?”Iactually foundmyself laughing,ashorthollowbarkat theironyofitall.“Well,itisn’tgoingtohappen.”

“Milessays…”Hervoicewasbarelymorethanawhisper.“I’msureyou’lllove theDragonSchoolwhenTheo actually goes there.Miles is usually rightabout these things.Andanyway, thedecision’smadenow, isn’t it?We’vegotparental authority orwhatever it’s called. So really, there’s notmuch point ingettingworkedupaboutit.Wouldyoulikesometea?”

Isighed.“No.Ireallywouldn’tlikesometea.”Maddie reappeared. She had tears on her cheeks, which she flicked away

angrily.“Let’sgo.”Outside,welingeredonthepavement,delayingthemomentwhenI’dgetin

the car and she’d head for the Tube station. “Incredible,” I said, shakingmyhead.“Incredible.It’slikehe’sbrainwashedher.”

“I guess if you’re married to Miles Lambert, you have to give him yourabsoluteloyalty,”Maddiesaiddrily.

MyphonepingedandIcheckedthescreen.“Who’sthat?”sheasked.“Greg,seeingifwecanmeetup.I’lltellhimno.Iwanttospendthemorning

researchingCAFCASS.”“Makessense.I’llseeyoutonight,then.Loveyou.”“Loveyou,”Iechoed.Shegavemeahugandakissonthecheekandwasgone.Icalledafterher,

“Have a good day,” even though I knew that wasn’t possible, not witheverythingthatwasgoingon.

ThenIliftedmyphoneandrepliedtothetextfromBronagh.

52Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit26:deletedtextsfromPeterRiley’siPhone,(a)fromBronagh

WalshtoPeterRiley,and(b)fromPeterRileytoBronaghWalshinreply.Pete,it’sme.Youprobablydon’twanttoseemerightnowbutIreallyneedtoseeyou.It’sall

gonetos**teatStA’sandI’vebeensuspendedpendinginvestigation.Canwemeet?xJustdroppedTheooff,soIcandothismorning.SaythePretnearGreatPortlandStstation?At

ten?

53Caseno.12675/PU78B65,IncidentReport,submittedbyMilesLamberttoCAFCASSaspartof

Applicants’SupportingDocumentsbundle,pp32–36.

5. The following day, the respondents brought Theo to our house to use our nanny andfacilitiesasusual. In response toacomment frommywife thatweshould try tobecivil toeachotherduringthelegalprocess,Mr.Riley’sresponsewastoshoutthatshewas“tryingtotakeour sonaway fromus,”and thatourchoiceof school“wasn’tgoing tohappen.” (8:47A.M.,capturedontape.)Mywifeofferedthemtea,whichtheyforcefullydeclined.

54PETE

“THATJOB’SEVERYTHINGTOme.Everything.Ah,shite.Theregoesmymakeup,forthe fifteenth time today.”Bronagh attempted to slide the tears out of her eyeswithherknuckle.

“You’regoodat it, too. Idon’tknowhowwe’dhavegotten through thosefirstweekswithoutyou.Whatthehospital’sdoingtoyouisjustplainwrong.”

Bronagh looked at me fondly. “There you go, Pete. Always thinking ofsomeoneelse.Whenwhatyou’vebeenthroughistentimesworse.”

Ishrugged.“Iwasmaderedundanteighteenmonthsago.SoIknowwhatit’slike,thinkingyourbossesappreciatewhatyoudo,thendiscoveringthatactuallythey’llkickyououtwithoutasecondthoughtifithelpssavetheirownskins.”

She nodded ruefully. “It’s like one ofmy friends always says—Love yourjob,butdon’texpectittoloveyouback.”

Istirredmycappuccino.“Butwhyhave theysuspendedyou?Imean, Igetthat theyhave to investigatewhathappened,buthowdoes thefingerofblameendupgettingpointedatyou?Therewere twobabies, after all, andyouwereonly responsible for oneof them.” Iwas hopingBronagh’s suspensionwasn’tanythingtodowithmegivingMileshername,butsinceheseemedtohaveanalmostmagicalabilitytomakethingshappenthewayhewanted,perhapsitwas.OrwasIsimplybecomingparanoidabouthim?

“Sure,andthey’vesuspendedPaula,too.”Bronaghlookedweary.“Thethingis,theycouldhavegoneforanyofusifthey’dwanted.Thefirstthingtheydidwasrunasecurityaudit—comparingthenumberoftag-offincidentsrecordedbythesystemwiththenumbereachnursehadreportedtoSecurity.Well,surprisesurprise,wedidn’talwaysreportthem,eventhougheverytimeatagcomesoffyou’remeanttoinitiatealockdown,callSecurity,andcheckeverysinglebabyontheward.Ifwedidthat,we’dnevergetanynursingdone—atagcomesoffalmosteveryday,forPete’ssake.”Shesmiled.“Sorry—notPete’ssake,butyouknowwhatImean.Prembabiesaresmallandthetagsaredesignedforregular-sizedinfants.Nevermindthatinthiscase,itwasn’tevenatagslippingoffthatwastheproblem—thatwouldhavemeanttwotagscomingoffattheexactsametime on the exact same day, then somehow getting from one incubator toanother, right across the unit, and why would that happen when it was twoseparate nurses dealingwith those cots?Thismost likely happened before thetagsevengotputon.”

I rememberedDonMaguire sayingmuch the same thing.Mind you, he’d

alsosaidtherewasnoreasonforallthistoendupinthecourts.“Inwhichcase,it’s hardly your fault, is it? It could have been the paramedics, or one of thedoctorswhodealtwithbothbabies.”

Bronaghnodded.“That’swhatIreckon.Mosttimes,whenapretermbabyisdeliveredinahospitalthatisn’tequippedtodealwithit,they’llcalltheneonatalambulanceserviceandrequestatransferwhilethey’restilldoingtheC-section.Then, rather than hang around fiddlingwith tags after they’ve pulled theweething out, they just put it straight in skinwrap to keep itwarm—that’s like alittleplasticbagwithaziplock—”

“Ourbabywasinoneofthose,”Iinterrupted.“Irememberbecauseitwassounexpected,seeinghiminsideabaglikethat.”

“Well, there you go. And then they either pop the tag inside, or—morelikely,becausetheydon’twanttounzipthebagandlettheheatout—justputitinsidethemobile incubator,next to thebaby.This isapaper tagwe’re talkingabout,nottheelectroniconeswehave,becausedifferenthospitalshavedifferentsystems.Sowhenababyarrives,wetransferitfromthemobileincubatortooneofours,andtransferthetaginformationtooursoftwareatthesametime.”

Ithought.“Andifthereweretwoloosepapertagslikethat,theymighthavegottenmixedupwhenthemobilecotswerenexttoeachotheronarrival.”

“Exactly.”“Thenyou’reintheclear,surely?”Bronaghshrugged.“Italldependswhentheelectronictaggotputon,doesn’t

it?IfIputitonassoonasthebabywasstable,Ifollowedprotocol.IfIhadacupofteaanddiditattheendofmyshift,they’lltrytohangthiswholethingonme.I’malreadylookingatadisciplinaryfornotreportingeverytag-offincident,soiftheychoosetodecideIleftittoolong,Icouldbeoutonmyear.”Shesighed.“AndIbetthere’splentyofhigh-upswho’dpreferittolooklikeamistakebyanindividualwho didn’t follow proper procedures, rather than admit theirwholeexpensivetaggingsystemisshiteinabucket.”

“Ah,”Isaid,thinkingthroughtheimplications.“BecauseSt.Alexander’shasbeen downgraded, you mean? Management wants this done and dusted andswept under the carpet.Don’t worry, we’ve fired the person who messed up.Lessonshavebeenlearned,etcetera.Nothingtoseehereanymore.”

Sheleanedforward,herblueeyesfixedonmine.“Thethingis,Pete,they’reobviouslygoingtoaskyouforyourrecollectionsofthatday.”

“Iguessso,yes.”“Ifyoucould…Imean,Idon’twanttoputwordsinyourmouth,but…”She

stopped.“Sorry.Badchoiceofphrase.AndI’mabsolutelynotsaying thatyoushoulddoitasafavorbecauseof…youknow.Justthattheearlieryousawthat

tagonTheo’s leg, the less thisshitestormisgoingtofallonme.OrPaula, forthatmatter.”

“I understand,” I said slowly. “The fact is, it was all such a muddle thatday…Idon’tknowexactlywhatI’llsayyet.ButI’llworksomethingout.Andwhateverhappens,I’ll trytomakeitclearitcouldn’thavebeendowntoyou.”Afterall,Ireasoned,ifitwasmewhoputBronaghinthefiringline,theleastIcoulddowastogetheroutofit.

“ThanksPete.You’remassive.OhJesus,thereIgoagain.”Bronaghblinkedbacktears.“Icouldtellyouwereagood’unassoonasIsawyouwithTheo.Iseealotofnewdads,youknow,andIcanalwaystell.”Shegentlytouchedthetopofmyfingerwithhers.“IhopeMaddieknowswhataluckywomansheis.”

55MADDIE

IGETTHECALLfromCAFCASSwhileI’matwork.There’dbeenanautomatedtextearlier,sayingafamilycourtadviserwouldcallmeatthreeunlessIrepliedto say it’s inconvenient. It is inconvenient, very, but I feel an obscure urge tocomply,tobeamodelrespondent,eventhoughthecallisclearlybeingarrangedbyacomputerandchangingthetimecan’tpossiblymakeanydifference.

AtquartertothreeIfindanemptyofficeandsetoutabottleofwater,apen,a stackofpaper, anda listofpertinent facts.At twominutespast,mymobilerings,theIDlistedasUNKNOWNNUMBER.

“Hello,MaddieWilson,”Ianswerformally.“Maddie, it’sLynfromCAFCASShere.Isnowagoodtimetochat?”The

voiceissoft,withaslightWelshlilttoit.“Of course.” I note thatword “chat.”Somehow I doubtwe’re going to be

havingacozynatterandagossip.Lyn has clearly been trained to use a gentle, soothing voice. She explains

that thiscall isn’tabout the issue thecourtsaredealingwith,only toestablishwhether the child—“Theo, is it?”—is at any risk of harm. “That could bephysical harm arising from abuse or domestic harm, Maddie. Or it could beemotionalharmarisingfromthebehavioroftheadults.Itcouldevenbeneglect,doyousee?”

“Yes,ofcourse.”“Basically, I have a checklist here I’ll go through, and then at the end I’ll

makesureyou’vehad time tocover the issuesyouwant toraise.Therearenotrick questions, so it’s best just to answer honestly, Maddie. Because if youweren’tcompletelyhonest,andwefoundoutaboutitlater,wewouldhavetotellthecourt,and then thecourtwouldhave to take that intoaccount,Maddie,doyousee?”

“Right,”Isay,wonderinghowmanytimesLynisgoingtosay“Maddie”and“doyousee.”

“SoI’verunyournamethroughthepolicedatabaseandsocialservices,andI’mpleased to say there’s nothing there.But is there anythingwemight havemissed,Maddie?Haveyouoranyoneinthefamilyhadanycontactwithpoliceorsocialcarebeforenow?”

“No.”“Rightio.Hastherebeenanydomesticviolenceatall?”Lynmighthavebeen

askingwhetherI’dprefertopaybydirectdebitorcard.

“No.”“Haveyouevertakenanynonprescriptionorillegaldrugs?”“No, never.” Obviously I have, but the last time was three years ago, in

Australia,andthere’snowaytheycanpossiblyfindoutaboutit.“Doyoudrinkalcohol?”“Sometimes,yes.”“Howoften?”“Isometimeshaveaglassofwineintheevenings.”“Andhowmanyunitswouldyousayyoudrinkaweek?Ifabottleofwine

is,say,tenunits?”“Twentyunits?”IknowI’mgrosslyunderstating,butIsuspectthatifItell

thetruthitmightcountagainstme.“Hasanyfamilymemberbeenconvictedofviolence,orhadanallegationof

childabusemadeagainstthem?”Lyn’squestionsarespeedingupnow.“No.”“Isthechildexhibitinganyconcerningbehaviors,suchaspoorperformance

atschool,bedwetting,sexualizedbehavior,orbeingclingy?”“No.Well,” I clarify, “there have been a couple of occasions where he’s

beenabitroughwithotherkids—grabbedtheirtoys,thatkindofthing.Buthe’stwo, so it’s to be expected to a certain extent. And he’s the very opposite ofclingy.”

“Ofcourse.Theseare just standardquestions,doyousee,so Ihave toaskthemall.Hasthechildeverreportedanyabuseorharmtoyoupersonally?”

“No,never.”“Andfinally,whatdoyouthinkthechild’swishesareinthissituation?Do

youthinkhewouldratherstaywithyourpartneroryourself?”“Idon’tthinkyouunderstand,”Isay,baffled.“PeteandIaren’tseparating.”“Areyounot?”Lynsoundssurprised.“No,it’smuchmorecomplicatedthanthat.”BrieflyIexplainwhat’sgoing

on.“Well,thatdoessoundtricky,”LynsayswhenI’vefinished.“Andyes,Isee

itdoessaysomethingaboutthathere,butImusthavemissedit.”Ordidn’t bother to read thepaperworkproperly in the first place, I think

cynically.“ButIhavetoaskthequestionanyway,”Lyncontinues.“Whatdoyouthink

Theo’swishesareinthissituation?”“Well,he’stwo,soweobviouslydon’twanttofrightenhimbytellinghim

hemightbe forcibly takenaway from thepeoplehe thinksofasMummyandDaddyandhandedover toanother family,” Isaypatiently.“To thatextent,he

doesn’t evenknow there is a situation.Andwe’vebeencareful tokeep thingswiththeotherfamilyascordialaspossible,soasnottoupsethim.”

“That sounds sensible. Let me just check I have everything…Oh yes. Doeitherofyouhaveanymentalhealthissues?”

“No,”Isay.Itakeadeepbreath.“Thatis,notrecently.Ihadabriefepisodeofpostpartumpsychosis shortlyafterTheocamehome fromhospital.But thatwastwoyearsagoanditresolvedwithtreatment.”

I can hear Lyn’s keyboard clicking as she writes all this down. “It can’taffectthiscase,canit?”Iadd.

“Diditinvolveanyharmorneglecttoeitherthechildoryourself,Maddie?”“No. And in any case, it was triggered by my premature baby being in

intensivecareforfiveweeks.It’srelativelycommonafterchildbirthandthere’sabsolutelynopossibilityofitrecurring.I’mnotevenTheo’sprimarycarer,forChrist’ssake—”Istop,consciousof the importanceofnotgettingworkedup.“Sorry. I mean ‘for goodness’ sake.’ I just don’t see how it can possibly berelevanttowhat’shappeningnow.”

“Idon’tsupposeitis.ButIstillhavetowriteitalldown,doyousee?Andareyoustilltakinganymedicationforthatcondition?”

“No,” I say firmly. “Iwas prescribed antidepressants but I came off themoverayearago.I’mabsolutelyfine.”

“WouldyouhaveanyobjectiontomecontactingyourGPforacopyofyourmedicalnotes?Justtoconfirmwhatyou’vetoldme?Icanaskthecourttomakea formal order for them, but really, it’s so much easier if we’re all workingtogether,isn’tit?”

“Yes,ofcourse,”Isay.Justforamoment,Ifeeldizzy.Howdidanordinaryprofessionalcouplecometohavesomanycourtcasesgoingonsimultaneously?FightingforTheo,fightingforDavid,suingthehospitals…Itfeelslikeeachoneisaseparateseriesofplatesspinningonsticks,aforestof toppling,precariouscrockerythathastobekeptfromsmashingtotheground.

Youcandothis, I tellmyself.Afterall, it’snomorecomplexthanamajorTVproduction,andIdoadozenofthoseeveryyear.

Lyn is saying, “And is thereanythingyou’d like to tellme,Maddie, abouthowyougotintothissituation,orhowitmightberesolved?”

Ilookdownatmynotes,allthepertinentfactsI’dintendedtoworkintotheconversation.Suddenly theyall seem irrelevant, acatalogof failedattemptsatbeingreasonableinasituationwherereasonisredundant.“Yes,”Isayshortly.“Amanturneduponourdoorsteponedaywiththeintentionoftakingourson.Howwouldyoureacttothat?Wedidn’twanttoenduphere,butitwasprobablyinevitable. And there’s only one way to resolve it.We need to beat him. He

needs a court to tell him he’s lost and that he can’t have Theo, not ever.Otherwise,he’llneverstoptrying.”

56Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit29:statementbyReverendSheilaLewis,TheVicarage,Willesden

Green,NW101AQ.MynameisReverendSheilaLewisandIamthevicarofAllSouls’Church,WillesdenGreen.I

havebeenaskedbyMilesLamberttowriteabriefnotedescribinganincidentthattookplaceatTheoRiley’sbaptismservice.

From the start, Theo seemed agitated and was disruptive, hurling books at a side chapel andcheeringwhenhe succeeded inhitting the cross.Weare accustomed thesedays to childrenbeingnoisyduringservicesandtosomeextentwetolerateit,butthiswentfarbeyondwhatIwouldhaveconsiderednormal.ItriedpausinginmyliturgyandgivingameaningfulglanceinTheo’sdirection,buttheparents—thatis,PeterRileyandMaddieWilson—wereslowtotakethehint.Whentheydidintervene, it becameclearwhy thiswas:TheyhadalmostnocontroloverTheowhatsoever.Theothenburrowedunderthepews,asituationfromwhichMr.Rileyseemedpowerlesstoextricatehim.Whenamemberofthecongregationfinallyapprehendedthechild,Mr.Rileywasvisiblyangryand,undertheguiseofsittingTheoon“thenaughtystep,”pushedhimdownforciblybythethighs.IamtoldbyMr.Lambert that thisproducedbruisingonTheo’s legs,which iscertainlyconsistentwithwhat I saw. I understandMr. Lambert has obtained phone footage of this incident from anothermemberofthecongregation.

Theoisacharminglittleboywhodoesnotseemintheleastmalevolentorilltempered,merelyboisterous. I suspect he would simply benefit from a more consistent parenting style. This is anopinionIhaveformedoverseveralvisitsbyhimtomychurch,asMr.RileyandMs.Wilsonhavebecomeregularmembersofmycongregation.

IhavealsobeenmadeawarebyMr.Lambertwhy thismaybe.ThevicarhereatAllSouls’ isabletomakeavailabletolong-standingchurchgoersasmallnumberofplacesatthelocalChurchofEnglandprimaryschool,whichhasbeenratedExcellentbyschoolinspectors.Mr.LamberttellsmethatMr.RileyusedthephraseOnyourkneestosavethefeesinthiscontext.WhileIhavenowayofknowingif thiswas indeedwhatMr.Rileysaid,andwould inanycaseencouragepeople tocomeandworshipwithuswhatevertheir truepurpose, itsaddensmetolearnthatsomemembersofourcommunitymayhaveacynicalmotivefordoingso.

57PETE

“IF YOU COULD JUST tell us inyourownwordswhathappened thatday,”GraceMatthewssaid.

Resistingtheurgetoaskwhoelse’swordsImightbetemptedtouse,Isaid,“Youhavetounderstand,itwasallablur.I’dhadtoabandonMaddieafteranemergencyoperation.Itwasclearlytouchandgowhetherourbabywouldlive,andifhedidlive,whetherhe’dbebrain-damaged.Ihadnoideawhatwasgoingon or how I could help.” I looked over atMaddie. “To be honest, Iwas in acompletepanic.”

Wewere in an interview room at NHSResolution, a surprisingly strikingmodernofficebuildinginBuckinghamPalaceRoad.GraceMatthewshadaskedusinforwhatshedescribedasanevidence-gatheringmeeting.Wewouldn’tbediscussinganypotentialcompensation,sheemphasized,merelycontributingourrecollectionstotheinitialinvestigation.

The lawyer JustinWatts had told us thiswas normal. “At this stage, theysimplywanttofindoutwhathappened.There’snoarguingwiththefactthataswapdid takeplace,but from theirperspective, findingouthow itoccurred isthemosturgentpriority.”

“Willyoubethere?”Iasked.“Ireallyshouldn’tneedtobe.AndI’mtryingtokeepourtimecostsdownas

muchaspossible.”Now GraceMatthews nodded in response to my explanation. She looked

more like the floormanagerof amidlevel department store than ahigh-flyinginvestigator—dumpy,wearing an ill-fitting suit andmatching skirt,with boxyglasses that kept slippingdownhernose. “But at somepoint, youpresumablybecame aware of the tag on Theo’s leg. That is, on the leg of the infant youthoughtwasTheo.”

“Isupposeso.Butthereweresomanythingsonhimbythen—intravenouslines, an oxygen sensor, the cooling suit…The security tag was the leastdramaticofthemall.”

“Canyousaywhenyoudidfirstnoticeit?”Ishruggedhelplessly.“Notreally.Whenwegot toSt.Alexander’s, Iwent

with theparamedicswhowerewheeling theportable incubator.Weshared theliftwithtwomoreparamedicswhoalsohadamobilecotwiththem—IsupposethatwastheonewithTheoin,althoughofcourseIdidn’tknowthatatthetime.Then theywereboth rushed into theNICU,where thedoctorswerewaiting. I

gotpushedoutoftheway—”“WherewasMr.Lambertat thispoint?”GraceMatthews interjected.“Had

hebeenwithyouinthelift?”Ishookmyhead.“I’dhaverememberediftherewasanotherdadinthere.I

don’tthinkIsawhimatallthatday.”GraceMatthewsmadeanoteona linedyellowpad,even thoughhermale

colleaguewas silently transcribing everything I said on his laptop, his fingersflying across the keys without him needing to look at either the keyboard orscreen.Gracehadaproperpen,Inoticed,anold-fashionedonewithanib,whichsomehow seemed out of kilter with her dowdy appearance. Perhaps it was apresentfromsomeone.“Sorryforinterrupting,”shesaidasshewrote.“Goon.”

“Andthentheyworkedonbothbabiessimultaneously.Ithinkthefirstthingwas getting the umbilical lines in. The ambulance staff were doing theirhandoverreports,andpeoplewerecomingandgoing—itwasprettychaotic,andthedoctorsandnurseswereturningfromcottocot,doingwhateveritwastheyneededtodo.Icouldn’tgetclose—Ididn’treallytryto,incaseIgotintheway.Thentherewasabitofalull,andwhenthemedicalteamwashappy,theytookTheo’smobileincubatorovertoamuchbiggeroneinthecornerandtransferredhim. That’s when I met Bronagh—the main nurse responsible for Theo. Shelooked after the incubators in that area, so she hadn’t really been involvedbefore.”

Grace Matthews nodded. “And you got a pretty good look at Theo then,presumably?Whenalltheinitialinterventionsweredone?”

Ithoughtback.“Yes.IrememberthinkingIhadn’treallybeenabletoseehisfacebefore.”

“Andcanyourecallseeingatagonhimatthatpoint?”“Ithinkso,”Isaidcautiously.“Imean,Icouldn’tabsolutelysweartoit,but

whenItrytopictureit,itseemstomehehadthesecuritytagonhisrightankle.”Inoddedslowly.“Infact,I’msurethat’sright—thatTheohadatagonwhenIsawhiminthelargerincubator.”

A frown touchedGraceMatthews’s face. “But you didn’t actually see thenurseputiton?”

“No. But…” I stopped. “This is hard for me to admit. But the moment Ifoundmyself in a quiet corner and it felt like the immediate emergency wasover, I broke down. I was crying for severalminutes. Shemust have done itthen,as soonas she tookover.But I literallycouldn’t see in frontofmyownnose.”

“Ofcourse,”GraceMatthewssaid.“Idounderstand,Mr.Riley.Seeingyourchild—orrather,thechildyouthinkisyours—beingadmittedtointensivecare

isobviouslyverystressful.”Shepushedthecapontoherfountainpenandplaceditonheryellowpad.“Thankyouforspeakingtoustoday.”

58MADDIE

IKEEPQUIETDURINGPete’sinterviewwithGraceMatthews.It’shimtheywanttotalkto,afterall,thepersonatthescene,andIdidn’tevengettotheNICUuntillongafterthemix-uphadhappened.

Afterward, we get an Uber home, too exhausted to face the Tube. Aswecrawlthroughthetraffic,Ilookacrossathim.“Ididn’trealizeyousawthetagonTheo’slegsosoon.”

Hegoesonlookingoutthewindow.“Well,IsaidIcouldn’tsweartoit.”“Yes. But after that, you said you were certain. You told her you could

pictureit.”He doesn’t reply at first, and for a moment I think he’s going to say

somethingelse.Butallhesaysis,“Prettycertain,yes.”“Sothemix-upmusthavehappenedbeforethat,inthosefirstfewminutes.”“Whentheoriginaltagswereloose.That’sright.”Ifrown.“Werethetagsloose?Youdidn’tmentionthat.”“Theywould have come into the NICU separately, when the babies were

zipped into the skin-wrap bags,” he explains. “Grace Matthews would haveknownthat.AlthoughIdidn’tactuallyseethem.”

Then how do you know…I almost say, but he forestalls me. “This is soexhausting,isn’tit?Allthesedifferentlegalactions.”

“Perhapsthat’swhatMilesiscountingon.Perhapshewasalwaysplanningitthisway,torampupthepressure.”

Peteonlyshakeshishead.Butit’sagestureofdespair,notdisagreement.

—WHENWEGETHOME,hegetsstraightinthecartogoandpickupTheo.Iopenmy

laptoptocheckmyemails—I’vetoldtheofficeI’llworkfromhomefortherestoftheday—butsomethingmakesmegointomyphotostreaminstead.

Ihaven’tlookedattheveryfirstpictureofmybaby—thepicturePetetextedwhile Iwas still in the recovery roomat theprivatehospital—since theday itwas taken. It’s too raw, the memory of my revulsion at it too stark. But itautomaticallygotsavedtomyiCloudalongwithallmyotherpictures,andnowhere it is.Grainy,a littleblurred, takenover theshoulderofadoctorornurse.No, definitely a nurse: I’d had no way of knowing it at the time, but that’sBronagh’sslimbackandjet-blackhair.Andtheimagemightbeblurry,butPetealwayshadthelatestgadgetsandthecamerawasapowerfulone:Aswellasthe

stick-thinlimbsandnoseprongsthatevennowmakemefeelnauseous,youcanseethetubescomingoutofthecoolingsuit,thebrake-light-redglowaroundthebaby’sleftanklefromtheoxygensensor.

Andnotag.There’snosecuritytagontheotherleg.OfthatI’msure.Or am I? I peer at the photo again. To use Pete’s phrase, I couldn’t

absolutely swear to it. I can’t even say if the wizened little creature in thecoolingsuitisTheoorDavid.

AndPete has saidwhat he’s said now.There’d be no pointwhatsoever insending thispicture toGraceMatthewsand saying, sorry,hemighthavebeenmistaken. We’d effectively be announcing that he’s an unreliable witness,someonewhoseentiretestimonymightbeflawed.Andthat,inturn,mighthaverepercussionsforthepayout.

No:Better to leavethingsas theyare.Asour lawyersaid,findingouthowthemix-uphappenedisaninternalmatterforthehospital.IfPetemadeasmallmistakeovertheexacttiming,it’shardlyabigdeal.

59Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit31:deletedtextsfromPeterRiley’siPhone,(a)fromPeterRileyto

BronaghWalsh,and(b)fromBronaghWalshtoPeterRiley,inreply.Saw them today. Said I remembered seeing the tag onTheo’s leg a fewminutes after hewas

transferredtoyourincubator.You’reastar.xxx

60PETE

I DROVE TO HIGHGATE to collect Theo from the Lamberts’ on autopilot. NotbecauseIwasworriedaboutthesmalllieI’dtoldonBronagh’sbehalf—I’dbeenprettynonspecific,andinanycase,itprobablywasn’tevenalie—butbecauseIstill couldn’t getmy head around everything thatwas going on. I even foundmyselfwonderingifweshouldn’tpulloutofsuingthehospital—butsincethatlegalactionwastheonlyonenotcostingusanything,andwouldhopefullyraisethefundstopayAnitaChowdry’sfeestoboot,itseemedcrazytoenditnow.

Iwasn’treallythinkingabouttheLambertsasIwalkedupthestepstotheirdoor.IassumedthebuzzerwouldbeansweredbyTania,orthatpossiblyLucywouldbethere,witteringonaboutcupsofteaandbeingpolitetoeachother.ButthedoorwasopenedbyMiles.HewaswearingaT-shirtandrunningshorts.

“Pete,”hesaidwarmly.“Howareyoudoing?”Istaredathim.IfeltsomethingI’dalmostneverfeltinmylife—aphysical,

atavistichatred,analmost irresistiblecompulsion todobloodcurdlingviolenceto another human being. The hairs on the back ofmy neck rose andmy faceflushedinvoluntarily.

“I’vecometocollectTheo,”Isaidcurtly.“He’sjusthavingawash—fingerpaintinggotabitmessy.He’llbealongin

aminute.”Inodded,unwillingtoengageinsmalltalk.Milesputhisheadononeside

andregardedmequizzically.“Youreallyhateme,don’tyou,Pete?”hesaidsoftly.“Idon’thateyou,” I saidcoldly.“Idislikewhatyou’redoingand theway

you’redoingit,that’sall.”“Really?”Hestudiedmyface.“No,Ithinkyouhateme.Ineverwastetime

hatingpeople.”Hesteppedforward,pullingthedoorbehindhimsowecouldn’tbe overheard. “You know, some pretty dark stuff happens in the scrum.Gouging,punching,athumbintheshorts,collapsingthefrontrowthemomentyou’vegottheball…Butafterthematchisover,youshakehandsandbuyeachother a beer.Because it’s the playerwhohit youhardestwhoyou respect themost.”

Istaredathim.“Thisisnotsomefuckinggame.”“No.”Miles shook his head emphatically. “It’s a contest. A contest Iwill

win.NotbecauseIhateyou,butbecausetheprizeofthisparticularcontestismyson.” He suddenly leaned in very close, so he was almost talking over my

shoulder,hislipsclosetomyear.ItwasallIcoulddonottoflinch.“But.Just.Remember.This.Youhavehimonloan,nothingmore.Andifyoudoanything,anythingatall,tounderminemyfuturerelationshipwithhim,IwillseekyououtandIwillkillyou.”

He stood back, smiling, just as Theo pulled the door open and ran out.“Daddeeee!”hecriedexcitedly,chargingintomylegs.

“Ready to go,Theo?”Withoutwaiting for an answer, I tookhis hand andstarteddownthesteps.

“Bye,Theo,”Milescalledcheerily.“Bye,Moles,”Theocalledbackoverhisshoulder.“Loveyouuu!”

61PETE

“HEDIDN’TMEANIT,”Maddiewhispered.IlookedacrossatTheo,nowengrossedinawildlifedocumentaryinwhich

wolveswere tearing a deer to pieces. It probablywasn’t very age-appropriate,butforoncehewasactuallylookingquitepeaceful,sittingcross-leggedinfrontof theTV in his pajamas, suckinghis thumb. “I know.Miles almost certainlytaught him to say it. Bribed himwith sweets or something.” I paused. “But IcouldcountononehandthenumberoftimesTheo’sspontaneouslysaidthattome.AndwhatiftheCAFCASSpeoplehearhimandassumehedoesmeanit?”

“Sowe’lltellthem.Addittothelist:MilesLamberthasbeencoachingoursontosay,‘Iloveyou.’ ”

IwatchedTheoforafewmoments.“Whydoesn’thesayittous?”“He’s a boy. An unusually confident little boy.Which is a credit to your

parenting.”“Maybe.Or…”“What?”Thewolves,havingbroughtdownthedeer,werenowdefendingtheirmeal

from a bear three times their size. I said quietly, “Could he be a bit like hisfather?Hisbiologicalfather,Imean?”

Maddie replied immediately, which is how I knew she’d already thoughtaboutthis.“Inwhatway?”

“Nasty.”There,I’dsaiditnow.“IsTheogoingtogrowuptobeahorriblebastardlikeMiles?”

Maddieputherhandonmine.“Ofcoursenot.Because,unlikeMiles,Theohasyouforarolemodel.Whichisanotherreasonwecan’tlettheLambertsgetholdofhim. Ifhewere raisedby them, thensentaway toboardingschool,heprobablywould turn intoanastybastard.Buthere…it’s likeyousaid toMileswhenyouwentforadrink.Herehe’llgetthebestofbothworlds.”

“Perhaps.”Ididn’tsaythatitincreasinglyfeltasifthetwoworldscouldn’tpossiblycoexist.Thatatsomepointtheywouldsimplycrashintoeachotherandexplode.“Milesthreatenedtokillmetoday.”

“Seriously?Washeangry?”Ishookmyhead.“Deadlycalm.Likehealwaysiswhenhedropsthenice-

guyact.”Maddielookedhorrified.“Hewouldn’tdaretryanythingviolent.Notinthe

middleofacourtcase.”

“Let’shopenot.But I thinkweshouldbothbecareful. Just incase.Therewassomethingaboutthewayhesaidit…Itgavemethecreeps,putitthatway.”

I looked over at Theo, engrossed in the standoff between the wolf-packleaderand thebear.The leader,ashe-wolf,was trying towear thebeardown,circlingsoitcouldnevergetadecentbiteofthedeaddeer,butatthesametimetryingtostayoutofrangeofthebear’sclaws.

AsIlookedathim,forthesecondtimethatdayIfeltanunfamiliaremotion.Ilookedatmyson’sfaceandfelt,justforamoment,someofthevisceral,all-consuminghatredI’dfeltforhisfather.

—I HAD MY OWNCAFCASS call the next day.At precisely eleven o’clock,my

phonerangandLynEdwardsintroducedherself.Maddie had already run me through the questions she’d been asked, so I

knewroughlywhattoexpect.Nocontactwithsocialworkers,no.Noallegationsof abuse. I tried to remain calm, evenwhenLyn askedmewhetherMaddie’smentalhealthissuescouldaffectTheo’ssafety.

“Maddiedoesn’thavementalhealthissues,”Isaidpolitely.“Anymorethansomeonewhohadabrokenlegtwoyearsagostillhasabrokenleg.”

“Butsomeonewhobroketheirlegmightstillhavedifficultywalking,”Lynpointedout,stillinthesameinsurance-call-centervoice.“DoesMaddie,Peter?”

“Havedifficultywalking?No.”Lyndidn’trespondtomyfeebleattemptata joke.“Sotherearenomental

healthissuescurrently,inyouropinion.”“Nonewhatsoever,”Isaidfirmly.“AndIunderstandthatyou’retheprimarycarer?”“That’scorrect.”“Howwould you describe your parenting style, Peter?Are youmore of a

structuredperson,doyousee,orchild-centered?”“Well,”Isaidcarefully,sensingaverbaltrap,“Idon’treallyseeadistinction

between the two.Wehaveboundaries,obviously, andTheo’saware that thereareconsequencesforcrossingthem.ButIalsotrytolistentohissuggestionsandopinions.”

“I’llput‘both,’shallI?Oh,itwon’tletmedothat.I’mafraidyou’llhavetochoose.”

Isighed.“Child-centered.”“Becausetherehavebeensomeconcerns,Peter,haven’tthere?Iunderstand

Theowasaskedtoleavehisnursery.”“He’s a little late in learning to share toys, take turns, that sort of thing.

Sometimes he hits or bites in order to get his ownway. It’s somethingwe’reworkingon,forexamplebyusingthenaughtystep.”

“AndwhatdoyouthinkTheo’swishesareinthissituation,Peter?Whataretheoutcomeshewouldliketosee?”

“Wehaven’taskedhim,”Isaidfirmly.“Notbecausewedon’twanttotakehisfeelingsintoaccount,butbecausethisismuchtoomomentousadecisionforatwo-year-oldtotake.Itwouldcausehimimmenseanxietyeventothinkaboutit.”

“Yes,yourpartnersaidthesamething.”“Well,we’veobviouslydiscussedit.”“Andisthereanythingyouwanttotellme,Peter?”“Pete, please.And yes, there is actually. Iwant to remove Theo from the

nannysharewiththeotherparty.Ithinkit’sholdinghisdevelopmentback—hecan’t really take turnswithDavid, and the nanny has a strong French accent,whichisn’tgoodforhisdelayedspeech.”

“Ithinkwe’dneedtoseewhatthecourtrecommendsbeforewemakeabigchangelikethat,Peter.Whatwouldyoudowithhiminstead?”

“He’sonthewaitinglistforadifferentlocalnursery.”“AndhaveyouaskedTheowhathiswishesareaboutgoingtoanursery?”Ihadn’t,ofcourse,mainlybecauseIknewwhathe’dsay.AttheLamberts’

hewastreatedlikealittleprince.Heneverneededtoshareatoy.Whywouldhewant to learn to take turnswhenhecouldhaveawell-stockedplayroomall tohimself,nottomentionanannytofetchthetoysandtidyupafterhim?Icouldtellhimthatnurserywouldbemorefunbecausethere’dbeotherchildrenthere,but the truthwas, Theo didn’t particularly like other children, not unless theywere the meek, pliable kind who could be relied on to hand over their toyswheneverhewantedthem.

“Theo’swishesaremixed,”Isaidat last.“Helovedhislastnursery,anditwasdefinitelygoodforhimtolearnhowtosocializewithotherchildren.Ialsohave concerns that he’s being overindulged by the current arrangement. Forexample,they’vebeencoachinghimtosay‘Iloveyou’tothem.”

“Havetheynow?”Lynsaid.“Andhowwouldyouknowthat?”“HesaidittoMilesyesterday,whenIcollectedhim.”“Buthowdoyouknowitwastheresultofbeingcoached?”“Well,itstandstoreason,”Isaid,exasperated.Iwasabouttoadd,Because

hehardlyeversaysittome,whenIthoughtbetterofit.“I don’t think we should make any assumptions when it comes to

ascertainingTheo’s feelings,”Lynwas saying. “I’llwritedown thatyou thinkthat,ifyoulike,butalsothatthere’snoevidencetobackitup.”

62Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit32:ReportbySusyCarson,proprietor,AcolRoadNurseryand

Preschool.IhavebeenaskedtowritesomethingaboutthecircumstancesthatledtoTheoRileyleavingAcol

RoadNursery.Askingaparenttoremoveachildisnotsomethingwetakelightly,wewouldonlydoitafterasustainedpatternofbehaviorthathasthepotentialtonegativelyimpacttheotherchildren.In linewith government guidelines half our staff either holdNVQorBTech qualifications or areworking toward them.We always aim tomaintain the recommended staff–child ratios and at thecurrenttimeareactivelyrecruitingtoachievethis.However,inlinewithmanylocalfacilitieswedofindithardtoretainstaff,atthetimeunderdiscussionweweredownfromeightpersonstosix.Iwasheavilyinvolvedincoveringtheshortfallmyself,butprovidinganindividualchildwithone-to-oneshadowingtopreventharmwasunfortunatelynotanoptionwewereabletopursue.

The specific incident that led to Theo’s removal was that he hit another two-year-old with atumbler,leadingtoalargebruiseandbleedingonZack’sforehead.Evenhadtherenotbeenbleeding,wewouldhavewrittenitintheIncidentBookanddiscusseditwithbothsetsofparents.However,thiswasthefourthhitting/bitingincidentinfiveweeksanditwasclearpreviouseffortstoteachTheotoplay safelywithotherchildrenwerenotworking.Wehadpreviouslyhadseveral conversationswiththefatheraboutthesituationandtheneedforconsistentstrategiesincludingthehome.WhetherMr. Riley followed through on these is not known, however Theo’s behavior clearly had notimproved.WhenI informedMr.Riley thatTheowouldbe leavingushedidnot take itwellandIwasforcedtoaskhimtomoderatehislanguage.

Althoughwe report incidents toparentsanonymously,on thisoccasionbothparents I spoke towereabletoidentifytheotherchild.IfeelitismydutytomentionthatsoonafterTheoleftus,ZackTigman’s mother was knocked off her bike by a motorist as she left the nursery, causing herunfortunatelytobreakherleg.Initiallyshewasunabletoprovidethepolicewithanydetails,butshehas toldmerecently that shebelieves thevehiclecouldhavebeenaVolkswagen, themakeofcardrivenbyMr.Riley.

63PETE

“NO!”THEOSCREAMED.“NOnononono!”“It’snotadiscussion,Theo,”Isaidfirmly.“Youchosecheesytoast,soyou

havetoeatitallifyouwantaminirollforpudding.”“It’sburned.”Admittedly,thecornersofthetoastweredarkfrombeingleftunderthegrill

aminuteorsotoolong.“It’snotburned,it’sbrowned.Andanyway,youhavetoeatit.”

“Nonononononono.”“Inthatcase,nominiroll.”Inresponse,Theoslunghischeesytoastonthefloor.Iretrieveditandputit

backonhisplate.“There’snopointindoingthat,becauseyoustillhavetoeatit,andnow itwon’t be as nice.”Myphone rang.Therewasno caller ID,whichmeantitmightbeoneofourlawyers.“Hello?”

“HelloPeter,”Lyn’svoicesaid,herWelshaccentemphasizedbyherslow,carefuldelivery.“Isitaconvenienttime?It’sjustaquickquestion,really.”

“No!No!No!”Theo’sfacewasnowpucewithangerashebangedthetablewithhisfists.

“Yes, I guess so,” I said, desperately lookingaround for somewherequiet.There wasn’t anywhere, not unless I went upstairs, in which case anunsupervisedTheowould almost certainlywreak havocwith his tea. “LetmejustsortoutTheo.”

“Ofcourse.”Ipickedupaminiroll,thenhesitated.IfIletTheohaveit,he’dshutupfora

minuteortwo,granted,butI’dalsohavecommittedthecardinalsinofgivingintoatantrum,andIcouldn’tdothat,notevenforCAFCASS.Ireachedintothebackof thecupboard fora foil-wrappedbiscuit instead,consolingmyselfwiththe thought that since itwasn’t actually amini roll, technically I’d carriedoutmythreat.“Here,Theo.Eatsomeofthecheeseontoast,thenthis.”Hiseyeslitupashegrabbedit.Therewasnochancehe’deatthetoastfirst,ofcourse,butatleasthe’dhave tounwrap thebiscuit,whichwouldbegoodforhis finemotorskills.

“Right,”Isaidintothephone.“Goahead.”“All itwas,was toask ifyouwouldbeprepared toattend someparenting

classes,”Lynsaid.“Now,alotofparentsthinktheywouldn’tbeuseful,orthatit’slikegoingbacktoschool,whichitisn’tatall.Becausereally,wecouldall

learnsomethingaboutbeingbetterparents,couldn’twe?IknowIcould.Anditwould help to counter anyone saying that parenting style is a particular issuehere,doyousee?I’mtryingtobehelpful,Peter.Becauseitwouldshowthat,iftherewereanybehavioral issues,youwere justaskeen toaddress themasweare.”

ForamomentIcouldn’tspeak.Iactuallyfeltdizzywithrage.Theideathatmy parenting was the issue here—when Miles’s idea of good parenting wasprobably teaching Theo how to cheat at rugby—was so ridiculous, so utterlytwisted,itmademewanttothrowup.

Iheardmyvoicesay,“Well,ifyouthinkitcouldhelpTheo’sturn-taking,ofcourseI’llattendparentingclasses.”

“Excellent,Peter.”Lynsoundedrelieved.“I’llputthatinmyletter,then.”

64MADDIE

ANDTHENWEWAIT.

Forthenexttendaysthelawtakesitsslow,windingcourse.Weshouldn’tinanycaseexpecttoomuchfromthefirsthearing,Anita’swarnedus:Thejudgewillsimplyreadtherecommendationsinthesafeguardingletter,encouragethepartiestocometoanagreement,andsetadateforthefinalhearing,theonlyonethatreallymatters.

Pete attends his first parenting class. He goes determined to show theinstructorshe’sgotnothingtolearn,butcomesbacksayingitwasactuallyquiteuseful.

“There are some children who basically don’t learn from punishment, sothingslikenaughtysteparewastedonthem,”hereports.“Theyrespondbettertoreward.Butyouhave to startoffbygiving the reward instantly, so they learnyoureallymeanit,beforeyouworkuptodeferredrewardsonaschedule.”

HestartsbyrewardingTheoforquiteordinarythings.“Theo,you’replayingwiththattrainreallynicely.Here’sachocolatebutton.”“Theo,Inoticedyou’vebeen quiet for five minutes now. Have a raisin.” Initially, Theo is somewhatsurprisedbythissuddenshoweroftreats,buthequicklygetstheideathatdoingcertainthingsresultsinareward.Andifanicedrawing,doneonpaperinsteadofthewall,leadstoahandfulofchocolatebuttons,whatwilleatinghischeeseon toastwithout complaint provide?Soon the downstairswalls are covered instarchartsforbiggerprizes—foreatinghisbreakfastquickly,forgettingreadyforbed, forsleeping through. It seems towork, too.Personally I’mnotsure ifit’sreallybecauseofthecharts,orifTheoissimplygrowingoutofhisterribletwosatlast,butthetransformationiscertainlyimpressive.

A week before the hearing, CAFCASS’s safeguarding letter arrives. Thelong list of allegations inMiles’s application has effectively been ignored, asAnitapredicteditwouldbe.Instead,theletterpointsoutthatPeteisvoluntarilyattending parenting lessons and is cooperating fully with the adviser. ItrecommendsnofurtheractiononCAFCASS’spart.

Anita’s positive. “It’s as good as you can hope for at this stage. They’relayingthefoundationforthecourttorulethatTheocanstaywithyou.”

“AndDavid?”Iask.“Davidwillbeatougherproposition.Haveyouheardfromthesocialworker

dealingwithhiscaseyet?”Wehaven’t.That’snormal,Anitatellsus.

Thenegligenceclaimagainstthehospitalhasalsogonequiet,whichsuitsus.With any luck, the custody cases will be done and dusted before we have toconcentrateonthehospitalone.

Sometimes,whenTheoisbeingparticularlytrying,Ifindmyselfwonderingifwe’vemadeamistakefightingforDavidaswell.Canwereallycopewithtwodifferent diets and two completely different levels of need—Theo with hisalways-on, supercharged brio, andDavid,with his quiet, vulnerable placidity?ButthenIthinkofDavidsittingintheLamberts’hugeplayroom,idlytwirlingrollers on a baby gym, andmy heart overflows.Of coursewe’ll cope. That’swhatfamiliesdowhentheyhaveadisabledchild.AndPeteisthemantodoit.When I see his infinite patience with Theo, never getting cross or losing histemper,Iknowwe’vemadetherightdecision.

When JustinWatts calls Pete late on Friday, therefore, I’m not expectinganythingparticularlydramatictohavehappened.ButIcanimmediatelytellbyPete’sstartledexpression,andthewayhisgazeturnstowardme,thatithas.

“Whatisit?”Iask,concerned.“Aretheysettling?”Heshakeshishead.Andthen—somethingheneverdoes—heraiseshisfree

handandputsitoverhiseartoblockmeout.Hisfacehasgonewhite.“Whatisit?”Isayagainaminutelater,asheputsdownthephone.“NHSResolutionaresaying itwasn’t the faultofanyof thehospitals,”he

saysslowly.“Well,that’sridiculous.Theycanhardlydenythattwofamilieshaveended

upwiththewrongchildren—”“It isn’t that,” he interrupts. “They’re saying the babies must have been

swappeddeliberately.Mads,Ithinkthey’retryingtoimplythatitwasus.ThatyouandIsomehowstoleTheofromtheLamberts.”

65Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit33:NHSResolutionPreliminaryCaseInvestigationReport,

authoredbyGraceMatthewsandThomasFinlay,extract.55.SUMMARYANDCONCLUSIONS

55.1AstheevidencefromtheConsultantNeonatologistandspecialistNeonatalTransferteamconfirms,thereseemslittlepossibilitythatthepaperIDtagswereaccidentallytransferredbetweenthemobileneonatalincubatorsbeforeadmission.Bothincubatorswereclosedthroughoutthetransportprocess,priortotheirarrivalontheNICU.

55.2Similarly,thepossibilityofevenonetagbeingtransferredduringadmissionseemsremote,giventhenumberofspecificproceduresthatwerebeingcarriedoutontheinfantsandthecorrelatinglyhighnumberofprofessionalstheretowitnessthem.Thechanceofbothtagssimultaneouslytravelinginoppositedirections,therefore,fromoneincubatortotheotherandviceversa,seemsvanishinglysmall.

55.3Evenifthepapertagshadindeedbeentransferredinthisway,orgottenlost,bothneonatalnurseswouldalsohavehadtoattachthesecuritytagswithoutfollowingproperprocedures,suchascross-checkingwiththeBadgerNetrecordsystem,inorderfortheelectronictagstohaveendeduponthewrongbabies.

55.4Mr.Rileyassertsthathesawtheelectronictagon“his”babyapproximatelythirtyminutesafteradmission,soonafterthebabywastransferredtothehospitalincubator.Thisiscontradictedbytheevidencefromtheseniorregistrar,whonoticeditsabsencewhencheckingthecoolingsuitsometwohourslater.Itisamatterofconsiderableregretthattheseniorregistrardidnotdrawthistoanyone’sattentionatthetime.

55.5However,thelackofasecuritytagatthatstagewasnotdirectlyrelevanttotheinitialmisidentificationofthetwobabies.ThisisevidencedbythefactthatMr.Rileywasalreadystandingnexttoanincubatorthatheappearedtobelievecontained“his”baby,ratherthanbesidetheotherincubator,whichactuallydid.Themisidentificationhadthereforehappened,orwasintheprocessofhappening,bythatstage.

55.6Onthebalanceofprobabilities,therefore,weconcludethatthemisidentificationwascauseddeliberately—inotherwords,thatduringorshortlybeforethetransferofthetwobabiesfromthemobileincubatorstothehospitalincubators,apersonorpersonsdeliberatelyswappedorremovedthetwopapertags,andthereaftercontinuedtoupholdthedeceptionthateachbabywasinfacttheother.

55.7Thisbeingthecase,weareadjourningourinvestigationandpassingourevidencetotheMetropolitanPolice,forthemtoinvestigatethepossiblewrongfulremovalofachildwithoutparentalconsentundertheChildAbductionAct1984.

55.8Subjecttotheoutcomeofanycriminalinvestigation,itmaybenecessarytofurtherreferourfindingstotheNHSCounterFraudAuthority.

66PETE

“CUI BONO,” JUSTIN WATTS said. “It means ‘who benefits?’ And in this case,unfortunately,they’vedecidedit’syou.”

“Butthat’scrazy,”Maddiesaiddesperately.“Crazy.Whyonearthwouldwedosuchathing?”

It was nine o’clock on Monday morning, and we were sitting in JustinWatts’ssmartoffice.We’dtriedtogethimtoseeusonSaturday,butno-winno-fee lawyers like theirweekends off, apparently.We’d spent the last two daysclimbingthewallswithfrustration.

“Well, they’renot speculating,”he said,glancing through the report again.“Butnodoubtthepolicewill.Andthemostlikelyinferenceisthatyouendedupwithahealthy,intellectuallynormalbabyandtheLambertsdidn’t.”

“But we couldn’t have known that was what would happen,” Maddieinsisted. “At the time, all they tolduswas thatourbabywasveryunwell andmight have been starved of oxygen.” She looked across at me. “That wasliterallyallweknew.Wasn’tit?”

“Ispoketotheparamedicsintheambulance,”Isaidslowly.“Iaskedthemwhathypoxiameant.Oneof themexplained—hewasveryhonest. Ididn’t tellyou at the time, Mads. You were already suffering enough. Besides, he saidnothingwascertain.SoIkept it fromyou.Everythingexcept thebitabout thenextfewdaysbeingcrucial.”

“OhJesus.”Maddiestaredatme.“Sotheythinkyouknew.Theythinktheycanprovemotive.”

“Butnotopportunity,”JustinWattssaidmildly.I shookmyhead. “Therewere timeswhile thedoctorswere rushingabout

whenIwasalonewithbothincubators.Iwishtherehadn’tbeen,butifthat’sallthey need to prove…” I’m done for, I wanted to say, but I knew howmelodramatic that would sound and swallowed my words. “It doesn’t lookgood.”

“Well, luckilythat isn’tall theyhavetoprove.”JustinWattspickedupthereport again. “This is ninety percent insinuation and ten percent balance ofprobability,which is very different from the standard of proof required in thecriminal court. Youmay be asked to go to a police station to be interviewedundercaution,butthat’sasfarasI’dexpectittogo.”Hepaused.“You’llwanttoengageaspecialistcriminallawsolicitortogowithyou,butifitdoescometoan interview, my strong advice would be to answer ‘no comment’ to every

question.Currently, they’ve got nothing, and if yougive themnothing else toworkon,they’llalmostcertainlyshelvethewholething.”

“ ‘No comment’? Isn’t that what guilty people say?” Maddie saiddisbelievingly.

“It’swhatpeoplewhowanttoavoidchargessay.Believeme,ifyoucanstopthisfromturningintoacriminaltrial,youshould.”

Criminaltrial.Jesus,haditcometothis?WasIgoingtostandinacourt,inthedock,accusedofdeliberatelysnatchingTheo?Icouldn’tgetmyheadaroundit.

And all because Miles Lambert had walked into our lives. If he hadn’tpersuadedmetosuethehospital,noneofthiswouldhavehappened.

“Ofcourse,”JustinWattswassaying,“acynicmightbetemptedtobelievethat NHS Resolution would prefer this to be a criminal matter, rather thannegligence,because itgets themoff thehookfinancially.Butnevertheless, thepolicewillhavetoinvestigatetheallegationonitsmerits.”

“Hangon,”Isaid.“DoyoumeanthatiftheNHSsucceedsinmuddyingthewaters,theymightnothavetopayusanything?”

JustinWatts shrugged. “Itwill certainlyput them in a strongernegotiatingposition. And as they point out in their final paragraph, if either you or theLambertswereawareoftheabduction,itfollowsthatoneofyouiscommittingfraud.”

MaddieandIexchangedastartledglance.“I’mafraiditalsocallsintoquestionthebasisofourrelationship,”headded.

“You’ll recall that the Conditional Fee Arrangement is tied to us having areasonable likelihood of winning. If circumstances change, we have to get asecond opinion. And there’s no doubt that this allegation does change thingssubstantially.”

“What?”Istaredathim.“Youmightleaveusinthelurch?”“Notatall.Butwe’dhavetostartinvoicingyouforourtime.Andaskyouto

paythecostsincurredsofar,ofcourse.”Iputmyhead inmyhands.“We’vealreadyremortgagedourhouse topay

forthefamily-lawsolicitor.”“Ah.”JustinWattsmadeanote.Probablyremindinghimselftogetabillout

tousASAP,Irealized,beforeweranoutoffunds.“Whatifwepullout?”Isaiddesperately.“Whatifwejustforgetaboutthis

wholething?”“I definitely wouldn’t advise that,” he said. “If youwithdraw now, you’ll

have to pay all the other side’s costs as well as ours. And it might look likeyou’vegotsomethingtohidewhenitcomestothecriminalinvestigation.”

“I’vehadenoughofthis,”Maddiesaidabruptly.Shestoodup.“You’reourlawyer,forfuck’ssake.You’remeanttobefightingforus.Andinsteadallyoubloodycareaboutishowmuchmoneyyoucanmakeoutofus.Well,youwon’tget a cent unless you come up with a plan for making this go away.” HerAustralianaccent,usuallyquitemutedafteralmostthreeyearsinLondon,wasasstridentasI’deverheardit.“Comeon,Pete.Let’sleavethisgutlesslimp-dicktoitandgohome.”

67PETE

“ ‘GUTLESSLIMP-DICK’?”Iwhispered.“Wheredidthatcomefrom?”WewerepressedtogetherinacrowdedJubileeLinecarriage,eithersideof

anuprightbar.“Idunno.Mydad,Iguess.”“Thisisallshit,isn’tit?”Maddienodded.Withoutwarning,shestartedtocry,silentfattearsthatran

downhercheeksanddrippedontohercollar.AwkwardlyIreachedaroundandhugged her, the bar still between us. Like embracing someone from inside aprisoncell,Ithought,eventhoughofcourseitwasn’t.Theydon’tmakeprisoncellslikethatanymore,exceptinmovies.

—THEREWASSOMEONEWAITINGoutsideourhouse—ayoungman.Itwasonlywhen

he headed rapidly toward us, his phone held out as if hewas imploring us toanswer it, that I realized who he was. Or rather, what. Journalists don’t usenotebooksthesedays.Theyhaverecordingappsontheirphonesinstead.

“KieranKeenan,DailyMail.Isittrueyoustoleababy,Mr.Riley?”“Go away,” I said irritably, pushing past him. At that moment a

photographerjumpedoutfromwherehe’dbeenhidingbetweentwoparkedcars.He crouched down to get the classic shot, snap-snap-snap: the guilty partybrushingoffthejournalistwho’saskingdifficultquestions.

“Don’tyouwanttoputyoursideofthestory,Mr.Riley?”Kierancalledafterme.

Istoppedandturned.“Iknowyoureditor,”Isaiddisbelievingly.“Well,thetraveleditor,anyway.”

Snap-snap-snap.Thephotographerwasmakingthemostofthis.“I’llgivehimyourregards.Whatmadeyoudoit,Mr.Riley?”Maddie had gotten the front door open andwas already inside,waiting to

slamitbehindme.ButsomethingmademestaywhereIwas,facingthereporter.God, he reallywasyoung.Hemust be an intern. “Wedidn’t do anything.Doyourresearch.We’renotthebadguysinthis.”

“Sowhois?”hepressed,butIrealizedI’dalreadysaidtoomuch.IsteppedinandMaddieslammedthedoor.

—

“THATWASDOWNTOMiles,”Maddiesaidflatly.“Itmusthavebeen.”Ifloppedintoachair.“Ofcourse.Hislawyerwouldhavebeensentacopyof

that report aswell.AndMiles’s first thoughtwould have been to ask himselfhowhecoulduseittohisadvantage.IfpeoplethinkwetookTheodeliberately,they’llthinkwedefinitelyshouldn’tbeallowedtokeephim.”

“CanyoucallyourcontactattheMail?Askthemnottorunthestory?”“Ithinkthatmightmakeitevenworse.”Wesatinsilence,tooexhaustedeventomakecoffee.“Whydidyoulieaboutthesecuritytag?”Maddiesaidatlast.Iglancedatheruneasily.“Whatdoyoumean?”“WhenyoutoldGraceMatthewsyousawthetagonTheowithinminutesof

him being moved to the hospital incubator, that wasn’t right. You know itwasn’t.Andnowoneoftheseniordoctorshascontradictedyou.”

“Imusthavebeenmistaken.”Maddie’seyessearchedmyface.“DidyoudoitforBronagh?”Ididn’tanswer.Icouldn’t.“Why?” Maddie said simply. But nothing was simple in this situation

anymore.“She’sbeensuspended,”Isaideventually.“Iwantedtohelpherout.”“OhJesus.”Maddiestartedtolaugh,ahollowlaughthatturnedintoahowl.

“We’re losing our son, and you wanted to help a nurse. Which in turn hasimplicatedyouinacriminaloffense.Youare…Youaresuchacretinsometimes,Pete.Always trying tobe thegoodguy.Always—”Shestoppedsuddenly.“Isthatallitwas?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Isaid,eventhoughIknewexactlywhatshemeant.“IsthereanythingbetweenyouandBronaghthatIshouldknowabout?”she

demanded.Ilookedherintheeye.“No.No,absolutelynot.”Andthatwastrue,ifyouwerethinkinglikealawyerandtakingherquestion

at its face value. There was nothing she should know about. Very much thereverse,infact.

68Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit34:FacebookMessengerexchangebetweenBronaghWalshand

PeterRiley,deletedbyPeterRileythenextdayandbyBronaghWalshtwoyearslater.HeyPete,how’stricks?Thebikeridelooksamaaaaazing!!!ActuallygoingtobeinYorknextw/e

withsomefriendsonahensowemightlookyoulotup!We’reallqualifiednursessocantendtoanywalking(cycling?)wounded!!Thanks Bronagh. Plenty of sore calves, aching groins & pulled muscles over here but we’re

plowingon.DeterminedtomakethetargetfortheNICU!Putlikethatit’salmostourdutytocomearoundandpatchyouupisn’tit!!!(Hmmprobablycan’t

domuchforthepulledmusclesorsorecalves…)

69MADDIE

THEDAILYMAILARTICLEappearsonpageeight,belowapictureofahunted-lookingPete. TIMES JOURNALIST “STOLE BABY”—BUT STILLWANTS OUR NHS TO PAY is theheadline.ItquotesthemostdamningbitsofNHSResolution’sreport,aswellaspartsofthearticlePetehimselfwrote,theonehe’dtoldthemcouldn’tbeprintedyet, inwhich he’d described how traumatic it had been finding out about themix-up.Inthisnewcontext,itseemschillinglyself-interested—abrazenattemptto paint himself as a victim, in order to prize more money out of the healthservice. Theo isn’t identified by name, “for legal reasons,” but instead isdescribed as “ChildX, an adorable toddlerwith a hugegrin and an exuberantzestforlife.”

As for why Pete stole him, the article makes it clear that Pete’s a cold-blooded,quick-thinkingmonsterwhosawanopportunitytofoisthisvulnerable,brain-damagedbabyonsomeoneelse,thentriedtoprofitfromhisownvillainyto boot. Toward the end of the piece is a quote from an “expert,” some poppsychologistwho’sappearedonvariousmorning-TVprograms.“Iwouldn’tbesurprised if this turns out to be an example of ‘hero syndrome,’ ” he sayshelpfully.“Weseeitsometimeswithfirefightersandpolicemen,creatingcrisesandsettingfirespurelyinordertobetheonewhoavertsdisasterandisadmiredas a result. But increasingly, we’re also seeing it with those who want to beperfect parents or caregivers.” The apparent contradiction between Pete as aheartless monster and Pete as someone who wants to be admired for hisparentingskillsiscompletelyignored,ofcourse.

Pete himself seems utterly shell-shocked. That it’s a newspaper, his oldindustry,doingthistohimonlyaddsinsulttoinjury.Hebecomesveryquiet,hiseyeswide,poleaxedandbewildered.

Anitarecommendsacolleaguespecializingincriminallaw,whoarrangesforPetetoattendapoliceinterviewvoluntarily.Weshouldgetourinitialresponsein quickly, the new solicitor says, even though his advice relating to theinterview itself is identical to Justin Watts’s: Answer “no comment” toeverything,inthehopethepolicewilldecidetheallegationisunprovableeitherway.IcantellPetehatesthatstrategy,andattheslightestencouragementfrommewouldabandonit.Bynaturehe’ssomeonewholikestocooperate,tobewellthought of by authority figures. And we’ve all seen video footage of childmolesters and serial killers monotonously answering “no comment” to thepolice’squestions, the implicationbeing that they’re toocallouseven toadmit

theirowncrimes.ImakesureIbackthelawyer’sstrategyeveryinchoftheway.Thisnewsolicitor,MarkCooper,charges£220anhourplusVAT.I’d expected thepolice investigation tobe as slowandByzantine as every

other part of the legal processes we’re now embroiled in. But while Pete isattending the interview, the doorbell rings. On the doorstep are a uniformedpolicesergeant,aWPC,andamaninplainclotheswhointroduceshimselfasadetectivesergeant.HeshowsmehisIDandawarranttotakePete’slaptopandphone.

Idon’tevenhavePete’sphone—hehasitwithhim.IwatchastheyunplughisMacBookandplaceitinanevidencebag.“Doyouwantthepowersupply?”Ihearmyselfsaying.

Thedetectiveshakeshishead.“We’vegotplentyofthose.”They’realmostthe only words we exchange. Five minutes after entering the house, they’regone.

Taking Pete’s laptop doesn’t fit with Mark Cooper’s prediction that thepolicewillonlygothroughthemotions,Ithink.Oristhatthepoint?Thatnowthey’llbeabletosaytheylookedforevidenceandfoundnone?

Themore I thinkabout it, themore ridiculous thiswhole thing is.Even insomemadparallel universewhere the allegationswere true andPete did stealTheo, it isn’t as if he’d have googled “how to steal a baby” beforehand.Andanyonewho knows himwould realize just how crazy the notion of Pete as aheartless,calculatingmonsteris.

But Pete as a would-be hero? an inner voice whispers disloyally. That’smorefeasible.IrememberthewayhewassogoodintheNICU,evensyringingmybreastmilkintoTheo’snasogastrictubesothatthenursesdidn’thavetodoit. When Theo thrived, Pete, by extension, shared the credit. And yes, he’dundeniablybaskedinit,justalittle.SaintPeter.Thebest,mostcaringdadintheNICU…

Stop.IdubbedhimSaintPeterbecauseheisasaint—almostirritatinglyso,sometimes,butasaintnonetheless.Nooneknowsbetterthanmethathiscaringnatureisn’tanact.

Buthemighthavedoneitforyou,theinnervoicesays.AndIstopdead,becauseIknowthat,atleast,couldbe…nottrue,obviously,

butnot impossible.Petekept thestark realityabouthypoxia fromme thatdaybecausehewantedtoprotectme.Hewouldneverhavestolenahealthybabyforhis own sake—butmight he, could he, have stolen a healthybabybecause hethoughtIcouldn’tcopewiththealternative?

Wasithisverysainthoodthatpromptedhimtocommitthemostterribleofacts—notoutofheartlessness,buttheveryopposite,love?

—WE RARELY TALK THESEdaysabout theperiod thatbroughtus together. Itwasa

wild time in my life—I’d moved to Sydney, gotten a job in televisionproduction, started working hard and partying even harder. I certainly wasn’tlookingtofallinlove,sowhenIfellforanolder,marriedTVpresenteritcameasa shock.For threewhirlwindmonths I convincedmyselfhewas telling thetruthwhenhesaidhewasgoingtoleavehiswifeandfamilyforme.Hedidn’t,ofcourse. Ibecamedepressed; therewasamessycry forhelp—anoverdose Iended up not being able to keep down—followed by a long period of numbrecuperation.Andagood-looking,well-manneredEnglishboywhodidn’tseemin the least put off by the fact I was an emotional wreck, or bymy frequentremindersthatwe’dneverbeanythingmorethanfriends.Andslowly,friendshipbecamesomethingelse—orrather,Isuppose,IcametorealizethatfriendshipisactuallyamoreimportantingredientofarelationshipthanI’dgivenitcreditfor.When Idideventually sleepwithhim, itwasmoreoutofa senseofgratitudethananythingelse.There,that’sdonenow.Butsomehow,itdidn’tstayasaone-off.Onsomelevel,IlikedthecomfortthatsexwithPetegaveme.Andonceyouweresleepingwithyourbest friend,youwereeffectively ina relationship.Hewasmyrock,theonewhocaredformeatatimewhentobecaredforwaswhatIneededmorethananythingelse.

But would he really commit a crime for me? Surely not—the guiltyconsciencewouldplaguehim;hisverysenseofwhohe iswouldbeshakentothe core.Yet herewe are,with him effectively accused, andme doubting hisinnocence…

This is what happens, I realize. This is how couples get torn apart bycircumstanceslikethese.Doubtandmistrust,combinedwithfinancialstressandtheagonyofnotknowingwhetherajudgeisgoingtoorderourchildtakenfromus,wouldeatawayatthestrongestrelationship.Imustn’tletithappentomeandPete.

AndyetIcan’thelpit,andthesuspicionstilllingers,deepintherecessesofmy mind. That lie Pete told about the tag—was that really just to protectBronagh,orwastheresomethingmoretoitaswell?AndwhatabouttheotherinsinuationsintheNHSreport?If thebabiesreallywereswappeddeliberately,whoelsecouldithavebeen?

Myphonerings.Ianswerit,thinkingitmustbePete,outofhisinterviewatlast.

“Hello,Maddie,”LyntheCAFCASSadvisersaysinherliltingWelshtones.“Isnowagoodtime?IneedtochatwithyouaboutPeter,doyousee?”

70MADDIE

“WHATABOUTPETE?”

“It’s just that I’ve been alerted to a possible safeguarding issue,Maddie. Iunderstand serious allegations have been made, which the police are nowinvestigating.”

“Well,”Isayslowly,“it’struetherehavebeensomeallegations—falseones,obviously.It’sfairlycleartousthatMilesLambertissomehowresponsible—”

“Would you have any evidence regarding that at all, Maddie?” Lyninterrupts.

“Notassuch,no.”“ThenIthinkyoushouldbecarefulnottomakestatementslikethat.Asit’s

now a policematter.” Lyn’s tone, usually so soft and ingratiating, has turnedsteely.

“Of course. My point was, these are only allegations, with no evidencebehindthem.”

“Even so, my job is to think of Theo in this situation,” Lyn says firmly.“Whenamanisbeinginvestigatedforapossibleoffenseagainstachild, thereare procedures, Maddie, do you see?We have to ask ourselves, is this childsafe?”

“But this is the same child he’s accused—wrongly—of taking,” I say,genuinelybaffled.“OfcourseTheo’ssafe.”

“Nobody wants to be talking about removing Theo into emergencyprotection at this stage.” The steely note in Lyn’s voice is becoming morepronounced.

“What?Whosaidanything—”“So I think it’s best if Pete finds somewhere else to stay, for now,” Lyn

continuesas if Ihaven’tspoken.“Hecanstillhavecontact,but itwillhave totakeplacewhenyou’reinthehouse.Oritcouldbesupervisedbysomeoneelse,doyousee—therearespecialistcenterswhere thatcanbearranged. Icangiveyoualistofaddresses.”

“Idon’tunderstand,”Isayslowly.“Areyousayingyouhave thepower tobreakupmyrelationshipwithPete?”

“No,”Lynsaysevenly.“I’msayingIhave thepower to removeTheo intosafekeeping if I’m not entirely satisfied with the arrangement that currentlyexists. Which at the present time, I’m not. However, if you were to give awrittenundertakingthatPetewon’tbestayinginthehouse,won’tbealonewith

Theo,won’thavehiminhissolecharge,andwillotherwiseonlyseehimundersupervision in a registered contact center, I could be persuaded that you’reworkingwithustoprovideasaferandmoreacceptableenvironment.Soreally,it’syourdecision,Maddie.Whichisittobe?”

Even thoughIcanbarelyspeak, IknowIhavenochoice. IfTheo is takenaway from us now, the chances of keeping him in the long term will shrinkdramatically.

“I’lldowhateverittakestokeepTheoandtogetDavidback,”Ihearmyselfsay.“SoifyouthinkPeteshouldgo,I’lltellhimhehastomoveout.”

71MADDIE

IWAITINAkindofdazeforPetetogetbackfromthepolicestation.It’sasifmybrainisrefusingtoengagewithwhat’shappening,unabletoprocessmorethanone disaster at a time. Perhaps it’s a kind of defense mechanism. If I reallygraspedtheenormityofeverythingthat’sgoingon,I’dscream.

It’s another hour before I hear his key in the lock. He comes in lookingexhausted.Hedropshiskeysontothedesk,nexttowherehisMacBookusuallyis.Heglancesatthedanglingpowerleadbutsaysnothing.

“Theytookit,”Isay.“Thepolice.Theycameearlier.”“Iknow.They’vegotmyphone,too.That’swhyIcouldn’tcallyouwhenI

came out.And then…”He blinks, like a boxerwho’s been hit in the face. “Iwalkedmostofthewayhome.Ineededtothink.”

“Doyouknowwhenyou’llgetthemback?”“Soon, they said.” He runs his hand over his head. “They offered me a

choice. Give us your PIN and passwords, so we can download everythingimmediately,ordon’tgivethemtousandwe’llkeepthelaptopandphoneuntilour technical people get around to opening them. And since not giving thepasswordswouldlooklikeIhadsomethingtohide…”Heshakeshishead.

“Pete,I’vegotmorebadnews,”Ibegin,justashesays,“Maddie…”Webothstop.“Yougofirst,”hesays.“TheCAFCASSwomanphoned.Lyn.They’reclaimingthatbecauseyou’re

nowthesubjectofachildabductioninvestigation,Theoisn’tsafe.I’msosorry,Pete.Shewantsyoutostaysomewhereelseuntilthehearing.Andyoucan’tbealonewithTheo.”

“Jesus.Jesus.”Hecloseshiseyes.“IthoughtmaybeyoucouldgotoGregandKate’s.”“I guess.” He looks around our downstairs room, as if for the last time.

“Jesus.”“Whatdidyouwanttosay?”Hetakesadeepbreath.WhenhestartsspeakingIknowimmediatelythisis

something he’s prepared, that he’s been rehearsing it on the longwalk home.“There’ssomethingIneedtotellyou.Aboutmylaptop.Whenthepolicelookatit, they’regoing toknow…”He stops, then continues. “They’ll be able to tellI’vebeenlookingatporn.”

Istareathim.“Not illegalporn,obviously,”headdsquickly. “ButMark—the solicitor—

said if they interviewyou, it’ssomething theymightraise.To try tocatchyouoffguard.”

“When?”Isay.“Whenwilltheyinterviewyou?It’snotevencertain—”“Whendoyoulookatporn?”Hemakes a small, defeated gesture. “I don’t know.Does itmatter?When

Theowasatnursery,Iguess.”That nursery cost nearly two hundred pounds a week, paid for from my

salary.Butitwasworthit,we’dagreed,ifitallowedPetesometimetopitchandwritearticles.“Howlonghasthisbeengoingon?”

Heonlyshrugs.“Awhile.”I’dhadnoidea.PerhapsIshouldn’tbesurprised,giventheotherproblemsin

ourrelationship,butitneverevenoccurredtome.It’ssocontrarytomyimageofhim—toPete’simageofhimself,forthatmatter.Generally,he’ssorespectfulto women, so principled. I think of some of the images I’ve stumbled acrossonline,andwince.Is thatwhoheis,deepdown?And,ifI’dneverknownthatabouthim,whatelsemightInotknow?

Whoishe,really?He’salwayssaidheneededtopassword-protecthis laptop topreventTheo

fromplayingwith it—“Noscreen timeatalluntilhe’s two,andnomore thanthirty minutes a day fully supervised after that. I read an article—in SiliconValley, the peoplewho really know about this stuff don’t even let their five-year-oldsplaywithiPadsunsupervised.”ButhaditactuallybeentoprotectTheofromcomingacrosshisbrowsinghistory?Orindeed,tostopmefromdoingthesame?

Ifhecouldlieaboutthatsoeasily,whatotherlieshashetold?Couldheevenhaveliedaboutthemostimportantthingofall?

“I’llgoandpackasuitcase,”hesayswhenIdon’trespond.Hewaitsformetosaysomething.ButIcan’t.

Only as he starts trudging up the stairs do I manage to add, “What elsehappenedattheinterview?”

“Oh…”He shrugswearily. “I said ‘nocomment’ to everyquestion.And IcouldseethedetectivegettingmoreandmoreconvincedImusthavesomethingto hide. So now it’s a trade-off—has he gotten so frustrated he’ll decide toinvestigateanyway,orwillhethinkit’sawasteofresourceswhentheyhavesolittletogoon?”

It seems inevitable tomenowthat there’llbea full investigation,not leastbecausesofar,everythingthatpossiblycouldgowrongforushas.Andbecause,behind it all, guiding eventswith a push here and a nod there, I can feel the

invisible, irresistible force ofMilesLambert,who’ll stop at nothing to get hisson.

Perhapsifwe’dhandleditbetter,he’dhavehadlesstoworkwith.ButnowthetinyliePete toldaboutseeingthesecurity tagonTheo’s legis thehairlinecrackthat,whenmorepressureisapplied,couldshatterourfamilyapart.Theocouldbe takenaway.Petecouldgo toprison.Andwhatwillhappen tome inthat situation? If they decide I knew all along,my leave to remain in theUKcouldberevokedaswell.

Anabysshasopenedup,andwe’reteeteringrightontheedge.“I’ll callGreg,”Pete says.Automatically, hishand reaches intohispocket

forhisphone.Itcomesoutempty.“Shit,”hesays,furiousathisownstupidity.“Shit.”Hetakesadeepbreath,andIknowhe’stryingtoholdhimselftogether.

“I’lldoit,”Isay.“Yougoandpack.”“Tell him…” He stops, then continues. “Tell Greg I’ll come late. When

Theo’sasleep.Iwanttodobedtime.Itcouldbethelastoneforawhile.”

72PETE

AS I UNDRESSED BEFORE lying down on Greg’s sofa, something fell out of mypocket. It was a card the police had given me. Headed Your Release fromCustody,itexplainedthatInappropriatecontactwithanyonelinkedtoyourcase,either directly or indirectly, through a third party or social media, mayconstitute a criminal offense. If found guilty, you could face up to lifeimprisonment.

Life imprisonment.Could this really get anyworse?Andwhat constituted“inappropriatecontact,”anyway?

Whenwe got to the police stationmy lawyer,Mark Cooper, had gone tospeaktothepoliceonhisown.He’dtoldmetoexpectthat—itwaspartoftheprocess,apparently,the“disclosure.”Hecamebacksomberbutencouraging.

“Well,they’renotobligedtotellmeeverything,butevensoI’dsaythey’vegotverylittle.Myadviceis,westickto‘nocomment.’ ”

“Dowe have to? It just feelswrong, somehow.When I’ve got nothing tohide.”

“Letmeexplainsomething.”MarkCooperwasnoolderthanme,buthehadthe pale, flabby look of someone who’d spent toomuch time sitting in thesegrubbyroomswiththeirflickeringstriplightsanddiscardedpapercups.“Inthiscountry,thecriminallawisbasedonanadversarialsystem.Thatmeansit’sthepolice’sgoaltogetasuspectarrested,charged,andbroughttotrial,nottoworryaboutwhether he’s actually guilty—that’s someone else’s job.On top of that,they face intense pressure to improve their conviction rates. The police aretrained in interviewing techniques, and they’re often very good at gettingsuspects to say something that, however innocent, will help to convict themlater.Or,evenworse,gettingthemtotellasmallliethatwillunderminealltherestoftheirevidencewhenitcomesoutincourt.Rightnow,iftheyhadenoughevidence to chargeyou, they’dhavedone it. Soour objective is to leaveheretodaywiththatsituationunchanged,andthesurestwaytodothat is toanswer‘nocomment.’ ”

I understood his logic, but it had been agony. When the policeman—apleasant,cheerfulmanwhointroducedhimselfasDetectiveInspectorRichards—cautionedme,andgot to thewords,“Ifyoudonotmentionnowsomethingwhichyoumentionlater,acourtmightaskyouwhyyoudidn’tmentionitatthefirst opportunity,” I shotMark an anguished glance. He only shook his headwarningly.

Whenthecautionwasoutoftheway,DIRichardsaskedthefirstquestion.“IunderstandthatyoutransferredtoSt.Alexander’swithyourprematurebabyinanambulance.Thatmusthavebeenaverydifficulttimeforyou.”

“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”DI Richards looked pained. “We’ve agreed to speak to you today to hear

your side of the story, Pete. I’mneutral in this—I’m just trying to seewhat’shappened.”

“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”“Noone’scurrentlyaccusedyouofanycrime,Pete.Wejustwanttomake

surewe’vegotyourversionofeventsaswellasNHSResolution’s.”“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”DI Richards shrugged and picked up a document. “You told the NHS

investigatorsyouwereinastateofcompletepanicwhenyougottotheintensivecareunit.Doesthatsoundrighttoyou,thatyouwerepanicking?”

I hesitated. Had I really said that? “On the advice of my solicitor, I amanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”

“I can understand why you’d be anxious, Pete. You’d had a conversationwith theparamedics in theambulance,hadn’tyou?They’d toldyouyour littleboywasprobablygoingtobebrain-damaged.Thatmusthavebeenhard.”

“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”Andsoitwenton.EvenwhenheaskedaboutBronagh,andwhetherI’dbeen

intouchwithhersinceleavingtheNICU.Iblinkedbutmanagedtosay,“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”

Andthenthere’dbeenthemoment,neartheendoftheinterview,whenhe’dsprungonmethatthey’dgottenawarranttoexaminemycomputer.Imusthavelookedanxious,because thenheaskedwhether they’d findanythingon it thatrelatedtotheinvestigation.

Istartedtoshakemyhead,thenremembered.“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment.’ ”Butinwardly,IwasalreadythinkingofwhatIwouldnowhavetotellMaddie.

Finally,hegottotheendofhisquestions.SinceIwasn’tanswering,ithadn’ttakenlong—nomorethanfifteenminutes.“That’sit,”hesaidwithasigh.Then,asIrelaxed,“Oh,justonelastthing.We’vebeencontactedbyaMilesLambert,who says he has information that may be relevant to our inquiries. Is thereanythingyou’dliketotellmefirst?”

Itriedveryhardnottoreact,butwhateverhereadinmyface—fear,perhaps,ordespair,orevenloathing—itevidentlysatisfiedhim,becausehenodded.

“Ontheadviceofmysolicitor,Iamanswering,‘Nocomment,’ ”Imumbled,butDIRichardswasnolongerlistening.

—GREGANDKATEHADreplacedtheirdownstairscurtainswithblinds,whichlitup

witheverycarthatpassed.Sleepwasimpossible.Ilayontheirnarrowsofa,mymindchurning.Theo.I’dtoldhimIwasgoingawayforafewdays.He’dbarelyreacted, just asked who was going to take him to Moles’s house tomorrow.Maddie.Icouldn’thelpthinkingshedidn’tseemdesperatelyupsetbythesocialworker’sdemandthatImoveout.She’dseemeddistant,almostwaryofmeasIpackedmythings.PerhapssheneededtimetoprocesswhatI’dtoldher.Didshedespisemenow?DidIdisgusther?I’dtriedsohardtobethepersonshewantedmetobe,butthetruthis,Iwasn’t,andneverhadbeen.Iwasafraud.

Whichwas ironic, because if Iwas convicted of child abduction, Iwouldalmostcertainlybechargedwithfraudaswell.Everythinghadgonewrong,andourfamilywasgoingtopaytheprice.

Andwith that thought, finally, I allowedmyself toweep; in the darkness,quietly,soasnottowakeGreg’ssleepingkidsupstairs.

73Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit38:ExtractfromCAFCASSsafeguardingletterregardingTheoRiley,addendumtopreviousrecommendations,presentedtothefamilycourtbyLynEdwards,

FamilyCourtAdviser.CONCLUSION

In the light of these revised circumstances, the court should direct CAFCASS to complete aSection7reporttofurtherexploretheissuesraised,including:

Thepossibilityofchildabductionandanysubsequentpsychological implications for thechild.

Thepossibilityofalcoholabuse.MadelynWilsonhasstatedthatsheregularlydrinksmorethandoublethemaximumoftenunitsperweekrecommendedbyNHSguidelinesforwomen.

MadelynWilson’smental health and how it could impact on the child. In addition to ahistory of psychosis, she has stated that she is no longer taking the medication she wasprescribedforhercondition,afactofwhichherGPwasunaware.

Whatthechild’swishesare.AlthoughTheoisveryyoung,CAFCASSadvisersaretrainedtouseindirecttechniquestoelicitayoungchild’sfeelingsinsituationssuchasthese.

AcrimonyfromMr.RileyandMs.Wilsontowardtheapplicants,andhowitmayalienateorotherwiseaffectthechild.

Thereportshouldconcludebymakingrecommendationstothecourtregardingthechild’slong-termsituation.

LynEdwards,FamilyCourtAdviser

74MADDIE

THAT NIGHT, I GET drunk—properly,mind-numbingly drunk.With Theo asleepandnoPetetogivemedisapprovinglookseverytimeItopupmyglass,Idrinkmyselfintoamiserableoblivion.

Iwakeupnextmorningwithastinkinghangover,madeworsebyhavingtogetTheodressed,breakfasted,andoff to theLamberts’onmyown.Usually,Islink off to the Tube in silence, leaving Pete to do all this. I hadn’t reallyappreciatedjusthowdrainingTheocanbeatthishour.

“Daddycutsmytoastintersoljers.”“Daddyisn’theretoday,Theo.”“Daddygetsmytoofbrushallready.”“LikeIsaid,Theo,Daddyisn’there.”Imisshim—notjustthepracticalPete,layingaprecisethree-millimeterfuse

of toddler-safe toothpaste on a brush, but also Pete thewarm presence in ourbed,makingroombetweenourbacksforTheoasheclambersbetweenus.WasItooquick to lethimgo?ShouldIhavefoughtLyn’smonstrousproposalmorefiercely?AndshouldIhavebeenmoreaffectionatebeforeheleft?We’dbarelyspokenashepackedabag,norwhenTheofinallyfellasleep,exhausted,inhisarms.“Don’t forgethissnack in themorning,”Petehadsaidasheopened thefront door, and I’d simply nodded. The truth was, I didn’t know who I wassaying goodbye to any longer. It was ridiculous to conflate a commonplaceweaknesslikelookingatpornwiththinkinghecouldhavestolensomeoneelse’schild, but I didn’t know what to think now.We’d become strangers to eachother.

Andthatwashowweparted,withstrangers’distantnods.

—ATTHELAMBERTS’,THEOeagerlyrunstopushtheintercombutton,thenboundsup

the steps without waiting for it to be answered. I’d been expecting Lucy, orpossiblyTania,soit’sashocktobemetbyMileshimself,pullingopenthedoorinaT-shirtandjeans.

“Maddie.Hownicetoseeyou.”“Fuckoff,Miles.”Milesgrins.“Please—Imustaskyoutomoderateyourlanguageinfrontof

the children.”Theohadbriefly rugby-tackledMiles’s legs before running intothehouse,sotherewasabsolutelynochancehecouldhaveheard.

He eyesmewith amusement.Annoyingly, itmakes him evenmore good-looking.“It’sfun,this, isn’tit?”hesayscheerfully.“Makeslifesomuchmoreinteresting.”

“Whatareyoudoinghere?Ithoughtyou’dbeatwork.”“I might ask you the same question.My answer, by the way, is that I’m

takingtimeoff tobewithmychildren.It’ssoimportantforbothparents tobeactivelyinvolved,don’tyouthink?”

“Again,fuckoff.”IwonderifheknowsPetehasbeenmadetomoveout.Isuspect he does—some weaselly back channel of information, lubricated bymoney.“Andactually,I’monmywaytoworknow.”Ihesitate.“Ineedtoaskifyou’llhaveTheountilabitlaterforthenextfewdays.Say,fouro’clock.Ican’treallygetawayanyearlier.”

“And if I said—how did you put it just now?—‘Fuck off, Maddie’?” Hewaits,butIcantellhe’sonlyplayingwithme.Eventuallyhesighshappily.“Ofcourse.Itwillbeapleasuretohavemysonwithusforlongerduringtheday.”

As I go down the steps, he adds, “It’ll be good preparation for when hemoves inpermanently. I’msure thecourtwillsee it thatway, too.Particularlywhentheylearnthatitwasyourtoe-ragofapartnerwhostolehimfromus.WhowouldhavethoughtPerfectPetehadit inhimtodoa thinglike that,Maddie?Perhapshe’snotquitethemanyouthoughthewas.”

AgainIdon’trisetoit,althoughI’mshakingwithfury.AsIturnthecornerhecallsafterme,“I’llseeyouatthehearing.OnTuesday.Makesureyouturnupthistime,won’tyou?”

—I’DMEANTTOGOstraightontowork,butIgohomeinstead.I’mamazedbyhow

focused I am. At the Lamberts’ house, listening to Miles’s taunts, I’d feltadrenaline coursing throughme, the ancient fight-or-flight reflex pricklingmyskin,bloodpoundinginmyears.

TheCAFCASSletteriswaitingonthemat.Iopenitandreadtherevisedlistof recommendationswithamixtureofangerand resignation.SonowLynhasmeinhersights,aswellasPete.Iscrunchtheletterupandletitfalltothefloor.Asifinadream,Ipulltwobigsuitcasesoutoftheunderstairscupboardwherethey’rekept.InTheo’sroomIworkquickly,transferringclothes—fiveT-shirts,fivepairsof jeans, tenpairsof socks—into the first case.All soneatly ironedandfoldedbyPete,stillsmellingoftheeco-friendlyfabricconditionerheuses.

Formyownsuitcase,Ijustthrowinafewthingsfrommywardrobe.Thepassportsaredownstairs,inthedeskdrawer.Icheckmine’sindate.The

photographshowsmewithlong,unstyledhairdowntomychest,anunflattering

centerpartingfallingaroundafresh,innocentface.Soinnocent,fromadifferenttime.AndTheo’s—hewaslessthanayearoldwhenhiswastaken.Incredibletothinkhe’llbeelevenwhenthispassportexpires.

Butofcourse,hewon’tbe.MileswillgethissurnamechangedtoLambert;anew,Britishpassportissued.

IcheckSkyscanner.There’saCathayPacificflightleavingtonightviaHongKong.One-wayticketsareonlysixhundredpounds.Inalittleoverforty-eighthours,IcouldbewakingupinmyoldbedroomathomewithTheobesideme.The sun will be shining, my parents will be overjoyed. Dad will be makingplans,takingcareofthings.IfIleaveitevenafewmoredaysit’llbetoolate:Atthe hearing, the court will undoubtedly agree toMiles’s request and issue anorderstoppingmeandTheofromtraveling.

Isitonthebed,thepassportsinmyhands,andsob.BecauseIknow,inmyheart,thatflightisnotanoption.

Whichonlyleavestheotherthing.

75MADDIE

IGOTOGREGandKate’sandbangonthedooruntilGreganswers.BehindhimIcanseePeteatthekitchentable,supervisingPlay-DohwithLilyandAlfie.Thetwomen,aswellas thechildren,arewearingmatchingredplasticaprons,andforamomentmyheartswellsatthesweetnessofitall.

“Pete,”Gregcalls,seeingme.“Maddie’shere.”Pete comes to the door. Now that I see him close-up, he looks gaunt. He

hasn’tshavedandthewhitesofhiseyesarepink.“Yes?”hesaysblankly.“Weneedtofightthis,”Itellhim.“Properlyfightit.Notjustwithlawyers.

WeneedtofightitlikeMilesisfighting—witheveryfiber.”“Comein,”hesaysafteramoment,holdingopenthedoor.

—“THEONETHINGTHATwillmakeall thisgoawayis ifwecanworkoutwhodid

swapthosebabies.”GreghastakenthechildrentoKidzone,togivePeteandmesomespace.We

sitoneithersideofthekitchentable.Bothofus,withoutthinking,havereachedfor handfuls of Play-Doh and are kneading it as we talk. Pete’s still wearingKate’sapron,whichisseveralsizestoosmallforhim.

“Okay,”Petesayscautiously.“Buthow?”“Theway I see it,” I say, pulling a child’s pad towardme tomake notes,

“there are five possibilities. First, that Miles somehow swapped the babieshimself.”

“Butwhywouldhedothat?”“I don’t know.But for example,what if heplanned to sue thehospital all

along?Whatifitwasallsomegiantmoneymakingscheme?Afterall,heknewhe’dbeabletouseaDNAtesttogethisownchildbackwheneverhewanted.He just had tomake sure he exposed the swap before the childrenwere threeyearsoldandwe’dacquiredparentalrights.”

Petestaresatme.“Butnoone,surely…Hewouldhavetobea—a—”“Apsychopath?ButIthinkthat’sexactlywhatMilesLambertis.I’vebeen

readingupaboutitonline.Awhileback,peopleusedtothinkpsychopathswereallchaotic,disorganizedmurderers,becausethoseweretheoneswhoendedupinprisonandgot studied.But there’smountingevidence thatmanysuccessfulCEOsandpoliticiansareactuallypsychopaths, too;orat least, fall somewhereon the psychopathic spectrum—that is, they score low on tests for remorse,

conscience,andmoral judgment,andhighforfearlessness,quickthinking,andcold-bloodedness.AndtherearecertainpsychopathictraitsthatweknowMileshas.Somethingcalledshallowaffect,forexample—havingaverylimitedrangeof emotions. Getting bored easily. Impulsiveness. Charm. Not really caringabout other people’s feelings, except as a tool tomanipulate themby.Havingveryfewlong-termfriends.Seeinglifeasacontestwhere,foryoutowin,othershave to lose. And treating your children as trophies, flattering extensions ofyourself.”

Pete has beennodding at eachpoint, but nowhe stops. “The flaw in yourtheory is thatMiles isalreadystinkingrich.Whygo toall that trouble, if theydon’tneedthemoney?”

“I don’t know. Because he can? Because he enjoys the game? Or maybethey’renotasrichastheylook.Themortgageonthathousemustbemillions.”Isnapmyfingers.“LucysaidsomethingabouthimnothavingmanyfriendssinceheleftHardingsandsetuponhisown.Hardingsisaninvestmentbank,isn’tit?Presumablyheearnedafortunethere.Maybenowhe’slosingafortuneinstead.”

“ThattheorydependsonhimhavingleftHardingsbythetimehemadetheswap,”Petepointsout.

“Whichhehadn’t,”Isay,instantlydeflated.“I’mprettysureLucyalsosaidsomethingbackintheNICU,abouthimgettingfiredifhespenttoolongawayfromhisdesk.”

“Butthat’sinterestinginitself,isn’tit?”Pete’sfrowning.“If,backthen,hewasgoingthroughsomekindofcrisisatwork—maybewasrightonthevergeofgettingpushedout—swappingthebabiesmighthaveseemedlikeawayoutofhis problems.He couldn’t knowhe’d end upwith a disabled child, of course,andacorrespondinglyhighpayout,buthe’dknowtheoddswereprettyhigh.”

“Well, that’s something we can investigate, then,” I say, making a note.“Whetherhewasintroubleatwork.”

Petenodsslowly.“Okay.SoMilesissuspectnumberone.Whoelse?”“Lucy.CanyourememberwhenshefirstturnedupintheNICU?”He shakeshis head. “I don’t think I noticedher at all.Not until she came

overtochattoyouthatday.Itwassuchablurbeforethen.”“Shewasdefinitely aroundbefore Iwas—she toldme she’dhad a natural

birth,ratherthanaC-sectionlikeme.Soitseemslikelyshe’dhavearrivedprettysoonafterthebabiesdid.”

“But whatever we might think about Miles, Lucy definitely isn’t apsychopath,” Pete says. “And she of all people had no reason to swap apremature but reasonably healthy baby for one with a high likelihood ofdisability.”

“True.Butwecan’taltogetherruleherout.”“Allright.Andnext?Yousaidfivepossibilitiesinall.”“Bronagh,” I say slowly. “I think it’s possible that it was Bronagh who

swappedthem.”

76MADDIE

“NO.”PETESHAKESHIShead.“Noway.No.”“Hearmeout,”Iinsist.“ItwasthatarticleintheMailthatgotmethinking—

thatso-calledexpertsayingthismightbeacaseofherosyndrome?I lookeditup. It’s a bullshit phrase—it’s not even officially recognized by psychiatrists.But what is true is that, in the caregiving professions, there are a small butsignificantnumberofpeoplewhodeliberatelycausecrises,eitherbecausetheyenjoythefeelingofpoweroverlifeanddeathitgivesthem,orbecausetheyfeedontheadmirationtheygetwhentheysortthecrisisout.”

“Thatsoundslikesometerriblelate-nightdocumentary,”hescoffs.“NursesWhoKill.”

“That’sbecause somenursesdo kill.Statistically, they’re themostprolificserialkillersthereare.TherewasoneinGermanywhokilledninety-ninepeople,forGod’ssake.AnotherinItalywasaccusedofmurderingovereighty.Andanunusuallyhighproportionofkillernursesworkinpediatrics.There’sevenacasegoing through the courts right now—a neonatal nurse who was regarded asbrilliant,dedicated,devotedtoherjob,andwhohelpedorganizethefundraisingappealforanewfive-million-poundbabyunit.Doesthatsoundfamiliar?”

Petestaresatme.“Often,theyonlycomeundersuspicionbecausesomeonespotsapatternof

abnormallyhighdeathrates,”Iadd.“St.Alexander’shasbeendowngradedfromaLevelThreetoaLevelTwoforexactlythatreason,yes?”

“Yes,”hesays.Hesoundsstunned.“ButnotBronagh.ShesavedTheo’slifeonadailybasis,Mads.Shegothisheartgoingwhenitstopped—”

“Anddidn’twealladmireherforit?”Hegrimaces.“Butwhyswap them?It’sone thing tosayanursemightdo

something for attention, but none of the ones youmentioned swapped babiesaround,didthey?”

“True,”Iadmit.“ButmaybeBronaghlikedhavingacertainsortofbabyinhercare.Afterall,Theowasrelativelyeasytolookafter.”Ihesitate.“AndTheohadyou.”

“Thatisridiculous.”Hedoesn’tmeetmyeye.“Forthatmatter,itcouldjustas easily have been that other nurse—the grumpy one.What was her name?Paula.”

“Alsotrue.Andinfact,therewasastrangeincidentwithher,whenIpointedoutthatDavid’sarteriallinewasloose.WhichiswhyPaulaisnumberfouron

mylist.”“Andfive?Who’snumberfive?”“Numberfiveisyou,Pete,”Isaysoftly.“You’remyfinalsuspect.”Hesighsdespairingly.“Notthis—”“BecauseIcan’truleyouout,canI?”Icontinue.“Idon’tbelieveyou’dwant

someoneelse’sbabyjustbecauseitwashealthierthanours.ButyouknewwhatIwasthinkingthatday—thatourbabywasgoingtodie.YouknewhowbadlyIwastakingit.AndyouknewI’dhadmentalhealthissuesinthepast.Ithinkyoumightbecapableofdoingsomethinglikethat toprotectme.”Ihesitate.“And,forthatmatter,toprotectus.Becauseourliveswouldhavebeenverydifferentifwe’dhadDavid insteadofTheo,wouldn’t they?Wewouldn’thavehadMilesandLucy’sresourcestocushiontheblowofhisdisability.Andthebrutaltruthis, relationshipsdooftenbreakdown incircumstances like those.So let’s facefacts.Howeverunthinkableitis,howeverunlikeyouitmayseem,youdidhaveamotivetotakeTheothatday.”

There’salongsilence.Petecloseshiseyes,asifinpain.Iadd,“Andthat’swhyIneedtoaskyou,beforewespendalotoftimeand

moneyinvestigatingtheseotherpossibilities:Didyouhaveanything,anythingatall,todowiththeswappingofthosebabies?”

Helooksmeintheeye.Thosekind,gentlebrowneyesofhisthatI’vestaredinto so many times—across the kitchen table as we eat, when we share aknowingglanceatparties,whenwemakelove—lockintentlyontomine.

“Ididnot,”hesaysquietly.Butreally,whatcanyoutellfromsomeone’seyes?Presumablyeveryoneof

thosenursesIlistedhadgazesasclearanduntroubledashis.And I still can’t shakeoff the sense that there’s somethinghe’snot telling

me.“Doyoubelieveme?”headds.“Ofcourse,”Isay,althoughIdon’tsupposeeitherofusreallythinksImean

it.

77PETE

IFOUNDMURDOMCALLISTERthroughLinkedIn.IsimplysetmyprofiletoincognitoandbrowsedMiles’scontacts.Aboutadozenwereex-Hardings.IchoseMurdobecausehisdatesshowedhe’dleftthebankaroundthesametimeasMiles,andalso because under INTERESTS he’d listed “MayfairMayflies,” the rugby teamLucysaidMilesusedtoplayfor.

Contactinghimwasarisk,ofcourse.MurdomightsimplyforwardmyemailtoMiles.ButIwasbettingthatMaddiewasright,andthatwhatMileswasdoingtouswaspartofaconsistentpatternofbehavior.

Andbesides,Maddiewasdefinitelyrightinsayingwehadtodosomething.If nothing else, I had to show her that Iwas just as committed as shewas toclearingmyname.

Murdo suggested meeting in a pub in ShepherdMarket, off Piccadilly. Itwasn’t an area I knew—a maze of tiny streets and alleyways where winemerchantsandbookshopsrubbedshoulderswithembassiesandpriceyantiquesdealers.But the traditionalVictorian pub he’d chosen could have been in anymarkettowninEngland.AsIwalkedinhestoodupandgreetedme,apleasant,burlymanwiththinningcurlyhairandafaintScottishaccent.

Heallowedmetobuyhimabeer,butonlyahalf.“Idon’thavelong—I’vegotacallatonethirty.YousaidyouwantedtotalkaboutMilesLambert.You’renotabouttoofferhimajob,areyou?”

Ishookmyhead.“It’sabitmorecomplicatedthanthat.”Igavehim the shortversion.When I’d finished,he said flatly, “Whatyou

describedoesn’tsurprisemeintheleast.”Ipulledoutmynotebook.“Canyoubeabitmorespecific?”Justforamoment,Murdolookedanxious.“Thisisofftherecord,right?”“Ifyoulike.”Henodded.“ImetMileswhenhe joinedHardings.Hewasheaded for the

top—agoldenboy.Afewpeoplethoughtitoddhe’dmovedjobseverycoupleof years before coming to us, but since he’d always moved to more seniorpositionsorforabiggersalary,youcouldreaditassmartcareerplanning.Thiswasn’t longafter thecrash,andeverythingwaschanging—the regulatorswereinsistingonbanks settingup internal compliancedepartments, risk assessmentexpertsweregettingseatsontheboard,thatkindofstuff.”Murdotookapullofhisbeer.“Thetradersallhatedit,butwecouldseewhyitwasnecessary.Miles’sspecialtywas spotting gaps in the new regulations and gaming them.Nothing

wrongwiththat,ofcourse—itwaswhatwewerepaidtodo.Andultimately,ifCompliancewashappy,fine.”

“ButMileswentfurther?”Murdo nodded. “In that environment, itwas all too easy to start thinking,

How do I package this so Compliance approves it, even though I know it’sactuallyagainsttherules?Attheendoftheday,theywerejustanotherbunchofmuppets you had to outsmart. And Miles was good at it. He was a bloodyprofessional banker—focused, driven,with an unbelievablework ethic, but henever got stressed or shouted at people. And believe me, that’s unusual—trading’s a high-pressure environment. He was put in charge of a team, andalthoughhedrovethemprettyhard,theyallseemedtolikehim.”

“Sowhathappened?”“Roguetrading,”Murdosaidshortly.“Wewerebothworkingwithcomplex

equity derivatives that most people in the bank couldn’t even spell, let aloneunderstand.But essentially, if youmadeabetonaparticular asset rising,youhad to hedge it bymaking a bet on another asset that could be counted on tomove in the opposite direction.Thatway, you limited the bank’s risk, so youwereallowedtomakeabiggerinitialbet.It’sabitliketakingoutaninsurancepolicyagainstyourhouseburningdown—itmeansyoucanriskbuyingabiggerhousethanyouotherwisecould.Mileshadfoundawaytomaketheriskytradewithouttakingouttheinsurance,bymakingfictitioushedges.Tobeginwith,hemostlygothisbets right,whichmeanthugeprofits forhisdesk.Heconcealedthesourcebymakingmoretrades,andsoonandsoon.Itwascrazy,really—hewasbound toget foundout eventually. In theevent, itwasawhistleblower—someoneonhisteamwhowasn’tquiteasbrainwashedastheothers.”

“AndMilesgotfired?”“In the end, yes.But before that, therewas an investigation.Thatwas the

first I knew of it—when the audit people started crawling all over him. Thesensible thing to do at that pointwould have been to clear his position, denyeverything,andkeephisheaddown.Buthedidn’t.”Murdoshookhishead indisbelief.“HecametomeafterworkonedayandcasuallyaskedifI’dsetupatradingaccounthecoulduse,nowtheheatwasonhim.AsafellowMayfly,hesaid,heknewhecouldtrustme.I toldhimI’dhavetobemadtodothat—I’dendupgettingdragged into it, too.He just laughedand said, ‘Well,whynot?ThisisthemostfunI’vehadinages.’Hewasactuallyenjoyingthewholedamnthing.Itwasasifhethoughthewasinvincible.”

“Soyourefusedtohelp?”Murdo nodded. “But the bastard told the investigators I’d been part of it

anyway.Therewasabsolutelynotruthtoit,ofcourse.ButIknewIwasundera

shadowafterthat,soIleft.”“Whenwasallthis?”“Justovertwoyearsago.”AboutthesametimeDavidandTheowereinhospital.“Andwhataboutthe

Mayflies?Helefttheteambecauseofakneeinjury,Iheard?”Murdosnorted. “Who toldyou that?Hegot thrownoutbecausehe took it

toodamnseriously.”“Inwhatway?”“Look—we’reapubteam.Abunchofguyswhoallplayedatadecentlevel

atuniversityandaren’tquitereadytohangupourboots.Milesbecamecaptainbecausenooneelsewanted it.And tobe fair,becausehewas thebestplayer.Buthehated losing—justhated it.Pretty soonhewasgivingusprematchpeptalks.Weevenhadtochantstuffoutloud—‘Desire.Hurt.Dominate.Destroy,’thatkindofthing.ThatonewasactuallyanEnglanddressingroomchantfromthe2003WorldCup,butweplayedinaSundayleague,forChrist’ssake.Andthen,inonematch,whenwewerelosingsixteentotwelve,therewasascruminourhalfnearthetouchlineandMilesgougedouttheopposingplayer’seyewithhis thumb.The poor guy had to go straight to hospital and have the rest of itremoved—he’s got a glass eye now.Miles didn’t even apologize to him.WetookavoteafterthegameandtoldMileshewasout.Hejustshrugged.Itwasweird,really.Hewentallquietandstill,almostblank,andsaid,‘You’relosersanyway.I’mboredofthelotofyou.’Itwasasifhe’dturnedintoarobot.”

Inodded.“Iknowthatvoice.”“Soanyway,”Murdosaid,“myadvicetoanyone,andthereasonIagreedto

meetyou,istosay:SteerclearofMilesLambert.”“IwishIcould.”Murdo hesitated. “Look, there’s something else. It’s probably nothing,

but…”“What?”“You know I said it was a whistleblower who first raised concerns about

Miles? It’s meant to be a confidential process, but the consensus around theofficewasthatitwasaguycalledAnand,ayounganalystwho’donlyrecentlytransferred onto the team. About a month after Miles left, Anand was outjoggingwhen hewas the victimof a hit-and-run. Itwas raining and visibilitywasbad—noonesawanything, leastofallAnand.Hebrokehispelvis infiveplaces—hewasluckynottobekilled.TherewasnoevidenceitwasanythingtodowithMiles.Butputitthisway,afewofusMayfliestooktorunninginpairsforawhileafterthat.”

I thought of Jane Tigman, knocked off her bike after complaining about

Theo.“Idon’tthinkit’snothing,”Isaidslowly.“Ithinkit’swhathedoes.”Murdo nodded, and finished his drink. “And remember, all this is off the

record.ThelastthingIwantisMileswaitingoutsidemyfrontdoor.”

78Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit41.RetrievedfromMaddieWilson’siPadinternethistory.Peter

Riley’slaptopwasinpolicecustodyatthetime.THEPSYCHOPATHTEST

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79MADDIE

IINSISTONBEINGtheonetotalktoBronagh.ItmakessenseanywayforPete,asthe journalist, to track downMiles’s ex-colleagues, but it’s more than that. Iwant to look Bronagh in the eye and ask whether there was ever anythingbetweenherandPete.Andwhile Ican tellPete isn’thappyaboutusmeeting,neithercanheobjectwithoutdigginghimselfanydeeperintotheholehe’sin.

DoIreallythinkthere’sanythingtobesuspiciousof?I’mnotsure,anymorethanI’msureabouttheotheraccusationsthathavebeenswirlingaroundhim.Ofcourse,ifitturnsouttherewassomething,ononelevelitwouldbehypocriticalofmetomind,giventhatI’venotbeenasaintmyself.ButIwouldmind,allthesame.Pete’s loyalty issomuchapartofhischaracter thatsomething like thatwouldbeabigdealforhim.Heisn’tthesorttohaveaquickflingandputitoutofhishead.Itwouldbeasignthatourrelationshipisfundamentallyflawed.

Whatwas that linefromthatoldTVshow?“The innocenthavenothing tofear.”Andyethereweare,andIdofear.Fearlosingmyfamily,fearwhatthecourtsmightorder,fearwhatMilesLambertmightdoinhisunstoppabledrivetogetTheoback.

Butmostofall,fearwhatImightfindout.ItrytopushallthatfrommymindasIentertheCostaonthegroundfloorof

St.Alexander’swhereBronaghsuggestedmeeting.She’salreadythere,carryingasmoothieandsomekindofcaketowardatable,andforamomentIstopandstudyher.Theuniformsuitsher:Thescrubstheneonatalnurseswear,madeofthin blue cotton, flatter her lithe frame the way pajamas or a T-shirt would,outlining the shapeof her buttocks, the slimness of her shoulders,makingherlookalmostundressed.Todayshehasherjet-blackhairtiedinaplaitthatrestsbetweenhershoulderblades.Isshepretty?Yes,Idecide,reasonablyso.Isshebeautiful? Probably not, but then,women don’t need to be beautiful to attractmen.

Ibuymyselfacoffee,playingfortime,thensummonupmyresolveandgoover.“Bronagh.Hi.”

“Oh—hi.”Sheraisesthecake,whichInowseeisachocolatemuffin.“Hopeyoudon’tmind.Thisisbreakfastandlunch.”It’salmostthreeP.M.

“You must be really busy. I won’t keep you long.” I sit down. “You’reprobablywonderingwhyIwantedtomeet.”

Bronagh’sblueeyesgivenothingaway.“Iguess Iwasaweebitsurprisedwhenyougotintouch.”

“AndIwassurprisedtofindyoubackatSt.Alexander’s.Petetoldmeyou’dbeensuspended.”

Bronaghshrugs.“That’sroutinewhenthey’reconductinginvestigations.It’sallclearedupnow.”

“Youmean,theliehetoldforyouworked,”Isayquietly.SomethingflashesacrossBronagh’sface.Alarm?Defensiveness?Onething

iscertain:ShedefinitelyknowswhatI’mtalkingabout.“Whatlie?”“WhenwewereinterviewedbyNHSResolution,Petetoldtheinvestigators

he remembered seeing the security tag onTheo’s legwithin a fewminutes ofhimbeingtransferredintoyourincubator.Butinfact,aregistrarnoticeditstillhadn’tbeenputonhourslater.”

“Maybetheregistrarwaswrong,then,andPetewasright.”“Hesentmeapicturethatday—Pete,thatis.Fromhisphone,soit’sgotthe

timeitwastakenonit.Inthatphoto,Theoisn’twearingasecuritytag.”Ileanforward.“And,partlybecauseofthatstupidlie,Peteisnowbeinginvestigatedby thepolice.They’re accusinghimof swapping thebabiesdeliberately.He’salreadybeenquestionedundercaution.”

“Jesus.”Bronagh’shandfliestohermouth.Herlookofdismaysurelycan’tbefake.

“Asaresultofwhich,he’snotallowedtobealonewithTheo,”Icontinue,deliberately piling on the pressure. “Which, sincewe’re also facing a custodyhearingwith the Lamberts,means it’s quite possiblewe’ll lose Theo entirely.YoucanimaginewhattheprospectofthatisdoingtoPete.”

“Shite in a bucket.” Bronagh looks appalled. “I had no idea. The fact is,thingsgotprettycrazyaroundhere—therewasone lot investigatinghowTheoandDavidgotmixedup,andanotherlotcrawlingoverwhyourmortalityratesweren’t better. That’s when I messaged Pete—when it looked like they weretrying to findsomeone toscapegoat.Butas it turnedout,once the reviewwasover,theyrealizedtheyneededeveryexperiencednursetheycouldget.”

Ifrown.“Themortalityreviewisover?”Bronaghnods.“Andnotamomenttoosoon.”“Sowhatdiditfind?Wasthereasuspiciouspatternofdeaths?”“What?” Bronagh looks pained. “Jesus, no. There’s only one thingwrong

withourNICU,andthat’swhereit is.”WhenIstill lookpuzzled,shegesturesupat theatrium.“Right in themiddleof centralLondon.Overhalfmy salarygoes to rent, and since I can’t afford to live anywherewithin fiftyminutes ofhere, half of what’s left over goes to travel. Then there’s the fact that we dotwelve-hourshiftstominimizethenumberofhandovers—it’saprettygruelingscheduleevenifyou’reusedtoit.We’repermanentlyunderstaffed.Ishouldbe

looking after one or two babies, tops, but it’s a rareweekwhen I don’t havethreeorevenfour.Plus,ourNICUgetsallthecaseslikeyours,thebabiesborninexpensiveHarleyStreetclinicsthataren’tequippedtodealwiththem,aswellasthehealthtouristsandthemothersfromdeprivedareaswhomaybedon’tusethemidwiferysystemaswellastheyshould.Oh,andwejusthadfiveyearsofgovernment thinkingwe could probablymanage just aswell on half asmuchmoney.It’shardlysurprisingwehadadipinouroutcomes.”

“Sonothing…sinister, then?”Isay.“Nothing thatcouldbeattributed toanindividual?”

“Oh heck.You haven’t beenwatchingNursesWhoKill, have you? Look,every single neonatal death here is investigated by postmortem and clinicalreview.Andwe’reasmallteam.IfwehadaBeverleyAllittinourNICU,sheorhewouldn’tlastamonthwithoutbeingspotted.”

IsBronaghtellingthetruth?There’snoreasontothinksheisn’t.Butthen,ifshehadsomehowbeenresponsibleforswappingTheoandDavid,she’dhardlysayso.

“There’ssomethingelseIhavetoaskyou,”Isayafteramoment.“What’sthat?”“Have you seen Pete at all, since we left the NICU? As opposed to

messaging,orspeakingtohimonthephone?”Bronagh nods. “He andTheo came back to theNICU aroundTheo’s first

birthday.He’dbakedacake.LittleTheolookedsosweet,tuckedupinthatbluepapoosePetewore.”

“Anyothertime?Afterthat?Orbefore?”“Letmesee.”Bronaghlooksthoughtful.“Imighthavebumpedintohimon

that bike ride the lads did. A group of us swung by a bar where they weredrinkingonenight.ButIcan’trecallwhetheryourmanwasthereornot.”

Andthat’showIknowshe’stellingthetruthaboutthemortalityreview,andthere not being anything untoward going on in theNICU.Because, as it nowturnsout,Bronaghisaverybadliarindeed.

—BRONAGHLOOKSACROSSTHEcafé.“There’sPaula.”Shesoundsrelieved.“I’dbest

begettingbackupstairs.”I look in thedirectionof her gaze.Paula, thenursewho’dbeen so stressy

aboutDavidthatday,iscomingtowardus.“DoyouknowPaulawell?”Iask.“Sure,she’sagrandgirl.Why?”“There’snochanceshecouldhaveswappedDavidandTheo,isthere?”Even as I say it, I know how desperate it sounds. Bronagh looks at me

askance.“AndwhyinGod’snamewouldshedothat?”I can’t answer.My suspicions, which had sounded so logical when I was

listingthemtoPete,nowjustseemsillyandmelodramatic.“Idon’tknow,”Isayhelplessly.“Becauseshecould?”

“Look,”Bronagh sayspatiently. “First, she’snot anutter, anymore than Iam.Second,ifaNICUnursewasgoingtogocrazyandstartplayingGod,theywouldn’tdoitbyswappingbabiesaround.AsimpleDNAtest,anditwouldallcome out. No—what happened to Theo and David was a tragic mistake in abusy,understaffedward.”She lowershervoice.“Iprobablyshouldn’t tellyouthis,giventhatyou’resuingtheplace.Buttherewerefiveadmissionsthatday—that’salmostdoublethenorm.Everyoneanemergency.Andweweredowntwonurses, what with the winter vomiting bug that was going around. Everyoneknowsthat’sthekindofenvironmentwheremistakesgetmade.Andifthatisn’tmentionedinthecasereport—well,someone’stryingtobuffsomething,becauseitshouldbe.”

Paula’sreachedourtablenow.“Comingup?”sheasksBronagh.“Orareyoubusy?”

“Remember TheoRiley’smum?”Bronagh says, indicatingme. “Wewerejustchatting.”

Paula looks nomore pleased to seeme than she did two years ago. “Oh,right.Well,it’salmosthandover,so…”

“Sure.”Bronaghstandsup.“Wait,” I say quickly. “I’ve got a question for you, Paula. That first day,

whenDavidandTheogotswapped,wereeitheroftheLambertsaround?”Wariness flashes across Paula’s face. “I’ve already told the hospital

investigatorseverythingIremember.”“I’msure.Butitmighthelpifyoucouldtellme,too.”Paulashrugs.“Mrs.Lambertgothereacoupleofhoursafterthebabieswere

admitted. I’d been givenDavid to look after—Iwas just setting things up forhimwhenshearrived.That’swhenIrealizednoonehadthoughttoputatagonhim.”PaulaglancesatBronagh.“Itdidn’toccurtometocheckwithBron,toseeifhershadnotag,too.WhywouldI?Ijusttypedhisdetailsintooursoftware.”Hervoicecatches,andforamomentIthinkshemightbegoingtocry.“I’msosorry.Itmusthavecausedyousomuchheartbreak.ButIreallythinkitwasjustafreakaccident.”

Ifeelmyshoulderssag.IftheLambertshadarrivedtoolatetoberesponsiblefor the swap, and it was neither of the nurses, I can see why the finger ofsuspicionkeepscomingbacktoPete.

“Besides, I won’t forget them in a hurry,” Paula says. “The Lamberts, I

mean.”Myearsprickup.“Why’sthat?”“Hewas a cold fish.Both of themwere.You get used to theway people

reactwhen they firstcomeonto theNICU—theshock, Imean,and theworry.Youcouldtellshewasanxious,butwithhimitwaslikehewasbeinggivenaguided tour—as if it was interesting, but nothing personal.” She stops. “Irememberlookingoverandseeingyourpartner,Pete,byBronagh’sstation.Hewassobbinghiseyesout.Andwhynot?Alotofmendothat,particularlywhentheythinknoone’slooking.You’vejustbecomeafather,maybeawholecoupleofmonthsbeforeyou thoughtyouwould, and suddenlyyou’reonaward likeours, being told your baby might not live. I remember turning back to myincubatorandseeingMr.Lambert.Hewaswatchingyourpartner,too.Studyinghim, is the onlyway I can describe it. Like hewas fascinated, but also a bitpuzzled.Andthenhe lookedathiswifeandsaid, ‘Well, I’dbettergetback tomydesk.’Asifhe’djustpoppedouttogetasandwich.Andsheonlynodded,asifthatwastotallynormal,too.”

80Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit43.TextsfromBronaghWalshtoPeterRiley.PeterRiley’siPhone

wasinpolicecustodyatthetime.Justthoughtyou’dwanttoknow—McametoStA’stoday.Toldhertheonlytimeswemetwere

when(a)youcametothewardafterTheo’sbirthdayand(b)thatmaybeI’dbumpedintoyouatthebikerideandsaidhellobutcouldn’treallyremember.Didn’tmentiontheotherday—sheseemedtothinkitwasjustmessaging.Hopethatalltallies?

ThatOK?XP?EverythingOK?Reallyhatetocauseuanytrouble.ShetoldmeaboutthepoliceandTheoetc.

Jesus.Youpoorguys.P???Yougettingthese?

81MADDIE

IT’SNEARLYTIMETOgoandpickupTheo.I’dgonetoSt.Alexander’sbycar,togivemyselfmoretime.NowIsitinacarparkonMaryleboneRoad,lookingatFacebook.

Or, more specifically, at Pete’s Facebook. So many pictures of Theo, hislittle limbs gradually shrinking as I scroll backward in time. Theo at eighteenmonths.Theocrawling.Theoinababygrow.

Andthenthebikeride.ThepicturesIstoppedlookingatwhenmypsychosiskicked in.Thegrinningyoungmen inbikehelmets taking selfies inScotland,theLakeDistrict,theYorkshireMoors…

York.Arestdayinthecity,followedbyawholeweekendoff.NohelmetsorLycrainthosephotos,justmassivebreakfastsincafésandpintsofbeerinpubs.A night in a club—and yes, there arewomen around.Nothing untoward, justchatting,drinksinhand.

I do a search forBronaghWalsh. And lo, there’s Bronagh’s profile. Thepicture showsher atwhat looks likeamusic festival, a sparkler in eachhand,pullingapose.ItapPHOTOS,butshe’ssetthemtoprivate.Shehasn’tdonethatwith her friends, though—all 412 of them. I scroll through until I find Paula,thengo toPaula’spage.Shehasn’tmadeanysettingsprivate,soIcan lookatherpicturesandsearchthembylocation.Sureenough,somearetagged“York.”Facebook even identifies the bar where they were taken—Vudu Lounge, onSwinegate.

With Bronagh Walsh and seven others, it adds helpfully. And there’sBronagh,holdingacocktail,with threeothergirls,all inshortdresses. It’s thefirst time I’ve seen herwithmakeup on and her hair down. She’s undeniablystriking.NosignofPete,though.

Isuddenlyfeelashamed.WhatamIdoing,spyingonmypartnerlikethis?And in any case,what am I hoping to prove?Bronagh’s already admitted shewasthere.Itdoesn’tmeananythinghappened.

Butevenso, I’msureshewasbeingevasiveaboutsomething.JustasPetewas.

IputtheiPaddownandstartthecar.I’mgoingtobelateforTheo.Again.AsIdrivetotheLamberts’,cuttingthetrafficlightsasfineasIdare,Ithink

about theother things Iheard today.PresumablywhatBronagh saidabout theNICU being exonerated by the mortality review could be checked. Moreinteresting,perhaps,waswhatPaulasaidaboutMiles.AsI’dtoldPete,lackof

emotion is typical of a psychopath, as is clearheadedness in a crisis. Andstudying Pete when he was crying—that, too, is something I’d read about:Withoutstrongfeelingsoftheirown,psychopathslearntostudyandmimictheemotionsofothers.

ButIcan’tgetawayfromthefactthatPaulasaidtheLambertscameontothewardlaterthatday,whentheswapmusthavealreadyhappened.Andfromthesoundofit—“I’dbettergetbacktomydesk”—Mileshadn’tspentmuchtimeintheNICUevenwhenhedidcome.

I’dgonetoseeBronaghwithsuchhighhopes.ButthemoreIlearn,themoreI seem to go around in circles.Circles that have at their center just one fixedpoint,onepersonwithbothmotiveandopportunity.

Pete.Isighaloud.Atleastthetrafficisflowing.IreachHaydonGardensinunder

thirtyminutes.WhenIbuzztheLamberts’intercom,thefrontdoorisopenedbysomeoneIhaven’tseenbefore,asandy-hairedwomaninherthirties.

“Hello,”shesayspleasantly.“CanIhelpyou?”“I’mMaddie.Theo’smum?”“Oh,ofcourse.He’sjustgettinghiscoat.I’mJill,bytheway.”NowthatIlookcloser,Iseeshe’swearingwhatcouldalmostbeauniform

—darktrousersandadark-bluepullover,withalighter-bluepoloshirtunderit.Thepulloverhasadiscreetlogoonthechest,asmallembroideredN.

“Thenewnanny,”Jilladdssmilingly,seeingmyincomprehension.Asmallfair-hairedboyroughlythesameageasTheopeersaroundtheedge

ofthedoor.“AreyouTheo’smummy?”hedemands.“Iam,yes.Whoareyou?”“I’mSaul.”Lucyappearsinthehallway,holdingTheo’shand.He’sinhiscoat,carrying

adrawing.“Oh,helloMaddie,”shesaysinherusualvagueway.“What’sgoingon?”Isay.“Where’sTania?”“Look,Mummy!”Theosaysimpatiently,wavingthedrawingatme.“It’sa

exploshun!”“You’ve drawn an explosion. That’s a nice drawing, Theo. What’s

exploding?”This is a detail Theo clearly hasn’t considered.While he’s thinking, Lucy

saysinarush,“ItwasPete’sidea,actually.”“Pete’s?”Iecho.“Yes—hementioned it to the CAFCASSwoman.About howTheomight

benefit from a nannywith better English.And the suggestion there should beanother littleboyforhimtoplaywith.Saul’sgoingtobewithus threedaysa

weekfromnowon.”AsIstandupfromlookingatTheo’sdrawing,Lucyadds,“Soyousee,wearelistening.Whenit’ssomethingforTheo—somethingthat’llhelphim—we’llalwaystrytodotherightthing.Really,we’reveryreasonablepeople.AndJill’sterrific.She’saNorland,youknow—they’retheabsolutebest.We’realreadyseeingsuchadifference. Imean,Theo isalwaysadorable, isn’the,but sometimeshecanbeabitofa livewire,andnotalwaysdowhathe’sasked.He’lldoanythingforJill.”

Theo,lookingathisdrawing,comestoadecision.“ ’S’anexplodinghouse,Mummy!Pow!Pow!Pow!”

82PETE

“IALMOSTEXPLODEDMYSELF,”Maddiesaid.“I thinkIwouldhave.”Ifinishedthelastmouthfulofcoffee.“God,Imiss

thiscoffeemachine.GregandKatehaveoneofthosepodthings.”“What’sreallyannoyingisthatnowMilesandLucywilltakeallthecredit

for the improvement inTheo’sbehavior.When the truth is, it’sdown toyou.”Maddiegestured atmy star charts, stillBlu-Tacked to thewalls. I noticed shehadn’tkeptupwithmostofthem.

Isighed.“IsupposethechancesofgettingTheooutofthatnannyshareandintoanurseryarenowpreciselyzilch.”

Maddie nodded. “And guesswhat? I looked upNorland nannies’ salaries.Experiencedonesearnoversixtygrandayear.”

“Bloodyhell!”“WhichMilesandLucywillnodoubtinvoiceusforhalfof,whentheyclaim

childmaintenance forDavid.”Maddie straightened her back. “Butwe are notgoingtoletthisgetusdown.Wearegoingtowin.”

Ididn’treply.ItincreasinglyseemedtomethatMileswasn’tputtingafootwrong,whilewewerefloundering.“WhataboutSt.Alexander’s?Howdidyougeton?”

“Oh—they’reoutofspecialmeasures,orwhateveritwascalled.Thatspikeinmortalitywasduetostaffshortages,apparently.AndBronaghandPaulahavebothbeenreinstated.”Maddieshookherhead.“Onreflection,thatwasprobablyabitfanciful,tothinktheymighthavehadanythingtodowithit.Afterall,howmuchofacoincidencewoulditbeiftherewasapsychopathandaroguenurseonthesamewardatthesametime?”

“Whichonedidyouspeakto—BronaghorPaula?”IturnedandputmycupundertheJura’sspout.“IthinkI’llhaveanothercup.”

“Both.They’refriends,actually.Whichremindsme—youdidn’ttellmetheycametomeetthebikerideinYork.”

“Didn’tI?”Ipushedthebutton,andthenoiseofthegrindingbeansmeantIhadtowaitafewmomentsbeforereplying.“Gregdidmentionthatsomeofthenurses turnedup.ButIwasn’t therebythen.YorkwaswhereIpeeledoffandcamebackhere,remember?IgotbackontheFridaymorning.”

“Oh.”Maddie thought. “Was it Friday? The days were a bit of a blur bythen.”

Inodded.“SoIgathered.”

“AndwhenBronaghtoldyouabouthersuspension,whenexactlywasthat?Shemessagedyou,presumably?”

“Maddie,whatisthis?”Iprotested.“I’mjusttryingtogetatimelineinmyhead.Unlessyoudon’twanttotell

me,ofcourse.”I shrugged. “I can’t remember the exact date. Itwas themorning after the

LambertsservedtheNoticeofProceedings—thatdaywebothtookTheototheirhouse, and Lucy offered to make us tea. And yes, Bronagh messaged.” Mycappuccinowas done now, so I took it out of themachine. “And Imessagedback, but she wanted to meet, so we had a coffee at a Starbucks near thehospital.”

“Ididn’trealizeyouactuallymetup.SheimplieditwasjustatextexchangewhenIspoketoher.”

“Well, itwasn’t.Look, I did a stupid thing, okay?” I said, exasperated. “Ioffered tohelpherout,andIprobablyshouldn’thave.Youwouldhave talkedmeoutof it if you’dknown.Soyes,mybad.But consideringeverythingelsethat’sgoingon,isthatreallythepriority?”

“Probablynot,”Maddieagreed.Wewerebothsilentforawhile.“IthinkweshouldtrytotrackdownTanianext,”Maddiesaidthoughtfully.“Why?Presumablyshe’llhavebeenhandsomelypaidoffbytheLamberts.”“Shemight be pretty angry, even so. She only had that job a fewweeks,

whichdoesn’tlookgoodonanyone’sCV.Andshelivedinthehousewiththem.I’veafeelingshemightbeabletotellussomethinguseful.”

“Allright,then.Butlet’sdoitquietly.I’dfeelawfulifshesufferedthesamefateasJaneTigmanandthatwhistleblower.”Iwentandputmycoffeecupinthesink.“I’llgoandhurryTheoup.IwanttoreadhimhisstorybeforeIheadovertoGregandKate’s.”

Itookthestairstwoatatime,relievedthatourconversationaboutBronaghwasnowover.

83MADDIE

THE PRELIMINARYHEARING TAKESplace inabland,1960sbuildingonCricklewoodLane—it could be a public library, if it weren’t for the royal coat of armsoutside.There’sasmallerversionofthesamecrestonthewallofthecourtroom,which otherwise looks just like anymedium-sizedmeeting room in a slightlyrun-down office. The judge, a brisk woman in her fifties called MarionWakefield,wearsagraysuitandsitsbehindadeskonaslightlyraisedplatform.

TheLamberts sitwith their barrister and solicitor on one side of a rowofchairs facing the judge, and Pete and I sit on the other with Anita. It’s allsurprisinglyinformal—noneofthelawyerswearawigorgown,orgettotheirfeet to speak. Lyn the CAFCASS adviser—who turns out to be a tiny,innocuous-lookingwomanwithsharpeyes—sitsonherown,inthesecondrowofchairs.

JudgeWakefieldbeginsbyremindingusthatthisisn’tahearingtoconsiderevidence, only whether the case can be resolved without the court’sinvolvement,andifnot,whatevidenceshe’llneedatthesecondhearingtohelphermakeadecision.ShelooksattheLamberts,thenPeteandme.“Somyfirstquestion to you, through your legal representatives, is whether there is anypossibilityyoucouldcometoanagreement.”

Miles’s barrister says, “My clients have tried to explore every avenue forcompromise,madam,includingbecomingTheo’sgodparentsandinvitingTheoto shareDavid’snanny.Butultimately,Theo is their sonand, likeanyparent,theywanttomaketheday-to-daydecisionsregardinghiscare.”

Thejudgenods.“Ms.Chowdry?”“My clients have also tried to compromise—the suggestion that the

applicants become Theo’s godparents actually came from them,” Anita says.“TheyregardTheoas their son,andbelieve it is inhisbest interestsnot toberemovedfromthematthisimportantstageofhisdevelopment.”

“Thankyou,”MarionWakefieldsaysbriskly.“Thisisclearlyanunusualanddifficult case, and for that reason alone, a fuller hearing seemsnecessary. I’mgoing to accept CAFCASS’s recommendation that there should be a moredetailedreportonthesafeguardingissues.I’malsogoingtodirectthatTheoisassessedbyapsychologisttoseewhatimpactchangingfamiliesathisagemighthaveonhim.”She looks straight atme. “Ms.Wilson, I’mgoing todirect thatyoumustnottravelabroadwithoutthecourt’spermission.Andastherehasbeena question raised about your alcohol intake, I’m going to order that you give

blood and hair samples, to be assessed for current and past alcohol intakerespectively.”

Analcoholtest.Anitawarnedmethismighthappen,givenwhatLynsaidinher safeguarding letter, and also that there’s noway of disguising the amountI’ve been drinking—although the blood test will only measure what’s in mysystematthetime,thehairsamplewillshowhowmuchI’vebeendrinkingoverthewholeof the last year. I feelmycheeksburnwith amixtureof anger andshame.

Anitasayscalmly,“Madam,we’dliketorequestthatMr.Rileybeallowedback into the family home.Whilemy clients absolutely refute the suggestionthatMs.Wilsoncouldbeunfit tocareforTheo, itseemsillogical toraise thatpossibilityandatthesametimebarhisprimarycarerfromcaringforhim.”

“Iacceptthatargument,”MarionWakefieldsays.“Accordingly,Iwillmakeno direction aboutMr. Riley at this time. But since the present situation is avoluntary one, by arrangementwithCAFCASS, itwill be up toMs.Edwardswhethersheissatisfiedwiththat.”

“Iamsatisfiedifthecourtissatisfied,”Lynsaysmeekly.“Wewouldalsoliketoaskthatthecourtconsolidatealltheproceedingsin

Theo’scase,”Anitasays.“Mr.Kelly?”ThejudgeturnstotheLamberts’lawyer.“Iwasgoingtosuggestthesamething,madam.”“Thenwewillhaveonehearing forTheo, inapproximately twelveweeks’

time,andanotherata laterdateforDavid.”The judgemakesanote.“Is thereanythingelse?”

There isn’t.The lawyersstart shufflingpapers togetherand the judge turnsback to her computer. It seems incredible that such amomentous case can bedealtwith soquickly, butof course it hasn’t been,not really.This is only theopeningsalvo.AndthankstoCAFCASS,Mileshasachievedalmosteverythinghewanted.ButPete’sallowedtocomehome.That’ssomething.

MarionWakefieldstaysatherdesk,makingnotes,whiletherestofusleave.There’sabottleneckatthedoor,withbothsetsofparentsandlawyersreachingit at the same time. “After you,”Miles says politely, just as Pete says firmly,“Afteryou.”It’sallbizarrelycivilized.EventuallyPetewavesLucythroughandfollowsbehind,andMilesgesturesformetogoaheadofhim.Irealizehe’sveryclosebehindme—Icanevenfeelhisbreathonmyneck.No,notjusthisbreath:Thebastardisactuallyblowingonme.I’vewornmyhairup,andthesensationonmynapeisunmistakable.Istopdead,outraged.

“Such a pity about the hair test,” he murmurs. “Some people shave theirheads,Igather.But thenthedoctorsuseonefromdownthere instead.Doyou

waxdownthere,Maddie?Ihopenot.Ipictureyouwithcurls.”Ashespeaks,somethinginsinuatesitselfbetweenmybuttocks.Hisfingers.I

jumpforwardas if stung,andhear—feel,almost—hischuckle.Furious, I lookaround.Hisfaceisthepictureofinnocence.Allthreelawyers,andthejudge,arelookingatme.Iopenmymouthtosaysomething.Butwhat?Itmightlookliketheactofadesperatewomanwhodidn’tgetwhatshewantedatthehearing.Adrunk,even.AndwhowouldbelievethatMilesLambertwasrecklessenoughtogropemeinacourtroom?

ButIcan’tdonothing.SoIsaysharply,“Don’tdothat.”Milesonlygrins,thesmileofamanwhoknowshe’swinning.

84MADDIE

I DON’T TELL PETE.There’s a chance he’ll storm off and confrontMiles, and IsuspectMileswouldenjoythat.HemightevenbehopinghecanmakePetelookaggressiveandhot-tempered,andbyimplicationabadparent.

AfterthehearingPetegoestoGregandKate’stogethissuitcase,whileIgoback to the house.By the time I get there I’mkickingmyself for notmakingmore of a fuss. Shouldn’t a strong, confidentwoman—which is what I knowmyself tobe—havecalledMilesout? I’vealways fendedoffdrunken fumbleswithafirmstareandacuttingput-down,butpromisedmyselfthat, ifanythingmoreserioushappened, I’d standup formyself;go to thepolice, ifneedbe. Iwouldn’tbeavictim.

Butithadbeensoquick,soshocking,sohardtotakein.Isthathowpeoplelikethatgetawaywithit,Iwonder—sheereffronteryand

self-confidence?Myangerisgrowingbytheminute,butofcourseit’stoolatenow. That’s another weapon in their armory, I realize—surprise. And theridiculousBritishhabitofbeingpolite,nomatterwhatthecircumstances.

Well, I’m not British. If Miles does it again, I resolve to punch him,courtroomornocourtroom.

Pete arrives, carryinghis overnight case. “Welcomehome,” I saybrightly.“I’dopenthechampagne,but…”

Henods and looks around.There’s an awkwardmoment.Probablynooneelse,lookingatthetwoofus,wouldevennoticeit.Butwedon’thug,orkiss,orfallintoeachother’sarms.We’repoliteandcheerfulandfalse.

IsitbecauseofwhatMilesdid?BecauseofnottellingPete?Orisitbecauseofalltheothersecretsthathavestartedtooozetheirwaytothesurfaceoverthelast few weeks, like bubbles squelching out of mud? I want to trust Pete, ofcourse I do, but there’s a tiny part ofme that knows good people can do badthings,andthatloyaltyisn’tthesameascertainty.

LosingTheoisn’ttheonlythreattoourrelationship,Irealize.Evenifwegettokeephim—which,Ihavetoadmittomyself,islookingfarfromcertain—willall the stress and suspicion leave its mark? Can we really survive this as acouple?

I’veheardpeoplesay therearenowinners in legalcases. I’mbeginning tounderstandwhy.

—

MY ANGER ABOUT MILES makes me even more determined to speak to Tania,though.WhathedidtomefitswitheverythingelseIknowabouthim,aswellassomething I read online: “For psychopaths, sex is all about gratification,conquest,risk,andreward.”

Where to start? I never took Tania’s number. But then I think of Lucy’sFacebook,all thosepicturesofexpeditions to thezooandpark.IreachformyiPad.

Sure enough, under the list of people who’ve liked the pictures is TaniaLefebvre.Imessageher.

HiTania,it’sMaddieWilsonhere.Iknowthiswillseemodd,butcouldItalktoyouaboutyourexperienceofworkingforMilesLambert?Afteralittlewhile,areplycomesback.

Ithinkyoumightbemoreinterestedtotalktothenannybeforeme,MichaelaCostea(wesharethesameagency).Herearehercontactdetails.Bonnechance.Attachedisaphonenumber.

—“MILES LAMBERT FIRED YOU, didn’t he? He saw you going through Facebook or

whatever,andusinghiscoffeemachinewhenyouweremeanttobelookingafterDavid.”

WemeetinacaféonFinchleyRoad,asmall,bustlingplacewithsteamed-upwindowswheretheowners,afamily,shouttooneanothercheerfullyinTurkish.Michaelasipsherlatteandnods.

“Yes.Hefiredme.Butitwasn’thowyousaid.”“Whathappened?”Michaelapausesbefore replying.She’saprettygirl, Idecide,althoughher

bleached-white hair does her no favors. “I didn’t behave too good myself.Listen,I’mnotproudofit.Buthewasworse.”

“Why?Whatdidhedo?”Shesighs.“IsupposeIwasangrywithher—withMrs.Lambert.Whohasa

coffeemachineandstopspeopleusingit?‘You’rejustthenanny.Here,youcandrinkNescafé.’Imean,really?Sowhentheywereout,Imademyselfacoffee.”Sheshakesherhead.“Ididn’tknowitwashisrule,ofcourse.Everythinginthathousewas him.And yes,while I drankmy coffee I looked atmy Instagram.Whynot?Itwasn’tlikeDavidneededmerightthen.”

“ButMilessawyouonhiscamera.”Michaelanods.“Theyhadn’ttoldmetheywerespyingonme,either.Notin

somanywords.”“Andthenhefiredyou,”Isay,notquitesurewherethisisgoing.Havinga

hidden camera is distrustful and controlling, certainly, but I don’t think it’sillegal.

“Not then, he didn’t.”Michaela seems to come to a decision. “Okay. Hecomestomethatnight,whenshe’satherbookclub.‘I’veseenyoudrinkingthecoffee,’hesays. ‘Mywifegetsveryangryabout things like that.Personally, Ithinkit’saridiculousrule.Solet’snottellher.Oursecret,right?’Andthenhe…he…”Shesuddenlylooksveryyoung.“Well,youcanguesstherest.”

“Ah.Yousleptwithhim?”“Sleeping.WhatanEnglishword.Wesayabăgaregele-ncastelwhenwe

wanttobepolite.Puttingthekinginsidethecastle.Yes,wedidit.Itoldmyselfitwas justmyrevenge, topayhiswifebackforbeingsouptight.”Sheshrugsagain,anattemptatbravurathatdoesn’tquitework.“Iwouldhavedoneitwithhimmaybeonce,thenstopped.Buthecametomyroomagainafewdayslater.Shewasdownstairs.Iknewitwaswrongbuthejustassumed…Somehowitwashardtosayno.Andthen,thenexttime,wedidit inthekitchenwhenshewasrightnextdoor,intheplayroom.Wewerebehindthebigcounterinthemiddle,whatshecallstheisland.Hejustunzippedhimselfandputmyhandonit.Iwaswearing a short skirt…It was crazy stupid. If she’d come in…But you knowsomething?Ithinkhelikedit.Thatwemightgetcaught,Imean.”

“Doyouthinksheknew?”Michaela looks thoughtful. “I don’t think so. But she’s strange with him,

actually.Likeshe’salittlebitscaredbutshealsodependsonhimforeverything.Ithinksheonlyseeswhatshewantstosee.”

“Didyoueverseehimbeviolenttowardsher?OrmistreatDavid?”Michaelashakesherhead.“No.”That’sunfortunateinsomeways.HavingsexwiththenannybehindLucy’s

back isgross,but itdoesn’thelpwith thecase.“Andwhataboutyou?Didheeverthreatenyou?”

“Justonce.”Michaelablinksbacktears.“Hecametomeandsaidithadtostop.Iwas…youknow,relieved,really.Itoldhimhewasrightandweshouldnevertalkaboutitagain.HesaidIdidn’tunderstand.Itwasn’tstoppingbecauseitwaswrong.Itwasbecausehewasboredwithme.Hethrewanenvelopeonthebed. He said, ‘That’s five hundred pounds. I’ll tell my wife I fired you fordrinkingthecoffee.Nowgetoutofthehouse.’ ”Michaela’scryingopenlynow,thetearsrunningdownherpaleskin.“Ididn’twanttogetfired—theagencywilldropyou if it happens toooften. I said Iwould stay abit longer, so it lookedokay,thengivemynotice.AndI—Iremindedhimwehadasecret.Iwouldn’thave told her, but I thought he should consider what he’d done, and maybebehaveabitbetter.Andthat’swhenhechanged.”

“Changedhow?”“Cold.Hewentcold.Therewasnothing—noexpressioninhisface.Hesaid,

‘Ifyoueverthreatenmeagain,Iwillcarryyoudowntothebasementanddrownyouintheswimmingpool.Thepolicewillthinkitwasanaccident.’ ”Michaelashudders.“Ibelievedhim.Iwassofrightened.Itookthemoneyandpackedmythingsrightaway.Iwouldn’tgobacktothathouse.Notifyoupaidmeall themoneyintheworld.AndItoldthenextgirltobecareful,too.”

85MADDIE

THEWRITTENDIRECTIONFROMthejudgesaysmybloodandhairsampleshavetobetakenbyaGP.IgotoSharonRandall,aprivatedoctorIusedwhenIfirstcametoLondon.

“And I need something that’ll stopme drinking,” I saywhen the sampleshavebeensealed.“Reallystopme,sothejudgewillknowImeanit.”

“Thatwouldbedisulfiram,”Sharonsaysimmediately.“CalledAntabuseinthiscountry.ButIwarnyou,it’snotforthefainthearted.”

“Inwhatway?”“YouknowhowsomeAsianpeoplecan’ttoleratebooze,becausetheycan’t

process acetaldehyde? Antabuse basically makes you very, very Asian. Tenminutesafteryou’vetakenit,ifyouhaveeventhesmallestsipofalcoholyou’llbe vomiting in away thatmakesmorning sickness look like an attack of thehiccups.Andyou’llbeleftwithathrobbingheadache,diarrhea,lethargy,yellowskin,andacne.Infact,youcouldgetsomeofthosesideeffectsevenifyoudon’thaveadrink.”

“Itsoundsperfect,”Isay.“You’ll also need to avoid hand sanitizers, perfume, and most types of

vinegar, as well as sauces that contain vinegar, such as ketchup. And if yousmell someonewearingcologne, run likehell—preferably to thenearest toilet,asyou’llprobablythrowup.”Sharonfinisheswritingtheprescriptionandhandsittome.“Here.”

—BEFORE ITAKETHEfirstAntabuse,Icollectallthewinebottlesinthehouseand

empty them down the sink, then take them outside. As I put them into therecycling,Irealizesomeoneishurryingdownthestreettowardme.

It’sthatreporter,theonePetethoughtwasanintern.Icanseewhy:Hecan’tbemorethantwenty.“KieranKeenan,”hesays,wavingsomepressID.“CouldIhaveaword,Maddie?”

“We’vegotnothingtosaytoyou.”Hesaysearnestly,“Well,here’s the thing,Maddie.Petesaid in thatarticle

yourlifehadbeenruinedbyfindingoutyoursonwasn’treallyyours.ButI’verecently discovered that you’re in a nanny share with the other family.Whywouldyoudothatifit’sallsoterrible?AccordingtothepostsPetewroteontheDadStuffforum,it’sbeenentirelyamicableandfriendlyfromthestart.”

Ialmostlaughoutloudattheironyofitall.Everythinghasturnedfullcircle,andthearticlePetewasmadetowritebyMileshasbecomerealityafterall.

IknowIshouldprobablykeepquiet.Buttheurgetotellthetruthissostrongit’salmostimpossibletoresist.

“Itstartedamicably,”I tellhim.“Thenitwasn’t.Which iswhywe’renowhavingtofightforcustody.”

Kieran’seyeswiden.“You’refightingforcustody?”herepeats.Hehashisphoneinhishand,Inotice.Recordingme.

I’ve already said too much, I realize. “In the family court. So you’re notallowedtoreportit.”

“We can report that a case is happening. So long aswe don’t identify thechild.”

“Look,”Isaydesperately,“there’sabiggerstoryhere.Idon’tknowexactlywhatitisyet.Butifyouhelpus,youcanreportit.Afterthecourtcaseisover.”

Hiseyeslightup.“You’lldoaninterview?”“IneedtotalktoPeteaboutit.Butinprinciple,yes.”

—“YOUDIDWHAT?”PETEsays,aghast.He’sbeentopickupTheofromtheLamberts’,hisfirstencounterwithJill.

“At leastwecanbesureMileswon’tbe trying itonwithher.She’dprobablyfloorhim,”hecommentedashetookoffhiscoat.

Nowhejuststaresatme,baffled.“Whywouldyouwanttodoaninterview?They’renotinterestedinhelpingus,Mads.Theyjustwanttosellpapers.”

“ItwasallIcouldthinkoftogethimoffmyback.”“Andifyoudon’tgothroughwithit,he’llwritethestoryanyway.Onlyby

thenhe’llbereallypissedoff.”“I’msorry.Oh, this isallshit, isn’t it?”Isaydespairingly.“Everythingwe

do,we’rejustmakingthingsworse.Likewe’restuckinquicksand,andfightingitjustgetsusmorestuck.”

“Come here,” he says gently, opening his arms. “At least we’re togetheragain.AtleastI’mhereandyou’rehereandso’sTheo.Fornow.”

I let him hug me, feeling the welcome strength of his arms around myshoulders.Perhaps,Ithink,theremightbeawaythroughthisafterall.Iletmycheekfallagainsthisneck.Tonightwemightevenmakelove,starttoreconnectphysically—

“Meeeetooo,”Theoyells,wrigglingbetweenourlegs.I laugh, pulling Pete closer so Theo’s squeezed between the two of us.

“Goodidea.Familyhug.”

Theo squeezes back for a few seconds, then wriggles away in search ofsomething more exciting. But when Pete and I finally break apart, Pete’ssmiling,too.

—IT’S STRANGE TO SPEND an evening without enveloping myself in the warm

fuzzinessofwine. Idon’tquiteknowwhat todowithmyself. IgiveTheohisbath, then read him his story. As I’m tucking him up—I can’t resist thetemptation to smooth the lock of brown hair off his forehead, even though Iknowhe’llimpatientlyshakeitbackassoonasIstop—hesayssleepily,“IlikemybedroomatMoles’shousebest.”

Ifeelmybloodruncold.“YouhaveabedroomatMilesandLucy’shouse?”Henods.“ ’Sgotarocket.Annit’sblue.”“Isit?Well,wecouldmakethisbedroomblueifyouwant.Wouldyoulike

that?”Henodsagain.“Wecouldallpaint it together.Mummy,Daddy,andyou.Does thatsound

good?Becauseafterall,thisistheplacewhereyouactuallysleep.”Heyawns.“S’pose.Butmyotherbedroom’sbigger.”IgodownstairsandgrabmyiPad.“Youwon’tbelievethis,”Isayfuriously.

“They’ve given him a bedroom. And painted it blue.” I’m finding Lucy’sFacebookpageasIspeak.

Yes, there it is—six photographs, added today. Theo’s new bedroom. Ahuge, high-ceilinged room onwhat looks like the first floor of the Lamberts’house.Blue,justasTheosaid,butwhathehadn’tmentionedisthattheceilingisdarker, almost black, and has somehow been printed with a photographicdepictionofthenightsky,completewithmoon,stars,theconstellations,andtheMilkyWay.Thebedisintheshapeofarocket,positionedsotheoccupantcanlookupandfeelhimselfdrifting throughspace.Andthere in thenextphoto isTheohimself, eyeswidewith excitement, clearly seeing it for the first time—youcanjustmakeoutanadult’shandsoneithersideofhisface,slightlyblurred:Momentsearlier,theymusthavebeencoveringhiseyes.

The final picture shows a pair of pajamas, neatly laid out on the bed.Astronaut pajamas, completewith aNASA badge. Even the pillow is printedwithagold-visoredspaceman’shelmet.

That last picture has a comment: Looking forward to our little astronautmovinginforgood.

86MADDIE

I’MSOANGRY, IthinkI’mgoingtopunchsomething.Andthere’snothingIcando to take the edge offmy fury.Making love is out of the question now, ofcourse.Andso,itseems,issleep.Indesperation,ataroundthreeinthemorningIgetupandgoinsearchofsomething,anything,thatmightrelaxmeabit.Atthe back of a cupboard I find an ancient bottle of some weird elderflowerliqueur. Experimentally, I try some. It tastes vile—sugary and slightlymusty.But it’s alcohol, so I take a longer pull.Within moments I feel my stomachheave, as bad as the time I ate smelly scallops on a beach in Morocco.Somethingwringsmy insides, tighterand tighter.Christ, it’s like that scene inAlien—it feels as ifmy colon’s going to explode throughmy cesarean scar. Ionlyjustmakeittothesinkintime,thenspendthenexthourinthebathroom,throwingup.

Okay,maybealcoholreallyisn’tanoption.In themorning,afteraqueasydawn,I reachformyiPadagain.PeteandI

haveinvestigatedMiles,Bronagh,andPaula,buttheotherpersononmylistisstillanenigma.

She’s strangewithhim,actually.Like she’sa littlebit scaredbut shealsodependsonhimforeverything,Michaelahadsaid.

IneedsomeonewhocanexplaintomewhyawomanlikeLucywouldstaymarried to aman likeMiles. Going intomymessages, I search for a name Ihaven’tcontactedforoverayear.

—ITWASMYCBTtherapistwhooriginallysuggestedPeteandIcouldbenefitfrom

somecouples counseling. I can’t remembernowhow I foundAnnette.On theinternet,probably.AfierySouthAfricanwithahugemaneofcurlyauburnhair,shewasn’tanyone’stypicalideaofarelationshipcounselor.Foronething,therewasnothinggentleorsoftabouther.HerwebsitesaidshespecializedinPTSDand domestic abuse as well as sex and relationships, using a combination ofpsychodynamic therapy, energypsychotherapy, and transpersonal techniques. Ihadnoideawhatanyofthatmeant,butitsoundedasfarremovedfrommyCBTsessionsasitwaspossibletoget,soIbookedanintroductorysession.

Initially,Petequitelikedtheideaoftherapy.Itfitwithhiswholeoutlookonlife—thattalkingandcommunicationweretheanswertomostproblems.Andhewasquietlydesperateforustostarthavingsexagain.Whathehadn’tanticipated

was having to describe in excruciating detail to Annette just what he did, ordidn’tdo,tosatisfymeinbed.Annettelistened,noddingwithwhatappearedtobeanexpressionofsympathyonherface.

“Sowhatyou’rebasicallysayingis,youbelieveit’syourdutyasamodernmantogodownonyourpartnerandgiveheroralsexuntilsheclimaxes,”shesaidwhenhe’dstutteredtoahalt.Sheturnedtome.“Maddie,doesthatsoundlikeaturn-ontoyou?”

“Notreally,”Iadmitted.“You’dlikehimtodoitbecausehelovesthetasteofyouandhe’scaughtup

inthemoment,right?”“Um,”Isaid.“Iguess.”AnnetteturnedbacktoPete.“Howdoyouseduceher?”shedemanded.“Seduceher?”Peteechoedblankly.“Whenwasthelasttime,”Annettesaidsternly,“thatyouburiedyourfacein

Maddie’shairandinhaledthescentofher?”“Well…”Petemadeanattempttolookasifhewascountingbackthedays.“Tellmehowyouflirtwithher,”Annettesaid.“Showmehowyousizzle.”Peteblinked.“Thereasonwomendon’thavesexwithmenisbecausemenaren’tprepared

to put the effort into making women want to have sex with them,” Annetteannouncedfirmly.“IwantyoutowooMaddie,Pete.Exciteher.Makeherfallinlustwithyoualloveragain.Whenyousaygoodbyetoher,don’tpeckhercheek.Wrapyourarmsaroundherandpressyourbodyagainsthers.Whenyou’reawayfromher,sendhersexytexts.Makeherfeeldesired.”

“Wedohavedatenights,”Petesaidhopefully.“Andwecuddle.”“Cuddling,”Annette saidwitheringly, “is theenemyof arousal.Whenyou

cuddle,you’releachingallthepassionoutofyourpartner’stouch.”“Oh,”Petesaid.“WhichiswhyI’mgoingtoputthetwoofyouonasexban,”sheadded.Petelookedslightlyshocked.Afterall,endingthesexdroughtwasthemain

reasonhewasthereinthefirstplace.“Youaregoingtostarttouchingeachother,”Annettecontinued.“Preferably

naked.Preferablybycandlelight.Massageeachother.Arouseeachother,ifyoufeellikeit.Butyouarenot,repeatnot,tohaveintercourse.Or,Godhelpus,anyother kind of sex. I want you to rediscover the pleasure of anticipation.” Sheconsultedherpad.“AndI’llseeyouagaininthreeweeks.”

To be fair, Pete went along with Annette’s instructions. And gradually, Idiscovered that the combination of relaxing massage and intimate touchingwithout any pressure to have sex was arousing, to an extent. Unlike Pete’s

attemptstowoomewithflirtatioustexts.Itwasbadenoughtobeinterruptedina fraughtmeetingby a text sayingCanyoupickup supper?, butwhen itwasfollowedbyWhatareyouwearing,sexy?itwasdownrightirritating.

YouknowwhatI’mwearing.Youwatchedmefishmydirtyknickersoutofthelaundrybasketat7thismorning.Andveryeroticitwastoo,youdirtyslut.Ugh.Pete,notsexy.Takeawayorreadymeal?

AndwhenasessionoftouchingfinallybecametoomuchandIpulledPeteinsidemewithamoanofpleasure,therewastheillicitthrillofknowingweweredefyingAnnette’s sexban.At thenext sessionwe sat in front of her like twonaughtyteenagersandconfessedwhatwe’ddone.

“Well, of course,” Annette said, nodding. “You’ve learned to excite eachother.”

She sent us away with more “homework,” as she called it—Pete was tosurprisemeeveryweekwitha romanticgift; Iwas to surprisehimwith somesexy underwear—and an instruction to come back if things tailed off again.Whichtheydid,butsomehowwedidn’treturn.ItwasjusttoomuchofaneffortwhenTheoandworkweretakingupsomuchofourtimeandenergy.

Thetherapydidhaveonelastingbenefit, though.Learningtoarticulateourproblems in front of a stranger had, perversely,made us better at articulatinghowwefelt toeachotherinprivate.Theproblemshadn’tgoneaway,buttheyfeltmorelikesharedproblems.

At least, they did back then. But I know it’s all too easy to confuse thefranknesswithwhichwetalkedaboutoursexlifewithgenuineopenness.Afterall,it’snotasifI’dsharedthenot-so-littlematterofmyownslipups.Butontheplusside,neitherhadIslippedupagain.When,onashootinPrague,thegood-looking director dropped a large hint in my direction—“What happens onlocationstaysonlocation,right?”—I’drepliedfirmlythatnothingdidhappenonlocation.Anditdidn’t.

Has Pete been choosing not to talk about certain matters, too? Are therethingshe’sdonethatremainasdeep-buriedasmyownsecretsare?

I trynot to thinkabout that toomuch,because if Ido, everything starts tofeelhopeless.

—“IWANTTOKNOWwhyawomanwouldmarryapsychopath,”ItellAnnettewhen

I’msittinginheryellow-paintedconsultingroom.Sheraisesaneyebrow.“AreyounotwithPeteanymore?”“Oh—thisisn’taboutmeandPete.Notdirectly,anyway.”BrieflyIexplain

aboutMilesandLucy.IincludeMilesgropingmeasweleftthecourtroom.“Andhowdoyoufeelaboutallthis?”Annetteasks—theclassictherapist’s

opener.“Rightnow,angry.ButwhenIdon’tfeelangry…”Ihesitate.“Sometimes,I

justfeelthedeepest,blackestdespair.”Annette nods. “Both are very understandable reactions. And in answer to

yourquestion,psychopathsareveryeasytofallinlovewith.Foronething,theyknowhowtocharmpeople.Typically,theythrowthemselvesintothecourtshipwith total commitment—showering their target with gifts, using lines frommovies, telling you you’re the most beautiful, amazing thing that’s everhappened to them. And although it’s partly a game to them, it isn’t all fake.They’re intoxicatedby theexcitementand thechase,but it’salso important tothemthattheycangetyoutofallinlovewiththem—theycan’trestuntilthey’vesealed the deal and hooked you. It’s also typical that they’ll propose quickly,while the rush is still there. Again, it’s because they crave more and biggerexcitement, but they probably knowon some level that they can’t sustain thissortofintimacyforlong.Thesameappliestogettingtheirpartnerpregnant.Youcouldmeetapsychopathandbemarriedandamotherwithinayear.”

“Becausethat’stheultimatesealingofthedeal?”“Exactly.Andbecause that’swhatwivesdo,sohiswifehas todo it faster

andbetter thananyoneelse.She’snolongerEmmaorClareorwhoever,she’s‘mydarlingwife.’Hemightevenenjoyplayingthefamilyguyordotingdad—forabriefsceneortwo.Thenit’sontohisnextthrill.”Shehesitates.“Ihadapsychopathcometotherapyonce,withhiswife.Helovedit—itwasanhourallabouthim.Andhewasbrilliantatit—atplayingitlikeagame,Imean.IcouldseehimsuckingupeverythingIwasdoing,usingmytechniquestobecomeevenmore charming and deflective and self-justifying. It’s the only time I’ve everterminatedtherapy.Itoldhiswifesheshouldgetoutoftherelationship,fast,butthelastIheardtheywerestilltogether.”

“Butwhy?”Iask.“Ifhecan’tsustainthefaçade,whywouldawomanstaywithsomeonelikethat?”

“Hmm.”Annetteconsiders.“Well,basedonthatcouple, Icanseehowtheinitial love-bombingandattentioncouldbecomeakindofdrug,particularly ifthewoman’squiteinsecureinthefirstplace.Eventhoughthepsychopathcan’tkeep it up, he only has to offer her an occasional tiny drop of it to keep theaddictiongoing.Andpsychopathsarecontrolling—notleastbecausetheythink,with some justification, that they’re better decision makers than anyone elsearoundthem.It’saviciouscircle:Themorethepsychopathmakesthedecisions,themorethepartnerbelievesshe’sincapable,sothemoresheletshimmakethe

decisions.Eventually,shejusthasnoconfidenceleft.”Thatmakessense.I thinkhowdifferentLucyseemedwhenwefirstmetin

theNICU.Despite thestressofhavingaprematurebaby,she’dbeenengagingandoutgoing,afarcryfromthevague,anxiouscreaturesheisnow.Ialsorecallhow,thefirsttimewewenttotheLamberts’,Mileshadbeensoquicktocorrecther—firstwhenshemixedupwhooutofPeteandmetookmilk,andthenwhenshe’dfailedtopickupthatPetewastheprimarycarer.Tiny,tinythings—atthetimeI’dtakenthemforalpha-maleprotectiveness,butnowthatIcometothinkof it,Petewouldneverhavepouncedonmymistakes soquickly,orcorrectedmeinquitesuchapaternalisticway.

“And is there any chance she could become psychopathic herself?” I ask.“Thatshecould,onherowninitiative,dosomethingascallousasswappingtwobabiestogetamalpracticepayout?”

“You can never completely rule anything out,” Annette says cautiously.“Certainly not without talking to the person concerned. But based on whatyou’ve told me, I’d say it’s unlikely. You’re describing someone who’s solacking in confidence she can’t even make a cup of tea. The idea that she’scapable of making a spur-of-the-moment decision, one with long-lastingconsequences,onherhusband’sbehalf,withoutfirstsecuringhispermission…Itjust doesn’t stack up. Quite apart from anything else, it would force her toconfronttherealityofhersituation—thatshe’smarriedtoamonster.Andwhiletherecertainlyhavebeenpsychopathiccouples—BonnieandClyde, IanBradyand Myra Hindley—that doesn’t sound like the dynamic you’re describing.Frankly,Ithinkit’smuchmorelikelythatthebabiesgotswappedbyaccident,andyouwere justunluckyenough toendupwith thechildof someoneyou’dnormallygoaverylongwaytoavoid.”

87Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit46.ExtractfromCAFCASSSection7reporttothefamilycourt’s

secondhearingregardingTheoRiley,compiledbyLynEdwards,FamilyCourtAdviser.14.THEO’SWISHES.

IassessedTheoatthehomeofMr.andMrs.Lambert,whichTheovisitsonadailybasisforhisnannyshare.Theoisabrightandenergeticlittleboy,ifoccasionallylackinginself-regulationandawareness of the needs of others. Iwas able towitness the parenting style of bothMr. andMrs.Lambert,andnotedthattheyincludedTheoinmakingdecisionswhereverpossible.

I then requested to be left alone with Theo so we could have a chat. In the course of ourdiscussionIaskedTheotodrawapictureofaplacewherehewouldfeelsafe.Inresponsehedrewwhatlookedlikeacastle.Whenasked,heidentifiedthecastle’slocationas“Here.”

I thenaskedhimtodrawsomepeoplehethoughthemightneedwithhiminthecastle tokeephim safe.After some thought he drew a policeman andwhat he informedmewas a guard dog. Iaskediftherewereanypeopleheknewwhohewouldlikeinhiscastle,whocouldalsohelptokeephimsafe.Hedrewapictureofastickmanwithanobject.Whenquestioned,heidentifiedthisasMr.Lambert,holdingarugbyball.

I thengentlyelicited fromTheowhereMr.RileyandMs.Wilsonwouldbe inhispicture,andalsowhereMrs.Lambertwouldbe.HeindicatedthatMrs.LambertwouldbenexttoMr.Lambert.Mr.RileyandMs.Wilsonwouldbeoutsidethecastle.Hedrewallthreefigures,thenwhathetoldmewasacatapult,firingrugbyballsatMr.Riley.

WhileTheoisclearlytooyoungtomakeareliabledirectstatementabouthiswishes,Ibelieveitisclearthatinthebrieftimehehasknownthemhehasbecomeveryattachedtohisbirthparents,andfeelsconfidentandcaredforintheircompany.

Insummary,IbelieveTheowouldwelcometheopportunitytobereturnedtohisnaturalfamilyon a permanent basis, and that ismy recommendation to the court.Monthly access visits forMr.RileyandMs.Wilson should takeplace in a supervisedcontact center, tominimize theeffectsofinterfamilialacrimony.

LynEdwardsFamilyCourtAdviser

88PETE

THECOURT-APPROVEDPSYCHOLOGISTCAMEtoseeTheoatourhouse.Perhapsbizarrely,Icouldn’thelplikingtheman.HisnamewasHarveyTaylorandhearrivedonatouringbike,which led toadiscussionabout framesand thebestwidthof rimforcopingwithLondonpotholes.

“Right,”Harveysaidat last,when I’dmadehimcoffee.He lookedaroundour small living space. “Ineed to assessTheowithoutyoupresent, so Iguessyou’llhavetogooutforanhourorso.”

“Ofcourse.Iappreciateyou’vegotajobtodo,soI’llletyougetonwithit.Isthereanythingyouneed?”

He indicated his backpack. “It’s all here, thanks. Oh, and I have somecheckliststogothroughwithyouwhenyougetback.”

Ileft thehouseandpacedthestreets, tooanxioustogoandsit inacafé.ItwasstrangetothinkthatwhileIwasoutwalking,HarveyandTheowerehavingaconversationthatcoulddecideourfamily’sfuture.

Afterexactlyanhour,Iwentback.TheowasplayingwithDuploonthefloorandHarveywassittingatthekitchentable,writingnotes.

“Hi there,” he saidwhen he sawme. “Would it be all right if Theowentupstairsforabit?I’dratherdothechecklistsonourown.”

“Ofcourse.Theo,couldyoutakeyourDuplouptoyourbedroom?I’llcomeandbuildsomethingwithyoulater.”

When Theo was upstairs, Harvey said, “Before we start, can you tell meaboutthese?I’mcurious.”Heindicatedthestarchartsliningthewalls.

“Oh.”Iexplainedabouttheparentingclasses,andhowI’dlearnedthatsomekids react better to reward systems than topunishments. “It’smade amassivedifference,”Iadded.

Henodded.“ThatfitswithwhatI’mseeing—thatTheohasaveryparticularlearningstyle.”

He pulled out a checklist. “Don’t be alarmed if some of these questionssoundabitstrange.Ifanotherchildwasupset,wouldTheotrytohelpthem,forexamplebygivingthematoy?”

Ishookmyhead.“Almostcertainlynot.Infact,hedoesn’treallylikesharingtoys.”

Harveymadeanote.“Doeshelikeanimals?”“Itdependswhatyoumeanby‘like,’ ” I saidcautiously.“Heenjoys them,

certainly.Buthetendstodoalotofpokingandbangingofthemtoseehowthey

react.”Therehadbeenanembarrassingoccasionwhenhe’dbeenaskedtoleavethepettingzooaftertryingtoswingarabbitaroundbyitsears.

“Whataboutkeepingpromisesandcommitments?Ishegoodatthat?”Ipointedatoneofthestarcharts.“Asyoucansee,he’sgettingbetter.But

it’sbeenastruggle.”Therewere a dozenmore questions—“How responsive is he to affection?

Howanxiousdoesheget?Howfearfulofgettinghurt ishe?Ishegentlewithother children?” At the end Harvey put the checklist down and said, “Again,don’tbealarmedbywhat I’mabout to tellyou,butTheoalmostcertainlyhaswhatpsychologistscallCUtraits.CUstandsfor‘callousandunemotional.’ ”Hestudiedmyface.“Youdon’tseemverysurprised.”

“Isithereditary?”“Ah.”Harveynoddedslowlyastheimplicationofmyquestionsankin.“It

canbe,yes.Exceptthat,inadults,wewouldcallitpsychopathy.”“Inthatcase,”Isaid,“I’mnotsurprisedatall.”Butthentheramificationsof

whathe’djustsaidsankinonme.“Andifit’shereditary,itcan’tbecured.Theowillgrowuptobejustlikehisfather.”

“Well,Ihaven’tmethisfather,soIcan’tcommentonthat.ButwhatIcansay is that just because something is hereditary, it doesn’tmean the future isfixed.We thinkanunderdevelopmentofpartof thebraincalled theamygdalamaygivecertainchildrenadispositiontowardCU.Butpersonalityismalleable,particularly in theveryyoung.ACUdiagnosismay simplymean theyneed aparticularkindofparentingtohelpthemlearnthehumanqualitiestherestofuspickupwithoutthinking.”Heindicatedthestarcharts.“You’realreadydoingalot of it. Punishments mean nothing to kids with CU, but they’re very goal-oriented.Sorewardsaredefinitelythewaytogo.Oh,andtime-outsdon’twork—youcanforgetaboutthenaughtystep,forexample.”

“I’dalreadyworkedthatoutformyself,”Isaidwithfeeling.He nodded. “What can definitely help is what we call warm parenting—

talkingaboutfeelings,displayinglotsofemotionyourself,reinforcinganysmallsigns of empathy or emotional literacy that Theo displays. Show him thatemotionsaregood,evenenriching,for thepersonhavingthem.Showhimthatwarmthandpositivityandaffectionaretherealmeasureofsuccess.”

“ThatisexactlywhatItrytodo,”Isaidhelplessly.“I’msureitis.”Harveystartedpackingawayhisthings.“Butcanyoutellthecourtthat?CanyousayI’magoodparent?”Harvey looked atme sympathetically. “I don’t think you understand—that

isn’t my remit. I’m simply here to assess whether or not Theo would betraumatizedby the shockof changing families, if that’swhat’sdecidedby the

judge.AndI’mafraidI’mgoingtohavetotellthecourtthat,likeanykidwithCUtraits,he’dhardlybataneyelid.”

89PETE

“OURCHILDISApsychopath,”Iwhispered.Thewordshadbeengoingaroundandaroundmyhead for so long, itwas

almostarelieftosaythemoutloud.“No,he’snot,”Maddie said.“Childrencan’tbepsychopaths.You toldme

thatyourself.”That,atleast,wastrue.HarveyTaylorhadtoldmethatapersoncouldn’tbe

diagnosedasapsychopathuntilthey’dturnedeighteen.“Ihaveahorriblefeelingthat’satechnicaldistinction.He’sapsychopathin

embryoform.”“ButTheo’sgotyou,”Maddiepersisted.“Andyou’retheverydefinitionofa

warm,involvedparent.”As if on cue, Theo ran downstairs. “C’mon, Daddeee. Let’s go,” he

announced,pullingatmyhand.“Swings!Swings!Swings!”“Okay,Theo,” I said, standingup. “ButgiveMummyahug first.Because

mummieslikehugs.Itmakesthemfeelhappy.”“See?”Maddie said over Theo’s head as he hugged her. “You’re doing it

already.”As Theo went in search of his coat and boots, she added, “I learned

somethinginterestingtoday,too.Annettesaidpsychopathslove-bombpotentialpartnerswithattentionwhilethey’retryingtohookthem,thenloseinterestoncethey’ve sealed the deal. Itmademe think.” She gestured in Theo’s direction.“Whatifthat’snotjusttrueofpartners?Afterall,it’swhatMilesdidtous,inaway—showereduswithattention,thenswitcheditoff.Maybe,withoutrealizingit,it’swhathe’sdoingwithTheoaswell.”

“OhGod.”Thethoughtthat,afterallthis,MileswouldendupignoringTheoifhegothimjustmadethesituationevenmoredepressing.IcouldseeafutureinwhichTheowouldonlybeabletoengageMiles’sinterestbybringinghomean endless succession of sports trophies. And pretty soon that would becomeTheo’swholeattitudetolife—thatitwasallaboutwinning.

“Butitisnotgoingtohappen,”Maddiesaidfirmly.“Wearegoingtokeephim.”

I didn’t reply. I knew sheonlykept saying it to keepmy spirits up, but itreallywasn’tworking.

“Ready,Daddeee!”Theoannounced,jumpingupanddownbythedoor.Maddie’sphonerang.Iwasgoingoutthedoorassheansweredit,soIonly

justheardhersay,“Hangon,I’llgethim.“It’syourlawyer,”shesaidasshehandedmethephone.“Thepolicewantto

seeyouagain.Theo,wait,”shecalledafterthefigurealreadyrunningdownthepavement.“It’smecomingwithyounow,notDaddy.Justletmegrabmycoat.”

90PETE

“THERE’SGOODNEWSANDnot-so-goodnewsforyou,Pete,”DIRichardssaid.Heslidapaddedenvelopeacross the table.“Thegoodnewsis, that’syourphone.We’vefinishedwithit.”

Hewaitedformetoaskwhatthenot-so-goodnewswas.Ishotmysolicitor,MarkCooper,alook,butheonlyshookhisheadslightly.

DI Richards sighed. “The not-so-good news is that your laptop is nowevidenceintwoongoinginvestigations.”Againhepaused,waitingformetoaskwhatthesecondinvestigationwas,andagainIsaidnothing.

“On your laptop we found an image or images that appear to be incontraventionoftheCoronersandJusticeAct2009.”Hepausedagain.“We’retalkingaboutchildpornography,Pete.”

Hearingthosewordssaidoutloudfeltliketheendoftheworld.Igapedathim,dumbfounded.Myheadswamandtherewasaringinginmyears.

“Do you have anything to say about that?” DI Richards askedsympathetically.

“On the advice ofmy solicitor…” I couldn’t get thewords out.The roomrockedglassilybeforemyeyes.

DIRichardsreachedforafileandtookoutaplasticsleevewithsomethinginside,whichheslidacrossthetable.“Specifically,thisimage,”headded.

Istaredatit.Icouldn’tbelievewhatIwaslookingat.“Butit’s…it’s…”Marktouchedmyarm.“WhatyouareshowingmyclientisacartoondrawingintheJapanesestyle

known asmanga,” he said. “It appears to be a pop-up advertisementwith thewordsCLICKHEREonit.”

“What I am showing your client,” DI Richards said reasonably, “is asexualizedimageofagirlwhoisclearlyundereighteen,sincesheiswearingaschooluniform.ThisfallsunderthedefinitionofaCategoryCnonphotographicindecent image of aminor, and itwas found in the internet viewing cache ofyour client’s hard drive.As I’m sure you’re aware, themaximum penalty forpossessionof such images is threeyears inprison,alongwithacourtorder tocomplywiththenotificationrequirementsofthesexoffenders’register.”

Thesexoffenders’register.Thiswaslikeabaddream.“Thisisridiculous,”MarkCoopersaidpatiently.“Nojuryisgoingtoconvict

onthebasisofonedrawing.”“Possibly not,” DI Richards conceded. “Although convictions have been

made for possession of cartoons in the past. I’dmuch rather talk about childabductionandinsurancefraud,tobehonest.”

“Oh—so that’s it,” the solicitor said witheringly. “You’re attempting toblackmailmy client into giving you a fuller interview on the child abductioncharge.”

DI Richards looked pained. “We take all offenses against children veryseriously.”

Iputmyheadinmyhands.Icouldn’tbelievethis.“Myclientisn’tgoingtogiveyouanyfulleranswers.”“Verywell,”DIRichardssaid.“Inthatcase,Iwillconsultwithmysuperiors

andtheCPSoverwhatactiontheyconsiderappropriate.”Heputtheimagebackin thefolderandstoodup.“Oh,andPete.Wehaveto liaisequitecloselywithCAFCASS in investigations like this, as you can imagine. If you changeyourmind,givemeacall.”

“What?”Myheadwentupastheimplicationsofwhathewassayingcrashedinonme.“Wait.That’snotfair—”

Marktouchedmyarm.“Notnow,Pete.”“I’lldo the interview,” Isaiddesperately.“I’lldo thebloody interview,all

right?ThereisabsolutelynoreasontoinvolveCAFCASS—”“He’stryingtowindyouup,”Markinsisted.“Comeon,let’sgo.”“Well,he’ssucceeded.There’snowayI’mleaving—”“Andthere’snowayI’mlettingyoudoaninterviewinthisstate.EvenifI

thoughtitwasagoodidea,whichIdon’t.Weneedtogo.”DI Richards watched us leave. There was no cheeriness in his eyes at all

now,justalookofcoldcalculation.

91MADDIE

WHEN MY PHONE RINGS I grab it, thinking it might be Pete, calling from hissolicitor’s.Butitisn’t.

“LynEdwardshere,CAFCASS,”Lynsaysformally.HerWelshliltismorepronounced now. “I’m afraid we have to have a chat about these changedcircumstances,Maddie.”

“Whatchangedcircumstances?”“There’sbeenchildpornographyfoundonPete’scomputer.”Ican’tbelievewhatI’mhearing.“There’sbeenwhat?”“Anindecentimage,asIunderstandit.TheCPSwillbeconsidering.Butmy

onlyconcerninthisisTheo,Maddie,andwhatitmightmeanforhim.Hissafetyismyresponsibility,Maddie,doyousee?”

“I don’t believe it,” I say immediately. “I do not believe that Pete couldpossiblyhavebeenlookingatchildporn.”

“Well,that’sasmaybe.Butwehavetoerronthesideofcaution,Maddie,doyousee?”

“Areyousayingyouwanthimtomoveoutagain?”Isayslowly.“No, Maddie, that’s not what I’m saying. Because, as your own solicitor

pointedout,therearealsonowquestionsoveryoursuitabilitytoactascarerinPete’sabsence,aren’tthere?”

“Thatwasn’twhatshe—”Ibegin,butLynsimplycarriesonspeaking.“I’velookedthroughthemedicalreports,Maddie,andfranklythey’requite

disturbing.Theofoundon the floorwith—and there’snoniceway tosay this,Maddie—fecesallaroundhim.”

Ifeelmyselfgocold.“Iwasill.”“That’sasmaybe,Maddie.Butwho’stosayyoucouldn’tbecomeillagain?

You’renottakingyourmedication,areyou?”“Areyouadoctor?”There’sabriefpause.IcanalmostpictureLyn’ssharpeyesnarrowing.“I’maqualifiedsocialworker,Maddie.Wehavetouseourbestjudgmentin

situationslikethis.ThoughIhavetotellyou,I’vealsobeensentacopyofwhatappears to be a newspaper article written by Peter, saying that the stress offinding out Theo isn’t yours has brought back some of your old symptoms.Wouldthatnotbecorrect,then,Maddie?”

Thatbloodyarticleagain.Idon’treply.“We have to take all possible circumstances into account,” Lyn continues

afteramoment.“Ifthatmeanstakingsensibleprecautions,sobeit.”“Soifyou’renotaskingPetetomoveout,whatareyousuggesting?”Isay

leadenly.“Ithinkit’sbestifTheostayselsewhereforthetimebeing,Maddie.Ifyou

wouldbesokindastopackhimanovernightbag,hecanstaywithMr.andMrs.Lambertuntilthehearing.”

92PETE

PACKINGTHATSUITCASEWASthehardestthingI’veeverdone.Comparedwiththat,ourtimeintheNICUwasadoddle.ChoosingclothesforTheototakewithhimfeltlikechoosingwhathe’dwearinhisgrave.

Andofcourse,wehadtohideourmiseryfromhim.Cheerily,wetoldhimhewasgoing to spenda fewnights atDavid’shouse, inhisnew rocketbed, andwouldn’tthatbefun?

Hiseyeslitup.“Yeah!”heexclaimed.Weboth tookhimnextmorning.Just foramoment,ashewalkedup their

steps,heturnedandlookedatusanxiously.Thenheranbackandliftedhisarmsforahug.

We squeezed his little body so tight he said, “Ouff! You’re hurting!” Jillopened the door. We watched him go back up the steps and run inside. Wehandedherhissuitcase.

Andjustlikethat,ourlittleboywasgone.

—ATNINE THIRTY IcalledMarkCooperand toldhimIwanted tocooperate fully

with the police.He started to say he strongly advised against it. I told him toarrangetheinterviewandhungup.

IsawDIRichardsthesamedayandansweredallhisquestions.Attheendoftheinterviewheconfirmedthat,althoughtheinvestigationagainstmeforchildabduction would remain ongoing while they checked out what I’d told them,everythingelsewouldbedropped.

“There,thatwasn’tsodifficult,wasit?”headded.MaddiephonedLynanddemandedthatTheobeallowedtocomehomenow.

Lynsaidshethoughtthat,onbalance,TheoshouldremainattheLamberts’“toseehowhesettles.”

“I must say, he does seem very happy there, Maddie. And really, that’severyone’smainconcerninthissituation,isn’tit?What’sbestforTheo,doyousee?Ashis primary carers for the last twoyears, I’m sureyou andPetemustwantthatforhim,too,intheend.”

93PETE

THEDAYSTICKEDDOWNtowardthehearing.Wedugin.That’stheonlywayIcandescribeit—asifwewereunderground,enduring,waitingforthebombardmentto finish sowe could emerge, blinking and shell-shocked, into the real worldagain.

Butallthetime,therewasahuge,Theo-shapedgapinourhearts.Thehouseseemed very still and quiet. Itwas like being inside something broken, like astoppedclock.

And I had a horrible feeling that,when all thiswas over,wewouldn’t beemerging into the sameworldwe’d left. Ifwe lostTheo for good, everythingwould be smashed, including us. Without us even really noticing it, he hadbecomeourraisond’être,thepointaroundwhichourrelationshipcircled.

Not for the first time, I foundmyself wishing thatMaddie hadn’t alwaysbeen so set against marriage. Anything, however intangible, that bound us toeachotherwouldhavebeenahelp.Butnow itwashard toseehowwecouldpossibly survive as a couple if we lost him. Like parents who split up in theaftermath of a child’s death, because the griefwould only be survivablewithsomeonewhodidn’tfeelthesamepainasyou,whoseagonydidn’treflectyourseverytimeyoulookedintotheireyes.

—MEANWHILE, THE LEGAL SIDEof things intensified.Wehad towritestatements,go

through the evidence—in particular, Lyn Edwards’s devastating report. She’drecommended thatTheobe returnedpermanently to theLamberts.Hefelt safethere,apparently.Butsowhat?Theofeltsafeeverywhere.Theowouldhavefeltsafeontopofaburningskyscraper.

Eventhoughwe’dhalfexpectedit,seeingitinblackandwhitelikethatwasanothercrushingblow.Anitatoldusencouraginglytherewerelotsofthingsinthe report she could challenge. But I remembered what she’d said aboutCAFCASSinourveryfirstmeeting.It’svery,veryrareforthejudgenottogoalongwiththeirviews.

AndnowthatTheowasstayingwiththeLamberts,they’dbecomethestatusquo.Therewasareasonpossessionwascallednine-tenthsofthelaw.Ifhewasthere,andsettled,ourstrongestargumentforkeepinghim—thatmovingfamilieswouldcausedisruption—nowworkedintheirfavor,notours.

I invented a newword:CAFCA-esque. LikeKafkaesque, onlywith added

heartbreak.I stillwent to the parenting classes, even though I didn’t currently have a

childtoparent.Ididn’twant togiveCAFCASSanyreason,howeversmall, tosayweweren’tbeingcooperative.

At theclasses I talked to theotherparents,andheard talesofunbelievablemisery—miseryevenworsethanours.Parentswhosekidshadbeentakenawayafter anonymous tip-offs by disgruntled neighbors, or because hospitals hadconcernsaboutminor injuries,orbecauseaparenthadlost their temperwithasocialworker.Motherswho,havingproved theywerecleanofdrugs, relapsedintoaddictionwhenthesystemrefusedtogivetheirkidsback.Orevenworse,motherswhostayedclean,only tobe told that theirkidswerenowsettledandhappywiththeirfosterfamiliesanditwasn’tintheirbestinterestsforthemtobemoved again. Many of the people I spoke to were chaotic, admittedly, orworkingtheirwaythroughvariousrehabilitationprograms.Butmanywerejustsadanddesperateandbroken.

And one woman whose story chilled my soul—a woman aboutMaddie’sage, an artist, heavilypregnant,who’dbeen told that, because she’dbeen in apsychiatric unit in the past, she was considered “capable of abuse.” Thepsychiatristwhohadwrittenthosewordshadneverevenmether.Butunlessshecouldconvinceajudgehisdiagnosiswaswrong,herbabywouldbetakenfromher soon after it was born and given up for adoption. It was all to do withnumbers, she told me wearily: Removal of newborns had more than doubledsincethegovernmentintroducedadoptiontargets.Ichecked,sureshemusthavegottenthatfigurewrong.Butshewasright.

Once,Iwouldhavewrittenaboutthesepeople,andtriedtoshinealightontheinjusticestheyweresuffering.Butevenifthere’dbeenanewspaperIcouldpublishin,Iwasn’tallowedtowriteanythingthatrelated,howevertangentially,toourcase.

Ironically,asthehearingaboutTheoneared,thecaseaboutDavidwasjustgettinggoing.Itriedtospendsometimeresearchinghypoxia,soIcouldsoundmoreconfidentwhenasocialworkeraskedhowweweregoingtocareforhim.But themore I read, themore futile it seemed. I lookedatour tinyhouseandwonderedhowonearthwecouldaccommodateaseverelydisabledchild.

Ifweevenhada tinyhouse.Wecouldbarelyaffordthefirstmortgage, letalone the second mortgage that was now covering our legal fees. And if wefailedtogaincustodyofDavid,therewasahighlikelihoodwe’denduphavingtopaychildmaintenanceforhim.

Ifworsecame toworst, andwe lostbothTheoandDavid, therewouldbeanotherconsequence,too.Iwouldnolongerhaveachildtobeafull-timefather

to.I’dhavetogetajob—notinjournalism,obviously;thatshiphadsailed,butmaybe stacking shelves in the local supermarket. Would that cover ourmortgages?I lookedtoseehowmuchshelfstackersgotpaid.Theanswerwasno,itwouldn’t.

We couldn’t sleep. Night after night, we lay side by side, staring at theceilingandtwitchingwithstress.Eveneatingwasdifficult—thetensionmadeithardtoswallow.TherewasatimewhenMaddiewouldhavedrunktorelax,butnowthepillsshewastakingmeantwecouldn’tevenhavealcoholinthehouse.

IstartedsleepinginTheo’sroom.Therewasstillafaint,puppyishsmellofhimlingeringinthesheets.Ieventurnedonhisnightlight.Ithelped,somehow.

OnenightIwoketofindMaddiesittingonthesideofthebed.Iglancedattheclock.ItwasfourA.M.

“Perhaps it’s time to let himgo,” she said softly. “Perhapswe should juststopfightingit.WecouldgobacktoAustralia,haveanotherchild.Startagain.”

Ididn’tanswer.Afteramomentshegotupandleft.Inthemorning,Iwasn’tevensureIhadn’tdreamedit.

94MADDIE

PETE IS BRILLIANTLY DOGGED. It’s a situation not unlike the NICU—the kind ofcrisis that requires resilience and determination, not quick thinking ordecisiveness. Left to my own devices, I’d probably do something impulsive:shoutatLyn,or try to runaway.ButPete justgritshis teethandkeepsgoing.Researching David’s condition, writing legal statements, going through theevidence.

Webothsuspect it’shopeless.Butwedon’twant toget tocourtand thinktherewassomething,anything,morewecouldhavedone.

IfindmyselfrememberingtheperiodwhenIfirstfellinlovewithhim,backinAustralia.Weweresleepingtogether,butIstillregardedhimprincipallyasafriendandIhadnoexpectationthattherelationshipwouldeverbecomeanythingmore.ThenIwasinvitedtogoandseemygrandparentsinTasmania.Petehadnever been, so he tagged along, too—we planned to do some hiking after thevisit. Itwas only afterwe got there that I discovered the real reason I’d beenasked:Grandpawasdying.AseriesofsmallstrokesIhadn’tbeentoldabouthadlefthimbarelymobile.Thedayafterwearrived,alargeroneparalyzedhisleftside and made him incontinent. Instead of dropping in on an active elderlycoupleforafewnights,Petefoundhimselfinthemiddleofafamilydrama,withrelatives flying in fromalloverAustraliaandmeanemotionalwreck.He justquietlygotonwithit—ferryingpeoplefromtheairport,shopping,cooking,eventaking care of soiled bedsheets. Not once did he mention the missed hiking.When,one time, I’dstarted tosaySorry, Iknow this isn’twhatyousignedupfor,hejustlookedatmeasifIwascrazy.“Thankyouforlettingmetakecareofyouall,”hesaidsimply.

Later, after my granddad passed, I was reminiscing withmy grandmotherwhenshepattedmykneeandsaid,“IhopeyouandPetewillbeashappyasmeandyourgranddadwere.”

“Oh, we’re not serious,” I began, but then I saw the look on mygrandmother’s face.And realized that, of course,wewere.Petewas akeeper,andI’dhavebeenmadtolethimgo.

—I PHONE THE DAILYMAIL to say I can’t do an interview after all.Butwhen I get

throughtothenewsdeskandasktospeaktoKieranKeenan,there’sapause.“Areyouarelativeofhis?”themanwhopickedupasks.

“No.It’sinconnectionwithastoryhe’sworkingon.”“I’mafraidKieranwon’tbecomingback.”“Won’tbeback?Whynot?”“Hewasinvolvedinatrafficaccident—quiteabadone.He’llbeinhospital

for some time. But if you have a story, tell me and I’ll see if we’re stillinterested.”

“Whatkindoftrafficaccident?”“Hewas hit by a car. Broke his back, poor guy. They say it could be six

monthsbeforehe’sonhisfeetagain.”Aterriblenotionflitsintomybrain.“Didtheyarrestthedriver?”“Usually it’s uswho ask the questions,” the journalist says, amused. “But

someonewrote a piece, if you’re interested. It’s on thewebsite.Now, tellmeaboutthisstoryofyours—”

I’vealreadydisconnected.

—I FIND THE ARTICLE in between two flickering sidebars of clickbait about the

plasticsurgerydisastersofcelebritiesI’veneverheardof.MAILREPORTERVICTIMOFHIT-AND-RUN.It’sonlytwelvelineslong.Kieranwasfoundunconsciousbyapasserbynearhishome lateoneevening.Thedriverhad fled thescene.Therewerenowitnesses.

Did Kieran pick up onmy comment about it being a bigger story than itlooked, and decide to check outMiles for himself?Coming to the end of hisinternship,he’dbedesperatetomakehismarkwithabigstory.AndhadMilesdecidedhe’drathernothavewhateverKieranfoundoutpublished?

Ihavetobewaryofreadingtoomuchbetweenthelines,Iknow.ButIfeel,inmyheart,thatanyoneofuscouldbeindanger.

95MADDIE

THREEDAYSBEFORETHEhearing,wegotoasmall,anonymousbuildinginCamdentoseeTheo.Theplacelooksnotunlikeanurseryorasmallschool,withroomsfull of toys and playmats. But the sign outside says CAMDEN CHILD CONTACTCENTER, and the reception area is plasteredwith posters saying things likeATCCCCTHEMOSTIMPORTANTPERSONISTHECHILD!andPLEASELEAVEYOURDISPUTESATTHEDOOR.WEWANTTHISTOBEAPOSITIVEPLACEFOROURCHILDREN!alongwithadvertisementsforwomen’srefugecentersandChildline.

We’releddownalongcorridor,pastroomafterroomoflonedadsplayingawkwardlywith their kids. Despite the drawings on thewalls and the jaunty,pastel-colored furniture, it feels like we’re walking ever farther into somebureaucrat’s version of hell—a surreal cross between a privatized prison andplay school. This is where the detritus of broken families ends up, I think,lookingaround.Theyshouldsendanyonewho’scontemplatinggettingdivorcedhereforanafternoon,nottocouplestherapy.Anymarriage,howeverbad,wouldsurelybemorebearablethanseeingyourchildsomewherelikethis.

Eventuallywecome toadoormarkedPENGUINROOM.AGE2–4.Through theglazedpanelwecanseeTheosquattingonthefloor,engrossedinamarblerun.Amiddle-agedwomanwithanotebooksitstooneside.ThatmustbeJanine,oursupervisor.Herjob,we’vebeeninformedbyemail, is towriteobservationson“thequalityofourinteractions”withTheoforCAFCASS,whomaythensharethemwiththecourt.

I feel strangely nervous as we walk in.Which is ridiculous, I tell myselffirmly.Thisisourson,andwe’resimplygoingtoplaywithhim.Justlikewe’vedoneamilliontimesbefore.

“Hi,Theo,”Petesayseagerly.“Howareyou?”Theolooksupbriefly,thenreturnshisattentiontothemarblerun.“ ’lo,”he

mutters.Undeterred,Petegetsdownonthefloornexttohim.“Thatlooksfun.CanI

haveaturn?”Theoshakeshishead.“Come on, Theo. Remember we talked about taking turns?” Pete reaches

towardtheplasticpotcontainingthemarbles,butTheosnatchesitaway.“Mine!”hedeclares.Idaren’tlookatJaninetoseewhatshe’smakingofallthis.“Theo,”Ibegin,

gettingdownontheflooraswell.“Daddyreallywantsaturnwiththosemarbles

—”Forthefirsttime,TheolooksatPete.“You’renotmydaddy.”Ifeelmybloodruncold.ForamomentPete’stoostunnedtoreact.“Whydo

yousaythat,Theo?”heasksatlast.“Daddy Moles is my real daddy.” Theo glances at me. “You’re not my

mummy,too.IwasgrowedinMummyLucy’stummy.DaddyMolestoldme.”Heturnsbacktothemarblerunandputsawholefistfulofmarblesintothetopso that theyskitterdown,oneafter theother,patter-patter-patter.OnebouncesoutandrollsunderJanine’schair.

Pete swivels to Janine. “Write that down!” he demands furiously. “Writedownthatthose—theapplicantshavebeentalkingtohimaboutthecase.Whenweallagreedwewouldn’t.”

But even as he says it, I realize we didn’t all agree to that. It was justsomethingPeteandIalwaysassumed.BecausetellingTheothetruthabouthisparentageissoirrevocable,sofinal, thatithasliterallyneveroccurredtoustodoso.Wewere,Isuppose,stickingourheadsinthesandandhopingthiswouldsomehowgoawaybeforeitbecamenecessary.Andwhilewe’dmadeitcleartoCAFCASS thatweweren’t tellinghim,Lynhadneveractuallyconfirmed thatsheagreedwithourposition.

Janine says calmly, “The applicants asked the CAFCASS officer forpermission to undertake some structured life storyworkwith Theo. He has aright to know, after all. The officer thought it was a good idea to do it now,before…”Shehesitates,andIhavetheimpressionshewasgoingtosay,Beforeheleavesyou.“Beforethehearing,”shefinishes.

“He’s two,” Pete says incredulously. “Two. Years. Old. What kind ofmonstrousbitchwouldallow—”

Hemanagestostophimself,butthedamageisdone.“I’mgoingtoterminatethis contact now,” Janine says sharply, tucking her biro into her notebook tokeepherplaceand standingup.Herhandhoversover abig redbuttonon thewall.“Pleasegoquietly,orI’llhavetocallSecurity.”

96MADDIE

OFALLTHETHINGSwe’veendured—Petebeingmadetomoveout,TheostayingattheLamberts’,thepoliceinvestigations—it’sthosefewbriefmomentsinthecontact center that seem to hit Pete hardest. That Miles has managed toweaponizeTheohimselfinthebattleagainstusseemstoripawaythelastshredsofhopeinhismind.

Andthat’swhyMileshasneverbotheredtokillus,Irealize.Notbecausehewouldn’t,butsimplybecausehedoesn’tneedto.Thesystemisonhisside,andallheneedstodoisletthevariousprocessesplayouttotheirconclusion.

—THE DAY BEFORE THEhearing,Pete collects his suit from the dry cleaners and I

ironablacklinenjacket.Funeralclothes,Ifindmyselfthinking.Pete watches me, waiting his turn to iron his shirt. “You know, I keep

thinkingaboutSolomon,andthatbabyheorderedcutintwo,”hesaysglumly.“If CAFCASS had existed back then, they’d probably have taken away hischildren, on the basis he’d threatened violence against a child. As for thewomen,whentherealmothersaidlettheotheronehaveit,they’dhavewrittenareportsayingsheclearlynolongerwantedhimandwasguiltyofneglect.”

“Weshouldn’tblameCAFCASS,”Isaygently.“It’snottheirfault they’verunupagainstMiles.Thinkhowlongittookustoseehimforwhathereallyis.”

“True,”headmits.Igoonironing.“Wait,” he says suddenly. “I’ve had an idea. Why don’t we divide the

children?”Ilookathim.“Whatdoyoumean?”“We have two children between two families, yes?Why don’t we simply

sharethem?Theocouldspendtwoweeksatours,say,whileDavidspendstwoweeksat theirhouse.Andthenweswap,soDavid’shereandTheo’sat theirs.Thatway,we each have one child at any time.We could take turns, thewaywe’realwaystellingTheoheoughtto.”

Helookssoexcitedattheideathatsomekindofcompromisemightstillbepossible that Idon’thave theheart to tellhimMileswillnevergofor it.Whyshould he? He’s never shown the faintest interest in compromising, notgenuinely.Andevenifhedid,whowoulddecideaboutschools,orholidays,orevenlittlethingslikehaircuts?Perhapsrightatthebeginning,whenthingswere

different, we could have thrashed out an agreement like this. But now, whenMilessonearlyhasbothchildrenwithinhisgrasp,it’spointless.

ButIdon’tsayanyofthat.Instead,Isay,“Well,it’sgottobeworthatry.”

97MADDIE

“GOODMORNING,ANDPLEASEtakeaseat,”MarionWakefieldsayspleasantly.I stillcan’tgetoverhowinformal the familycourtsare. It’sastonishing to

thinkthateveryday,inthisroom,parentsareseparatedfromtheirchildren.“First,I’mgoingtoaskyouagainwhetheryouthinkanyagreementcouldbe

reached,”thejudgecontinues.“Mr.Kelly?”“My clients have been open to all suggestions, madam,” the Lamberts’

barristersays.“Itseemsarulingbythecourtistheonlywaytoresolvethis.”Thejudgenods,clearlyexpectingthatanswer.“Ms.Chowdry?”Anitasays,“Myclientshaveaproposaltheywouldliketoputforward.”JudgeWakefield looks at her over her glasses. “Wouldyou like to outline

it?”“Inbrief, to share timewithbothchildren fifty–fifty.Theowill spendhalf

his timewith the applicants and half with the respondents. Davidwill do thesame,butintheoppositerotation.Sincethechildrenhaveverydifferentneeds,thiswillalloweachchildtogetthebestcareatanyonetime.”

“Verywell.We’lltakeabreakforthepartiestodiscussthat.”Wealltroopout.Therearenosparerooms,sowesitinthefoyer.PeteandI

waitwithAnita,while the Lamberts go into a huddlewith their barrister andsolicitor.AfteracoupleofminutesMilescomesover,smiling.

“Nice try,” he says approvingly. “You know you’re going to lose, so youthoughtyou’dtrytosalvagesomethingfromthewreckage.Butequally,sinceIknow we’re going to win, there’s absolutely no chance we’ll agree. Nonewhatsoever.”Hewandersbacktotheothers.

“Iseewhatyoumeanabouthim,”Anitasays,watchinghimgo.“Believeme,that’sMilesonagoodday,”Petesays.Heputshisheadinhis

hands.Wereturntothecourt.ImakesureIwalkinfrontofPeteratherthanMiles.“Well?Howdidyougeton?”thejudgeasks.“Myclientsdon’tbelieve thisproposalwouldbe ineitherchild’s interests,

madam,”theLamberts’barristersays.“Theparentingstylesofthetwofamiliesareverydifferent.”

“Verywell,”thejudgesaysbriskly.“Letusproceed.”Thehearingwill begin,Anitahas toldus,with anopening statement from

eachside’slawyer,followedbytheprofessionalwitnessesandCAFCASS.Afterthat,MilesandLucywilltakequestionsontheirwrittenstatements.Thenit’llbe

ourturn,beforeeachsidemakesafinalsumming-up.It’spossiblethejudgewilldecidetowaitandgiveherjudgmentatalaterdate.ButAnitathinksit’smorelikelyshe’llcometoadecisiontoday.Thisreallyisthepointofnoreturn.

HarveyTaylor,thepsychologist,isupfirst.Hecomestothewitnessbox—whichissimplyachairandtableatthefront,sidewaysontoboththejudgeandus—andtalksthroughhisassessmentofTheoinacalm,neutraltone.WhenhegetstothebitaboutTheo’scallousandunemotionaltraits,thejudgeinterrupts.

“AreyoueffectivelysayingthatTheohasspecialeducationalneeds?”Harveynods.“Yes.TheymaynotbecomparabletoDavid’sinseverity,but

intheirownwaythey’rejustaschallenging.”“Oh, forGod’s sake,”Milesmutters.The judge looksoverathimsharply,

butignorestheinterruption.SheturnsbacktoHarveyTaylor.“Andcouldyoudescribewhatthismeansforhisdevelopment?”“Essentially,heneedsaveryparticularparentingstyle—whatwecallwarm

parenting.”Thepsychologistgoesontoexplainwhatthatmeans.“Andcanthistypeofparentingbelearned?”thejudgeasks.“Itcan,yes,”thepsychologistsayscautiously.“But,becausetherecanbea

hereditarycomponenttoCUtraits,sometimestheparentsofaCUchildaretheveryoneswhofindithardest.”Hehesitates.“Iwouldsay,incidentally,thatMr.Rileyhasgraspeditverywell.”

TheLamberts’barristersaysimmediately,“Madam,Mr.Harveywasaskedby the court to assess whether Theo would be negatively impacted by apermanentmovetotheapplicants’family.HisconclusionisthatTheowillcopeadmirably.Hewasn’taskedtoassesseitherparty’sparentingcapability.”

“Mr. Harvey was answering my question,” Judge Wakefield says mildly.“Andhisprofessionalexpertiseisrelevanttotheissueofparentingstyle,whichyouyourselfraisedjustashortwhileago.”

BlessyouBlessyouBlessyou,Ithink.“The applicants are of coursewilling to adapt their parenting inwhatever

wayTheo’sneedsdictate,”thebarristersays.“I’m sure they are,” the judge says. “Thank you.” She nods at Harvey

Taylor,andthemomentisover.

—IT’S ONE SMALL PLUS in a long list ofminuses.And, I realize, not even a very

significantone.WemightknowthatMilesis incapableofwarmparenting,butwhy should the judgebe able to tell that? I letmygaze slide towardhim.Helooks so relaxed, soconfident,whilebesideme,Pete sits slumped inhischairbitinghisnails,lookinglikethenervouswreckheis.IfIwerechoosingparents

for Theo, which ones would I go for? The well-dressed, good-looking, well-heeledones,or theoneswitha stringofcriminal investigations,mentalhealthissues,andallegationsofalcoholabuseswirlingaroundtheirheads?

Milescatchesmelookingathimandsmiles.It really is no contest, I think wearily. Even I would be hard-pressed to

decide inour favor. Iglance sidewaysatPete,wondering if there’sanything Icandotopreparehimfortheworst.

After thepsychologist, it’sLynEdwards’s turn.She seemsnervous as shecomes to thewitnessbox. I’m surprisedby that:Court appearancesmustbe aregularpartofherjob.

“Ms.Edwards,” the judge sayswhenLynhas readout the affirmation, “isthere anything you’d like to add to your written report before you takequestions?”

Lynsayshesitantly,“Thereis,actually,madam.ButI’mnotabsolutelysurewhethertherulesofdisclosureallowmeto.”

Thejudgeraiseshereyebrows.“Doesithaveadirectbearingontheinterestsofthechild?”

Lynnods.“Ibelieveitdoes,madam.ItconcernssomevideofootageIwassentlastnight.”

“Then I’m going to ask both parties to leave the courtroom, while theirrepresentatives discuss whether or not it’s admissible.” The judge nods at us,then theLamberts.“Ifyou’dbesokindas towaitoutside.Theusherwillcallyoubackwhenwe’reready.”

—FOR THE SECOND TIME,weall troopout.Thismust be some last trickMiles has

pulled,Ithink,sometheatricalflourishtoroundofftheproceedings.Ilookovertowherehesitson theothersideof the foyer.His face isblank,whichseemsstrange.Ifthisissomethinghe’splanned,wouldn’thebesavoringthemoment?Buthejustseemsimpatienttogetbackinside.

Nexttohim,Lucyfiddlesnervouslywithherpearls.“Anyideawhatitcanbe?”IaskPete.“Beatsme,”hesays,mystified.“ButMileshasbeenleakingstufftoLynall

along,soitmustbehim.”Eventuallytheushercallsusbackandweresumeourseats.“Thankyoufor

bearingwithus,”MarionWakefield sayspleasantly.She looksatLucy. “Mrs.Lambert, I’m going to allowMs. Edwards to describe the video clip that shereferred to earlier. If at any timeyouwant a break todiscuss thismatterwithyourlegalrepresentatives,ortoseethevideo,feelfreetoask.Butpleasebearin

mindthatifyoudorequesttoseeit,thentheotherside,aswellasmyself,willnecessarilybeshownit,too.”ShenodsatLyn.“Pleaseproceed.”

“Thevideoappearstobetakenwithacameraplacedonashelf inMr.andMrs. Lambert’s playroom,” Lyn begins. “It shows Mrs. Lambert sitting withTheo at the table. She’s doing a drawing with him—a drawing of what shedescribes as a safe place. She tells him that really, there’s no safer place thantheirhouse,becauseofitsthickwalls.Andshetellshimthat,ifhe’severaskedtodrawapictureofaplacewherehefeelssafe,heshoulddrawthehousewheresheandMileslive,andputthethreeoftheminsideit.Andfinallyshesays,ifhedrawsapicturelikethat,hisdaddyMoleswillbeproudofhim.”

There’sashortsilence.“Andwhatconclusiondoyoudrawfromthis?”thejudgeasks.

“I believe shewas coaching him in preparation formyvisit.”Lynhas thegracetolookshamefaced.“ItispossibletofindoldCAFCASSreportsonline,ifyoulookhardenough—they’remeanttobeconfidential,butparentssometimesignore that and post them on various forums.And of course, there are only asmallnumberoftechniquesyoucanusetoelicitveryyoungchildren’sfeelings,so it’snothard toworkouthowwemightdo it.”She looksfromthe judge toPete.“Mr.RileydidtellmeoncethattheapplicantshadbeencoachingTheo.AtthetimeIassumedhewasexaggerating.”

“Thankyou,Ms.Edwards.”ThejudgelooksatLucyagain.“Mrs.Lambert,ordinarilyyouwouldgiveyourevidencetowardtheendoftheproceedings,butgivenwhatMs.Edwardshas just toldus, I’mgoing toaskyou tocometo thewitnessboxnow.”

Lucy’shandsareshakingsomuch,shecanbarelyholdthecardwiththeoathonit,andhervoiceislittlemorethanawhisper.

“DoyouhaveanycommenttomakeonwhatMs.Edwardshasdescribed?”JudgeWakefieldaskswhenshe’smanagedtoreachtheend.

“Well.”Lucy touches her pearls. She looks anguished. “Iwasn’tcoachinghim,notexactly.Ijustwantedhimtodowell.Imean,heonlygetsonechancewith CAFCASS, doesn’t he, and it would be awful, just awful, if he didn’tmanagetosaythe thingsIknowhereallywantedto.SoIsimplytriedtogivehimasmuchhelpaspossible.”SheshootsMilesadesperateglance,buthisfaceis impassive. “Becausewe do want his daddy to be proud of him, don’t we?Really, it’s nodifferent fromgetting someprivate tutoringbeforeyou take anentranceexam.”

Thistimethesilenceseemstostretchoutforever.MarionWakefielddoesn’tsay no, it’s very different, it’s falsifying evidence and contempt of court andprobablyawholebunchofother things, too.Neitherdoessheaska follow-up

question.Shejust leavesLucysittingthere,stewing,whileshewritesherselfalengthynote.

EventuallyshelooksatAnita.“UnlessyouhavequestionsforMrs.Lambertaboutthisspecificissue,Ms.Chowdry,Isuggestwemoveon.”

—IT MUST HAVE BEEN one of the nannies, I realize. Tania, most likely. Once

Michaelahadwarnedheraboutthenannycam,Taniamusthavefoundawaytoaccess the footage. Perhaps initially it was just to make sure there were noincriminating shots of her drinking coffee or scrolling through Facebook. ButwhenshewasabruptlyfiredtomakewayforJill,shemusthavestartedlookingforsomethingthatwouldallowhertotakerevenge.

Forherownsake,Ihopeshe’ssafelybackinFrance.Thenextpartofthehearingisstrangelysubdued,asifnobodywantstostart

being bombastic when Lucy still looks as if she might burst into tears. TheLamberts’barristerhasclearlydecidedthatthebestthinghecandoistocarryonasifnothinghashappened.Andafterawhile,italmostseemstowork.EvenI findmyselfwondering ifwhatLucydid reallymakesmuchdifference.Afterall, trying towork out Theo’swishes from one hastily scribbled drawingwasalways going to be a nonsense. And all the other factors—my drinking, theaccusationsagainstPete,thefactTheowasthrownoutofnurseryonourwatch—arestillthere.

ButIcan’thelpfeelingthat,whilethingslookedcompletelyhopelessbefore,nowwehaveachance.

98MADDIE

NEXT,MILESISCROSS-EXAMINEDbyAnita.She’sgood,butshemakeslittleheadway.He’sunflappableandcourteous—theverymodelofacooperativewitness.Andit’shardtoarguewiththemainthrustofhisargument—thatheandLucyloveTheo,andashisnaturalparents,believe they’rebestplaced tomakedecisionsabouthisfuture.Whatlovingparentwouldn’twantthesame?

Thenit’sPete’sturn.TheLamberts’barristerdivesstraightin.“CanyoutelluswhyyoubecameTheo’sfull-timecarer?”

“BecauseIenjoyitandIthinkI’mgoodatit,”Peterepliesevenly.“Itwasn’tbecauseyoulostyourjob?”Pete’seyeswidenslightly,buthisvoicestayscalm.“No.”“Butyouweremaderedundantsoonafterhewasborn?Andthenfailed to

findanotherposition?”Petehesitatesfractionally.“Iwentfreelance.”“Andhowmanyfreelancecommissionswouldyousayyougeteachyear?”“Halfadozen?”Petemutters.“According to theNationalUnionof Journalists’database, lastyear itwas

three.”Thebarristerpauses for that to sink in.“Realistically,could the twoofyouaffordforMs.Wilsontogiveupherjob?”

“Probablynot,”Peteadmits.“So becomingTheo’s full-time carerwas, ultimately, a decision forced on

youbyeconomicnecessity?”Petetakesadeepbreath.“ItwasachoiceIwantedtomake,whichalsomade

economicsense.I’mawareI’mveryprivilegedtobedoingsomethingIenjoysomuch.”

“And yet,” the barrister says smoothly, “your privilege comes at a cost,doesn’tit—itdeprivesTheoofafull-timemother.”

“Your question seems to imply that a full-time father is inherently lesscompetentthanafull-timemother,”Petesayspatiently.“Idon’tthinkthat’sthecase.Ithinkitdependsontheindividual.”

Goodanswer,Ithink.The barrister smiles pleasantly. “What is your current ranking on the

videogameCallofDuty?”Peteblinks.“I’mnotsure.”“Letmerefreshyourmemory.Youarecurrentlyrankednumbertwenty-four

thousand, two hundred and forty-seven of all players in theUK.Do you play

often,tohaveachievedsuchahighposition?”Petesighs.“Notoften,no.IachievedthatrankingbeforeTheocamealong.

WhenIhadafull-timejob,incidentally.”Thebarristerstilllooksskeptical.“Letmereadaquestionyoupostedonthe

internet forumDadStuff, about the correct temperature at which to sterilize ababy’s bottle.” He reads out the post, then pauses. “That’s fairly basicinformationforafull-timeparent,surely?”

“ItwassomethingIdidn’tknow.SoImadesureIfoundout.”Petegrimaces.“Look,noparentgetseverythingrighttobeginwith.Babiesdon’tcomewithamanual.Butthesedays,theydocomewiththeinternet.AndratherthanassumeIknowalltheanswers,Ithinkit’sbettertocheck.”

He’swinningthisexchange,Ithink.Againstaprofessionalinquisitor,Pete’sactuallyholdinghisown.Ican’thelpfeelingproudofhim.

The barrister says, “And speaking of the internet, do you look atpornography?”

Peteflinches.Butheknowsthere’snopointdenyingsomethingthat’snowamatterofrecord.“Ihave,yes,”hesaysstiffly.

“Andisthatsomethingthefull-timeparentofasmallchildshoulddo?”“I’mnotproudofit.AndIwouldn’teverdoitwhenTheowasinthehouse.”“But the fact youmight be tempted to rather defeats your argument that a

motherandafatherareinterchangeable,doesn’tit?”Peteopenshismouthtoanswer,butforamomenthecan’tfindthewords.

“Itdoesn’tmakemeabadparent,”hesaysatlast.“What about child pornography?Would thatmake you a bad parent?” the

barristerasksinthesamereasonabletone.Petesaysicily,“IfIlookedatchildporn,itwouldmakemeamonster.ButI

don’t.”“But youhave visitedwebsites that feature sexualized images of children.

Andwereinterviewedundercautionbythepoliceasaresult,isn’tthatright?”Peteexplainsthattheimagewasanadvertisementonanadultsite, that the

policewerejusttryingtoputpressureonhimandnochargeswereeverbrought.But his explanation sounds tortuous and self-justifying even to me. I steal aglanceatthejudge,tryingtogaugeherreaction.Butshe’simpossibletoread.

“Thankyou,”thebarristersays,andjustlikethat,it’sover.Nextit’smyturn.I’mreadyforarepeatofthesameattackonourparenting

roles,butthebarristermustthinkhe’salreadymadethatpoint,orperhapshe’stooclever tohaveagoatmeforbeingaworkingmother in frontofa femalejudge.

“HowlonghaveyouknownMr.Riley?”heasks.

“Fouryears.”“Wouldyousayyoursisastablerelationship?”ForamomentIjuststareathim,outragedbytheimplication.ThenIrecover.

“Weownahousetogether.Wehadachildtogether.I leftAustraliatobewithhim.Ofcourseit’sastablerelationship.”

“Butyou’renotactuallymarried,areyou?”“Whatdoesthathavetodowithanything?It’sapersonalchoice.”“Is it a choice you made because you don’t want to commit to this

relationshipforthelongterm?”thebarristerasksmildly.Ilookatthejudge,furious.Surelyhecan’tbeallowedtoaskquestionslike

these?Butsheonlylooksback,waitingformyanswer.Itakeabreath.“No,it’sbecause I find the ideaofmarriageoutdated andpatriarchal.”Mymotives areactually far more complex than that, but I’m certainly not going to startunpackingthemhereandnow.

“HasPeteeverproposedmarriagetoyou?”thebarristerasks.“No,but…”Ipause.“Heknowsmyviews,sohewouldn’t.”“Orisitthathedoesn’twanttocommittoyou?”Iblink.Strangelyenough, it’s aquestion I’veneveractuallyaskedmyself.

I’vealwaystakenPete,andhiscommitmenttome,forgranted.“Beingmarriedwouldn’tmakeusbetterparents,”Isayatlast.“Ormakeourrelationshipmorestable.”

“HaveyouandPetebeentoarelationshipcounselorinthelasttwoyears?”thebarristerinquirespleasantly.

Igapeathim.Howthehelldoesheknowaboutthat?ThenIrealize.Milesmusthavehadhisprivateinvestigatornosingaround,diggingupdirt.“Wehave,yes,”Isaywearily.

“Whywasthat?”“Theo’s premature birthwas hard on us.Wewere never in any danger of

separating,ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”“Yet the fact is, if you did separate, Pete couldn’t afford to go on being

Theo’scarer,couldhe?”“We’veneverdonethesums,becauseit’snotgoingtohappen.”The barrister looks down at his notes. “You travel a lot for work, is that

correct?”“Imaketelevisioncommercials.Mostlythey’refilmedinthiscountry.Four

orfivetimesayear,Ihavetogoabroad.Butneverformorethanafewdays.”“Haveyouhadaffairsduringthetimeyou’vebeenwithPete?”For amoment there’s a ringing inmy ears and the room seems to shrink.

“No.”

“So you’ve never slept with members of the film crew when you wereaway?”

Ifreeze.WhatshouldIsay?Doeshealreadyknowtheanswer?Ishetryingtotrapmeinalie?Mymind’swhirringbutIcan’tdecidewhichistheleastbadoption.

Anita says, “Madam, my client has already denied having affairs, so thequestionisredundant.Andevenifshehad,itwouldn’tberelevanttotheissueofwhetherornotshe’sagoodmothertoTheo.”

“Mypoint is that the respondents’ domestic situation is inherently far lessstablethantheapplicants’is,madam,”theLamberts’barristersaysmeekly.

“Andyouhavemadeit,”thejudgesayswryly.“Shallwemoveon?”After that, theexpectedattackonmydrinking seems tamebycomparison.

WhenIeventuallygobacktomychair,mycheeksareburning.Petepassesmeanote.Thatwasoutrageous.Welldone.

—THERE’S A LONG BACK-AND-FORTHbetween the lawyersabout theEuropeanHuman

Rights Act and whether the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child—“Achildhastherighttobecaredforbyhisorherparents”—applieshere.It’savitalpoint,butI’mhardlylistening.Thebarrister’squestionisstillspinningaroundinmyhead.Haveyouhadaffairs?Howmuchdotheyactuallyknow?

Andmost important,amInowgoing tohave to tellPeteaboutmyslipupsbeforeMilesdoes?

Eventuallyalltheotherevidenceisheard,andPetedeliversafinalstatementonbehalfofusboth.Normally,Anitawoulddothis,butwe’vedecidedthatinthiscaseitshouldbePete.He’sTheo’sprimarycarer.He’stheonewhoneedstoimpressthejudge.

Hestartsbydescribinghowitfelt,thatdaywhenMilesknockedonthedoorand blew our whole world apart with the news Theo wasn’t our son. Hedescribes the efforts to compromise, the gradual realization thatMiles wouldstopatnothing togetTheoback. Incalm,measured languagehedescribes thepainofhavingTheotakenawayfromus,andhastostopbecausehe’sintears.He describes how first the parenting classes, and then Harvey Taylor’s visit,havemade him a better father to Theo—“So, if you do direct that he shouldcontinue to live with us, this whole horrible experience will still have beenworthwhile.BecauseitwillhavebeengoodforTheo.Andintheend,that’sallthatmatters.”Andfinally,helooksdirectlyatLucy.“Thatofferstillstands,bytheway.Despitewhatyousaidearlier,despiteeverythingthat’shappened.We’dbehappytosharethembothbetweenus.Wewouldalwayshavebeenhappyto

dothat.”“Thank you,” the judge says. “Unless anyone has any further points they

wish to raise, I’m going to ask you all to step outwhile I considerwhat I’veheard.”

99MADDIE

“THANKYOUFORYOURpatience.Iamnowreadytogivemyjudgment.”Wewaitedinthecrowdedfoyerforalmosttwohours—twoagonizinghours

thatseemed to lastaneternity.As theendof thedayneared,othercaseswerereachingtheirconclusion,too—eachcourtroomspillingoutintothefoyerintwodistinctgroups,theelatedandthedespairing.Parentsledawayweepingbytheirlawyers,orpunchingtheairindisinhibiteddelight.

Eventuallytheushercalledusbackandwetookourplacesagain.Thisisit,Ithinkdisbelievingly.Thisisreallyit.Themomentseemsbothsurrealandoddlymundaneatthesametime.IrealizeI’veseensomanyoverwroughtTVdramasinwhich judges bang gavels and lawyers shout “Objection!” that to have thiscalm,businesslikeatmosphere,inwhichajudgeissimplygoingtoannounceherdecisionasifshe’sthechairpersonatanunder-attendedboardmeeting,feelsallwrong.

JudgeWakefield looks at each of us in turn. “Thank you for coming heretodayandexplainingwhatitisyouwantandwhy.Thankyou,too,forallowingyour evidence to be tested by the other side’s legal representatives. Youmayhavefoundsomeoftheirquestioningintrusive,butithasallowedmetoformafullerpictureoftheoptionsbeforethecourt.Asyouhaveheard,thereisastrongpresumption in UK law that children are best brought up within their naturalfamilies.However, thereisalsoadutytoplacetheinterestsof thechildaboveallelse,andthatmeansgivingdueconsiderationtosuchissuesascontinuityofcareandwhatimpactthedisruptionofexistingbondsmighthave.”Shegoesontotalkaboutsomethingcalledtheseven-pointwelfarechecklist,andsumsuptheevidence briefly on each point. It’s still impossible to tell which way she’sleaning.

Then she pauses. “The right of the child to be brought up by his or herparentsisanotherveryimportantlegalprinciple.Wehavehearddifferingviewstodayon how thatmight apply to this situation.Having considered themattercarefully,IamgoingtoacceptMs.Chowdry’sargumentthatthewordparent,inthiscontext, shouldapplynotonly to thechild’sbiologicalmotherand father,butalsototheindividualswhomthechildregardsashisparents,andtowhomheisbondedbyamillionsmalldailyactsofparenting—inshort,bythebondsoflove.WehaveheardevidencefromMr.TaylortotheeffectthatTheowouldbebetterequippedthanmosttwo-year-oldsaretobreakthosebonds.Butwehavealsoheardthathemayfinditharderthanotherchildrentoregrowthosebonds

within a new family. For that reason, I believe both families have a roughlyequalpotentialtoprovidehimwithasafeandnurturinghome.”

Againshepauses.“Asyoumayknow,thefamilycourtsoperateonwhatiscalled the no order principle. That is, I have to be certain that whatever newarrangements I directwill be better for the child than those that already exist.Although the present case is a highly unusual one that undoubtedly calls forsomeclearresolutionbythecourt,theunderlyingprincipleremainsthesame.IfTheoweretomovefamilies,Ihavetobeabsolutelycertainthatthechangewillbeinhisbestinterests.Andsincetheevidenceisinfactfinelybalanced,Ihavedecidedthat thepreviousarrangementsshouldbeallowedtostand,andthatheshouldcontinue to livewith thepeopleheconsidered tobehisparents for thefirsttwoyearsofhislife.”

Ittakesamomentforherwordstosinkin,tounderstandthatTheo’scominghome.Unbelievably,we’vewon. Pete reaches formy hand and squeezes it. Isqueezeback.Butthejudgeisstilltalking.“WecannotreallyhaveasituationinwhichTheois livingwiththerespondentsbut theapplicantsstillhaveparentalresponsibility forhim. It follows therefore that thepreviousordergranting theapplicants parental responsibility should be revoked, and a new order issued,grantingparentalresponsibilitytotherespondents…”

There’s more—the Lamberts are being offered contact visits, access toTheo’sfutureparents’evenings.“Ihopeintimeyoumayallofyourediscoverthe original spirit of cooperation with which you first approached this verydifficultsituation.”Miles’sface,whichIcanonlyseeinprofile, isamask,hishandsomejawrigidwithbarelyrepressedfury.Clearly,he thoughthehadthissewnup.Heprobablydid,too,untilLynreceivedthatvideo.“ThishearinghasbeenaboutTheo,butIwouldliketoremindbothpartiesoftheimportanceofthenoorderprinciple,andhopeverymuchthatafuturehearingaboutDavidcanbeaverted.”The judge isbasically tellingus that,havingkeptTheo, there’s littlepoint pursuingourownclaim forDavid, I realize.Everything’sgoingback tothewayitwas,asifJudgeWakefieldissomekindofwizardwhocanjustwaveamagic wand and undo the last fourmonths’ heartbreak.My gazemoves toLucy,who’swipingaway tearsof relief.She lovesDavid,ofcourseshedoes,andshemustquietlyhavebeenasterrifiedofhavinghimtakenawayfromherasPeteandIwereoflosingTheo.PerhapsitwaswrongofustotrytogetDavid,afterall.ButthepulltorescuemybiologicaloffspringfromMileshadbeensoverystrong.

And then it’sover.The judgeclicks somethingonhercomputerandnods.Thelawyersstandup,followedbytherestofus.We’vewon,Ithink.We’vewon.IfeelPete’sarmsreachforme,pullingmeintoahug.“We’vewon,”hesays.I

can feelhisbodyshakingwith reliefasheweeps intomyshoulder.“OhGod.Theo.We’vewon.”

“Comeon,”Isay.“Let’sgoandgetourboy.”

100MADDIE

WEBOTHGOTOpickhimupfromtheLamberts’.WhenJillopensthefrontdoorhe’sstandingnexttoher,readyinhiscoatandshoes,hisovernightbagbesidehim.

“Ouff!”he sayswhenPete sweepshim intoabearhug, liftinghimoff thegroundandswinginghimaroundandaround.“Stopdoingthat!”

Hehasnoidea,ofcourse.Noideawhywe’rebothlaughingandcryingandsqueezinghimlikecrazypeople.

“Comeon,Theo,” I say at last, disentanglingmyself. “I feel an ice creamabouttohappen.”

Wewalkdownthesteps.AtthebottomTheolooksback,thenwaves.“ByeMoles!Seeyoutomorrow!”

Welookaround.Milesisstandingattheopendoor,watchingus.There’snoexpressiononhisface,noneatall.“We’lltalkaboutthatinthecar,Theo,”Isayfirmly,takinghishand.

Petesayssuddenly,“I’mgoingtosaysomething.Afterall,we’vegottogivethemaccess.Likethejudgesaid,weshouldtrytoputthingsbackonafriendlyfooting.”

“Pete,don’t,”Isay,buthe’salreadygone.Seeing him approach, Miles comes forward. Pete puts out his hand and

speaks—I’m too far away to catch all thewords, but I think it’s, “You’vegotDavidandwe’vegotTheo.It’sanhonorabledraw,yes?Solet’sputthisbehindus.Fortheirsake.”IseeMilestakePete’shandandleaninclose,thatoddwayhehasofspeakingtosomeone’searratherthantheirface.HekeepsatightholdofPete’shandandIcantellhe’scrushingit,squeezingitwithallhisforce.ButI’mprettysureit’swhathe’ssaying,notthepressureofhishand,that’scausingPete’sfacetoturnwhite.

“Whatdidhesay?”IaskwhenPetereturns.Hedoesn’tmeetmygaze.“Hesaidcongratulations.”Petegivesaquick,tightsmile.“Hesaidthebest

manandwomanwon.”

101Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit53:EmailfromHarveyTaylortoPeterRiley,retrievedfromPeter

Riley’siPhone.DearPete,Thankyouforyouremail,andthelinktothesadnewsaboutJudgeWakefield.Asithappens,my

bikeisofftheroadforrepairs,butIwillinanycasetakenoteofyouradvice.Manycongratulationsonwinningyourcase. If I canbeof anyhelp in the future,pleasedon’t

hesitatetogetintouch.Kindregards,HarveyTaylorDForenPsy,MBPsSRegisteredPsychologisthttps://www.lawgazette.com/obituary/tributes-pour-in-for-family-judge-Marion-Wakefield

102PETE

ASTHEDAYSANDweekswentbywithnowordfromMiles,weslowlyallowedourselvestorelax.Whichisn’ttosayweweren’tvigilant.Ididn’tusemybike,for one thing. Cycling in London was dangerous enough already, withoutworrying that someonemight drive up behindme and nudgemy back wheelwiththeirbumper.

Theowasstillon thewaiting list for theothernursery,butwemanaged toget him a temporary placewith a childminder a few streets away. Itwasn’t along-term solution—the childminder,Rosie, couldn’t give him any one-to-onehelpforhisCU—butatleastitwasawayfromtheLamberts.

Butsomehowitallfeltlikethelullbeforethestorm.WhatMileshadsaidtomewhenwe’dcollectedTheoafterthehearing—thethingshe’dhissedintomyear about Maddie—had been childish and pathetic, but it also suggested hewasn’tgoingtoacceptthecourt’sjudgmentandmoveon.NotthatIbelievedawordofwhathe’dsaid,ofcourse. I rememberedhow, theveryfirst timehe’dcome toourhouse,he’d letme thinkTheowas the resultofanaffairbetweenhim andMaddie. That had been entirely deliberate, I later realized—his firstattempt at playing with me, seeing how I’d react. It had been Don Maguirewho’d coughed and explained what had really happened. Miles just couldn’tresistseeingwhatmadepeoplesquirm.

Once,IthoughtIsawhiminhiscarasIwastakingTheotoRosie’s.Sinceher housewas quite close,Theowas on his scooter—although I alwaysmadesurehestoppedandwaitedformebeforecrossinganyroads.Onthisoccasionhe’dgottenalittlebitahead,buthewassafelyonthepavementandtherewereno cars around, so Iwasn’t tooworried.Anold ladywas pushing a shoppingbasket on wheels, very slowly. Without stopping, Theo veered around her,wobblingoffthepavementandontotheroad.Justatthatmoment,ablackBMWfour-wheel-drivepulledoutfromaparkingspaceandspedupthestreettowardus.“Theo!”Iscreamed.“Getbackonthepavement!”Theostoppeddead,andinsteadofdoingasItoldhim,lookedoverhisshoulder,perplexedbytheterrorinmyvoice.Hewaswearing his helmet, but against the bulk of theBMW itwouldbeuseless.ThentheBMWacceleratedpastus,andasthedriveradjustedhermirror I saw itwas a dark-hairedwomanwearing sunglasses, just anotherentitled northLondonmother driving her SUV too fast after dropping off herkids,inahurrytogettothegym.

Myheartpounding,IcaughtupwithTheo.“Don’tevergooffthepavement

again,”Isnapped.“OrI’mconfiscatingyourscooter.”Theoonly saggedhis shoulders comically, as if to say Iwas overreacting.

Which,fromhisperspective,ofcourseIwas.I’d read how some parents react to traumatic events by catastrophizing—

becominghyper-fearfulandprotective,seeingimaginarydisastersaroundeverycorner. Over time, their children soak up those fears, becoming insecure andtimid.Icouldn’tdothattoTheo,whosesunnyconfidencewasoneofhismostendearingcharacteristics.Imustn’t.

Iresolvedthat,whateverterrorsstilllurkedinmyownmind,Iwasn’tgoingtoletTheobeawareofthem.Weweregoingtoliveanormallife.

103PETE

SOWHENILOSThiminSainsbury’s,atfirstItriednottooverreact.Wegotmostofthebigshoppingdelivered,butonceaweekTheoandIsat

down,plannedourmealsforthenextsevendays,thenwenttothesupermarkettobuywhatwe’dneed.Helovedit,asdidI.Itwasfreeentertainmentthatgothimoutofthehouseandtaughthimtherudimentsofhealthyeatingatthesametime. I even tried to build in some educational games, such as seeing howquicklyhecouldfind,say,atinofbakedbeansandbringitbacktothetrolley,eventhoughI’dprobablyhavetogoandswapthetinhe’djustgrabbedwiththecorrectreduced-sugar-and-saltversionwhilehewasdoinghisnexterrand.

“Thanks,Theo,”Isaidasheproudlyhandedmeacartonofmilk.“Next ismelon.Weneedoneofthesmallyellowones,okay?”

Henoddedandspedoff.Iusedthebreathingspacetoloadsomefrozenstuffintothetrolley.Fishfingers,madewithpollacknotcod.Peas,noaddedsugar.Prawns,sustainablysourced.Orwerethey?That’swhatitsaidinbiglettersonthe front of the packet, but that couldmean anything.When I checkedon theback,therewasnoMSCcertification.

IsuddenlyrealizedI’dbeenabletoreadthewholeofthebackofapacketofprawnsundisturbed.Theonevertookthatlongfindingsomething.Ilookedoverat the fruit section, concernedbutnot alarmed.Perhapshe’dgottendistracted.Orstartedtalkingtooneofthestaff.

The store was a sensibly sized one, not one of those vast behemoths thatstock everything from saucepans to tracksuits. The fruit section was literallysecondsaway,infullviewofwhereIwasstandingwiththetrolley.

AndTheowasn’tthere.I stared at the spacewhere he should be, uncomprehending.That time I’d

lost him before on a shopping trip flashed into my mind—the horror of notknowingwhereyourchildis,evenforaminute.

Beyondthefruitsectionwerethedoorstothecarpark.Automaticdoors,thatmight temptingly open and close if you played grandmother’s footsteps withthem.ButifTheowasdoingthat,I’dseehim.

Wouldn’tI?Ihadasuddenvisionofhimdroppingamelonontothefloor.Themelonrollingtowardthedoor.Theofollowingit…

And thenwhat?Going into thecarpark?Whyonearthwouldhedo that?But cars drove around the car park stupidly fast sometimes, and a little boyfocusingonarollingmelonmightnotseeonecoming—

Stay calm, I toldmyself. He’d probably just decided to come back to thetrolley the long way around, past the checkouts, hoping to grab somethinginteresting from the shelves on theway. It was still less than twenty secondssinceI’drealizedhewasmissing,andnomorethanaminutesinceI’dlastseenhim.ButIcouldfeelthepanicstartingtobuildinmychest.Ipushedthetrolleyrapidlyalong therowofcheckouts,peeringdowneachaisle.Not there,either.Butcouldhenowbebehindme,giventhatI’dmovedthetrolleyfromwherehewas expecting it to be? I turned and headed back the other way. Someoneblocked me in as they stopped to reach for a packet of cereal. Cursing, IabandonedmytrolleysoIcouldmovemorequickly.

“Theo!” I called at the top of my lungs, all British reserve abandoned.“Theo!”

Stillnothing.FranticallyIrantothecustomerservicedesk,wheretheydidthePAannouncements.Buttherewasnoonearound.

“Excuseme,”Isaid,buttingintothequeueforthenearesttillandspeakingto theyouthoperating it. “Ineed tomakeanannouncement. I’ve lostmyson.He’stwoandahalf.Wearingaredhoodieandjeans.”

Theyoungmandidn’tstopscanninghiscustomer’sshopping.“Idunnohowtouseit.”

“OhforGod’ssake.I’lldoitmyself.”I ran behind the desk, searching for the microphone, just as the woman

whoseshoppingwasbeingscannedlookedupandcalled,“Aredhoodie,didyousay?”

“Yes.Haveyouseenhim?”She pointed. “A little boy in a hoodie justwent outwith aman in a suit.

Theylookedliketheykneweachother.Ithinktheywereholdinghands.”Ilookedagainatthedoors.Inthemagazineracksbytheentrance,someone

hadplacedasmallyellowmelon.

—IRANOUTSIDE,STILLshoutingTheo’sname.Iknewitwasprobablyhopeless,but

Ipelteddowntherowsofparkedcarsanyway,yellingandlookingbetweeneachone.

ThenIcaughtsightofablackBMWfour-wheel-drivepullingoutofaspaceinthefarcorner.Iturnedandranstraighttowardtheexit.PerhapsifIwasfastenough,I’dbeabletocutthemoff.Perhapshe’dstop.Perhapsanything.

I was still twenty yards off when the car reached the exit. As he passed,Milesturnedandlookedatme,hisfaceexpressionless.Fromtheback,carefullystrappedintoaboosterseat,Theowavedcheerfully.

104PETE

I WAS TERRIFIED, OBVIOUSLY.But there was also a part ofme that was thinking,Right,you’vedoneitnow.BecausenowIcouldtellthepolicethatTheohadjustbeenabductedindirectdefianceofacourtorder.NowitwouldbeMiles’sturnto explain himself to social workers and detectives and lawyers. And in alllikelihood,toajudgeaswell.

Finally,he’dgonetoofar.Ihadrightonmyside,andIwasgoingtomakesurethefullmightofthelawcamecrashingdownonhim.

Ipulledoutmyphone.ThenIhesitated.IfIcalledthepolicestraightaway,they’dtellmetowaitwhereIwasuntiltheycouldgetsomeoneouttome.Oncethey realized it related to an existing custody case, theymight even decide itwasn’turgent.AndmypriorityhadtobemakingsureTheowassafe.

I’d call them from outside the Lamberts’ house, I decided. That way thepolicewouldshowuprightonMiles’sdoorstep.

IrantomycaranddrovetoHighgate,breakingthespeedlimitalltheway.IgottotheLamberts’house,buttheBMWwasn’toutside.ForamomentI

thoughtI’dsimplybeatenhimtoit.ButthenIrealizedthatwasunlikely.MilesmusthavetakenTheosomewhereelse.

Ashiverrandownmyspine.Mileslovedhisson—adoredhim.SurelyTheocouldn’tactuallybeindanger?

Istabbedtheentrybuzzer,thenimpatientlyranupthestepstothefrontdoor.It seemed to takeanage foranyone tocome.When thedoor finallyopened, Isawwhy:Lucywasoncrutches.Onefootwasbandaged.

Itwasn’thardtoguesswhathadhappened.Milesmusthaveblamedherfortheirdefeatincourt.Butrightatthatmoment,Ihadlittlesympathyforher.

“Oh,Pete,”Lucybegan.“Howlovely—”Icutacrossher.“Where’sMiles?”“Miles?”Shestaredatme,confused.“He’satwork.”“He’sgotTheo.In thecar.”Igesturedat theemptydriveway.“Hedoesn’t

usuallytakethecartowork,doeshe?Think,Lucy.Wherecouldhehavetakenhim?”

Shestilllookedblank.“Idon’tknow.”Imusthaveclenchedmyhandswith impatience,because she flinchedand

saidquickly,“TheysometimesgototheHeath.Totheboatingpond.Theolovestheponds.Andtherugbypitches,ofcourse.”

“Thankyou.”Irantomycarandstartedit.JustasIwasabouttodriveoff,

my phone pinged. I looked down at the screen and saw the name. MILESLAMBERT.

Andamessage.Buttheotheronesaid,Letitbeneitherminenorthine,butdivideit.

105PETE

IRECOGNIZEDITINSTANTLY,ofcourse.ItwasfromtheOldTestament.Thewomanwhosaidshe’drathergoalongwithSolomon’sjudgment,andseethedisputedchildkilled,thangiveupherclaimtoit.

Thepolicewouldneverunderstandwhatitmeant,notwithoutknowingthewholebackground.ButIdid.Itwasadeaththreat.Perhapsnotevenathreat—thismightbeMiles’swayoftellingmewhathe’dalreadydone.

IfeltmybonesturntoicywaterattherealizationthatTheocouldbedyingatthatverymoment.

Idon’tknowhowIdrovetothecarparkbesidetheHeath.FromthereyoucouldseehowHighgategotitsname.Belowme,allofLondonwasspreadoutinonehuge,overwhelmingvista,fromCanaryWharfintheeasttoPaddingtoninthewest,withSt.Paul’sandtheShardinthemiddle.Itwasaviewthathadfeatured in at least a dozen sappy romantic comedies, and I was desperatelyscouringitforjustonething.

Atinypersoninjeansandaredhoodie.Perhapswithatallmaninawell-cutsuitbyhisside.

Therewasnothing.Nooneontherugbypitches.Andnooneattheboatingpond.Justafewdogwalkersandjoggers,bravingablusterywind.

Then I spotted a black BMW in the car park, right at the end of a row.Empty,butitprovedtheywerehere.

Think,Pete.Lucy said, “Theo loves theponds.”Ponds, plural.ThereweremorethanhalfadozenofthemonthissideofHampsteadHeath,followingthecourseofsomeancientriver.

Run,Pete. I set off at a fast pace, but theHeathwas vast and Iwas soonagonizinglyshortofbreath.At themen’sswimmingpondIdrewablank.Theduck pond and the women’s pond, ditto. Then came a succession of smallerponds whose names I didn’t know, each one ringed with trees, their surfacesgreenandshinywithduckweed.

Andthen,inthesmallestpond,rightinthemiddle,sosmallandstillIonlyjustglimpseditthroughthetrees,Isawasplashofred.

Achild’shoodie.Ihurtledthroughthesoggy,squelchingmudtowardit.ItwasTheo.Hewasfloatingfacedowninthewater.Thehoodwaspulledup

over his head, his legs sunk under themat of green duckweed. I ran into thewater,almosttrippingasthemudgrippedmycalves,slowingmefurtherevenas

Idesperatelytriedtoreachhim.IknewinfantCPR—we’dbeentrainedinitattheNICU.Iftherewasachance,anychanceatall,ofpummelingthewaterandweedoutofhislungsandbreathinglifebackintohim,Icoulddoit.Buteverysecondwouldbevital.

Pleasedon’tlethimbedead.Anything,anythingbutthat.ButinmyheartIknewitwasuseless.Hewasmotionless,hisheadbobbing

onlyfromtheripplescausedbymecrashingtowardhim,makingtheduckweedundulateandbreakup.He’dclearlybeenthereforsometime.

Underthefluorescentgreenweedthewaterwasblackandnoxious,mylegssinking deeper into the silty mud with every yard. I felt breathless, my earsringingasifIwasabouttopassout,lacticacidburninginmymuscles,myheartthuddinginmychest. Iwasup tomythighs, thenmywaist, thenat last Iwascloseenoughtoreachoutandfliphimover—

Itwasarugbyball.Insidetheredhood,arugbyballhadbeenplacedwhereTheo’sheadwouldbe.Astick,jammedinwithit,hadkepttherestofthehoodiefromsinking.Thegreenweed,obscuringwherehislegswouldbe,haddonetherest.

Istoodthere,gulpingair,amixtureofreliefandfearcoursingthroughme.Reliefitwasn’tTheo.Andfear,thatMilesstillhadhim.

“Iwantedyoutoknow.”Iswungaround.Mileswasstandingtwentyfeetawayinthetrees,watching

me.Hisfacewasblank,histonematter-of-fact.OfTheo,therewasstillnosign.I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move, in fact, the mud gripping my burning

calveslikeshackles.“Toknowwhat it feels like to loseyour son,”Milescontinued.“What it’s

beenlikeforme,theselastweeks.Whatit’llbelikeforyou,too,whenhedies.”Theo’salive.Ifocusedonthat,managedtopant,“Whereishe?Whathave

youdonewithhim?”“Anddiehewill,”MileswentonasifIhadn’tspoken.“Nexttime,it’llbe

for real, Pete.Gone forever.No third chances. So that’s the deal I’mofferingyou.”

“Whatdeal?Whatareyoutalkingabout?”“RememberhowtheBiblestorygoes?JustbeforethebitItextedyou?The

realmother says to Solomon, ‘Give her the living child, instead of killing it.’She’dratherhersonwashandedtoherdeadliestrival,thewomanshe’ddraggedthrough the courts for justice, than see him die. That’s real parenthood, Pete.Puttingyourowndesiressecond.Sacrificingeverythingtokeepyourchildsafe.Evenyourownhappiness.”

Helookedatme,considering.“Butareyoureallythatperson,Pete?Imean,youappeartobe.Youloveplayingthepart,that’sforsure.Dotingdad,decentbloke. Unselfish. Principled. Loving. But how genuine is all that, I wonder?Couldyoureallybeasself-sacrificingasthatmotherintheBible?Youshouldthankme,Pete.I’mgivingyouachancetoproveyoucould.”

“You’remad,”Isaiddisbelievingly.“Completelymad,ifyouthinkI’deveragreetothat.”

Milesfoldedhisarms.“Givehimupvoluntarily,orhedies.Don’tdoubtme,Pete.Don’tthinkIcouldn’tdoit.”

“Oh, I know what you’re capable of,” I said harshly. “I spoke to MurdoMcAllister.”

ForamomentafrowntouchedMiles’seyes,thenclearedagain.“Well,then.YouknowImeanit.Afterall,lookatthisfrommyperspective.WhatdoIhavetolose?”

“I’mgoingstraighttothepolice.”“Yes?Totellthemwhat—thatyouabandonedyourchildinasupermarket?

It was a good thing I was there, frankly, or anything might have happened.Luckily,Theosawafamiliaradultfaceandmadecontacttosayhewaslost.”

I stared at him. He was completely serious, I saw. He really thought thiscrazyplanofhiswasgoingtowork.“AndDavid?Whatabouthim?”

“David…” Miles considered. “The runt dies, too. Not on the same day,obviously,or inexactly thesameway.But ifyouforcemetokillmyson, I’llkillyours, too, forgoodmeasure.Oh, and soyoudon’tdelayany longer thannecessary,I’llmakehimsuffer in themeantime.Everytwenty-fourhoursuntilyoudecide,Pete,I’llmakesureDavidhasalittleepisode.”Heturned,andhisvoicechanged.“Theo,myman.Whatdidyoudecide, in theend? It’sa toughdecision,afterall.MagnumorSolero?”

Behindhim,Theowasapproaching,anicelollyineachhand.“Twisters,”hesaidhappily.“IchoseTwisters.Greenforyouandyellowforme.”Helookedatmecuriously.“Why’sDaddyinthewater?”

“He went to get your rugby ball back,”Miles said, taking the lolly Theooffered him. “Silly Pete couldn’t catch it, and now he’s all covered in slime.That’sgoingtomakeyourcarabitstinkyonthewayhome,isn’tit?”

106PETE

“WHATAREWEGOINGtodo?”Maddiewhispered.Wewerelyinginthedarkness.Theowasasleep.Wehadn’tbeenabletotalk

about it before, not properly—I’d had to tell her everything Miles had saidpiecemeal,infranticwhisperedconversationsbetweenteaandbathandstory,soTheowouldn’toverhear.

“Ouronlyoption is thepolice,” I said. “Tell themwhat he’s threatened todo.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But do you think they’ll take it seriously? Our wordagainsthis?Inthewakeofacustodybattle,too?”

“Wecangetarestrainingorder.”“We’d have to get the police to prosecute him first.Besides, dowe really

thinkMilesLambertwouldsticktothetermsofarestrainingorder?Bythetimethelawcatchesupwithhim,itcouldbetoolate.”

“What,then?”Maddie said slowly, “I suppose the first question is, do we think he’s

bluffing?”InmymindIcouldpictureMilesreachingdowntotakethelollyfromTheo,

thecoldnessinhiseyeswhenhespoketome.Iexhaled.“No,Ithinkhereallymeansit.Ithinkhe’spreparedtokillTheoifhecan’thavehim.”Atthethoughtof that tinybreathingbodyjust tenfeetawaysuddenlybeingextinguished,mythroatcaught.“Theo.OhGod.Whatarewegoingtodo?”

“Pete…”shebegan,andIknewthatwhatshewasabouttosaywasserious.“Perhapsthetimeforplayingbytherulesisover.Perhapsweneedtofightdirty.ThewayMileshasalwaysfought.”

“If we only had some evidence,” I said doggedly. “Something we couldshowthepolicethatwouldprovehe’skilledbefore.”

“We’vealreadylookedforthat,”shesaidgently.“Wetalkedtoeveryonewecould. And no one had a smoking gun, did they? No one ever realized whatMileswaslikeuntilitwastoolate.”

“Yes.Andforwhateverreason,evenhiswifeseemsincapableofseeinghimforwhathereallyis.”Ishudderedinthedarkness.“WhenIsawhertoday,shewasoncrutches.AndwhenIhappenedtoclenchmyfists,sheflinched.”

“That’swhathappens,though,isn’tit?Annettesaidwomenlikethatsimplylose the confidence to leave their abuser.” SuddenlyMaddie gasped. “OhmyGod.I’vejustrealizedsomething.”

“Whatisit?”“IthinkweneedtotalktoLucy,”shesaidslowly.“Ithinkthere’ssomething

we’vebeenmissinginallthis.”

107Caseno.12675/PU78B65,Exhibit54:Messengercommunication(a)fromMadelynWilsontoTania

Lefebvre,and(b)fromTaniaLefebvretoMadelynWilson.Tania,it’sMaddieWilsonagain.IjustwanttothankyouforsendingthatvideototheCAFCASS

adviser—itmadeahugedifference.Canwetalkonthephone?I’msorryMaddie,whatvideo?AndwhoisCAFCASS?WecanspeakifyoulikebutIdon’tthinkI

canhelpyou.

108MADDIE

IT’S SURPRISINGLYHARD TOgetLucyonherown.Speaking toheratherhouse isout of the question, of course—there’s one camera that we know of, but I’mfairlysurethere’llbeothers.

Because they’renot really forcheckingon thenanny, I’ve realized.Ornotonlythat.

They’reforcheckingonher.To make sure she’s carrying out his instructions. Coaching Theo, for

example—thatalmostcertainlycamefromMiles.Butevenwhenhehasn’tgivenher a specific task to do, just knowing hemight bewatching—storing up hiscriticismsforhisreturneachevening—wouldbeenoughtoundermineanyone’sself-confidence.

He’sbeencontrollingherfromthedaytheymarried.I’msureofit.Andnowit’stimetoseeifI’mright.

SowewaitforLucytoleavethehouse,andeventuallyshedoes.She’sstillon crutches, but shemanages to get to the newsagent around the corner, andthat’swhereItapherontheshoulder.

Despitethecrutches,shejumps.“Oh!Maddie,”shesays,recovering.“AndPete,too.Hownicetoseeyou.Is

Theowithyou?”Ishakemyhead.“Withafriend.Canwegetacoffee?”“Acoffee?”sherepeatsanxiously.“I’mnotsurethat’sagoodidea.Notjust

atthemoment.Miles…”Hervoicetrailsoff.“Mileswon’tknow.Andweneedtotalk,”Isayfirmly.“There’sacaféright

nextdoor.”I lookherintheeye.“Yousee,weknowitwasyouwhosentthatfootagetotheCAFCASSadviser.”

—SHEDOESN’TADMITIT.Butshedoesallowherselftobetakentothecafé,wherewe

findanemptytableamongalltheyoungmummieswiththeirbuggiesandlattes.“IcontactedTania,”Itellher.“AtfirstIthoughtitmusthavebeenherwho

sent it. So thismorning Imessaged her. She toldme she’d had nothing to dowith it. I’d already had my suspicions, but that’s when everything fell intoplace.”

“Butwhywoulditbeme?”Lucy’shandhasgonetohercollartotugoutherpearls.“OfcourseIwouldn’tdoathinglikethat.Thatdaywashorribleforme,

absolutelyhorrible.MilessaidIwas luckynot tobechargedwithcontemptofcourt.”

“Butthatwasariskyouwerepreparedtotake,wasn’tit?”Ireachacrossthetableforherfreehand,butsheflinchesawayatthemovement.“Asforwhyyoudidit,that’ssimple.YoudidittoprotectTheo.Youdiditbecauseyouwantedtolose.”

—THERE’SALONGSILENCE.Lucysitsabsolutelystill,hereyeswide.“Youcan’tprove

that,”shewhispers.“I don’t need to,” I say gently. “Don’t you see—I’m not accusing you of

anythingexceptlovingyourson.Andwantinghimtogrowupinthebestplacepossible.With the best father.” I indicate Pete, sitting quietly beside us. “NotMiles. Everyone at this table knows what Miles is, Lucy. You wanted TheobroughtupbyPeteandme.Sohe’dbesafe.”

HersilencetellsmeI’mright.“Afterall,” Iadd,“it’snot thefirst time, is it?You’vedone itbefore.You

didittwoyearsago,whenyouswappedtheminthehospital.”

109MADDIE

SHECRIES THEN. BUT itseemstomethey’re tearsofrelief,at leastpartly.Reliefshehassomeonetosharethesecretwithatlast.

“YoumustthinkI’msostupid,”shesays,dryinghereyesonapapernapkinfromthejamjaronthetable.“NottohaverealizedbeforeImarriedhimthathehasa…thathecanbequitedemanding.But itwasallsoquick,yousee,andIwashead-over-heelsinlove.”

Shedescribes those early days to us, and it’s almost exactlywhatAnnettepredicted. The love-bombing that swept her off her feet—showering her withattention, with compliments, with charm. The proposal ofmarriage that camewithinweeks; thewedding that took placewithinmonths; the pregnancy thatstartedsoonafter.Theprivatematernityhospital,becausenothingwastoogoodfor their child. And then the shock of premature birth—going into labor attwenty-nineweeks,asshedidPilatesonemorning.

“Theobstetriciandiagnosedsomethingcalledcervicalincompetence.Itwasratherunfortunateitwascalledthat,actually.Becauseitmadeitclearthateventhedoctorsthoughtitwasmyfault.Imean,notdeliberately,nobodyaccusedmeofthat.Butitwasmybodythathadbeensouseless.Andtherewasabsolutelynothingthatcouldbedone—thebabywasonitsway,anditcouldn’tgobackin.AndMiles…”Shehesitates, then saysquietly, “I’ll never forget thatmoment.He tookmyhand andbent down so he couldwhisper inmy ear. I expect thenurses thought he was saying something encouraging, to help with thecontractions.Buthisvoice—well,he justwent still.That’swhat Icall them—Miles’sstillnesses.I’musedtothemnow,ofcourse,asmuchasanyonecanbe,butthatwasthefirsttime.Hesaid…”Sheblinksbacktearsandswallowshard.“Hesaid,‘Ifyou’vekilledmyson,IswearI’llkillyou.’ ”

She lets me put my hand over hers now. I squeeze reassuringly, but saynothing.

“IsupposeI’dstartedtorealizebythenanyway.Imean,he’dbeensodistantallthroughthepregnancy.Likehedidn’tneedtobotherwithmeanymore.Asifeverythingbeforehadbeenamassiveeffort,andnowthejobwasdonehecouldstop pretending. I mean, I’m sure he’d tried to love me, but when I didn’tmeasureup,hestartedtoignoremeinstead.”

Shefallssilent,remembering.“AndthebabywassenttotheNICU,”Isay.“Yes.” She glances at Pete. “Where almost the first thing I sawwas Pete,

cryingforhisbaby. I thought—well, that’snormal, isn’t it?That’swhata realfatherwould do. I suppose I enviedmy child the life that babywas going tohave.And thena fewminutes later thisgrumpynurse—Paula—marchedup tothemobileincubatorsandsaid,‘Whichone’sDavidLambert?Thisone?’AndI—Inodded,eventhoughshewaspointingto thewrongcot.Soshewheeleditaway,acrosstheward,andIfollowedher.Itwasamomentofmadness.Ididn’teven think itwould last, not to beginwith—I thought any second themix-upwouldbediscovered,andmylittlefantasywouldbeover.Butthen,whenPaulawasoffgettingsomething,Ilookeddownandsawapapertaginthecotaswell,lyingloose.SoIpocketedit.”

“And David became Theo,” I say softly. “Safely stowed inside anotherfamily.”

Shenods.“Howdidyouguessthat’swhathappened?”I hold her gaze. It’s important she understands this, that she doesn’t feel

entirelyalone.“BecauseIfelttheexactsamething.Notbackthen,intheNICU.ItwaswhenMilesfirstmadehismoveonTheoandDavid,andIdecidedwehadtofightforDavid,too.Itwascrazyonsomanylevels,butitwasn’tsomethingIthoughtthroughrationally.Ijustknew.”

I’m so rarely maternal, I hadn’t recognized it at first—not until JudgeWakefieldwasmaking itclear that,havingwonTheo, therewas littlepoint inpursuingourclaimforDavid. I’d lookedacrossatLucy,wipingaway tearsofrelief,andthought,Atleasthe’sloved.AndI’drealizedthatmydesiretofightfor David had been, at root, pure instinct—the overwhelming, urgent need toprotectmysonfromMiles.

Itwasonly lastnight, talking toPete in thedarkness, that I’d finallymadetheconnection. If I’dfelt thatway,whatwere thechancesTheo’smotherhad,too?

Lucy’s saying, “Of course, I didn’t know the one I’d taken was brain-damaged, not at first. It was several days before the doctors found that out.When they told us—well, I accepted it as my due. I was pleased for you,actually.Ithought,Imighthavedoneanunforgivablething,butatleasttheygota baby that’s healthy. And I could loveDavid, I knew I could. Perhaps evenmore than you might have. Because I had no one else, you see. Miles hadabsolutelynointerestineitherofus.ThechildwasafailureandIwasafailureandthatwasalltherewastoit.Imean,heputonagoodshowofbeingacaringfatherwhenitsuitedhim,butwhenwewerealone…”Shepauses.“Hecanbequitecutting,”shefinisheswithvagueunderstatement.

“Butyou’vestayedwithhim.”“Yes.”Shegrimaces.“YoumustthinkI’msopathetic.Iknowyou’dnever

havestoodforit.Butsomehowwemuddledalong.AndIhadDavid.Heneedssomuch…Idon’tthinkIcouldcopewithhimonmyown.AndMilesismuchbetteronceyou’veworkedouthownottomakehimangry.”

Besideme,Petetwitches.Iknowhe’sitchingtosaythatMileshadnorighttotreatherlikethatinthefirstplace,andthatitcertainlyshouldn’tbeherjobtoplacatehim,butnowisn’t themoment. Iputmyhandonhis leg,briefly, thenturnbacktoLucy.

“Lucy, there are several things aboutMiles I think you may not know. IsuspectyoudoknowthathewashavingsexwithMichaelabehindyourback.”Afteramoment,Lucynodsreluctantly.“Butwhatyouprobablydon’tknowisthathe’striedtokillpeople.Andinatleastonecase,wethinkhe’ssucceeded.”IlookatPete.“Tellher.”

Pete explains about the hit-and-runs. He lays it out calmly andunemotionally, as if it’s an article he’s pitching to a newspaper. When he’sfinished,Lucytakesadeepbreath.

“Hehasastorageunit.Ithinkhemayhaveasecondcarinit—anoldPassat.I found thekeysoncewhenIwas foldinghis trousers.Hewas furious—that’show I knew itwas something important. But I don’t think it’s licensed—I’veneverseenanypaperworkforit.”

“Doyouknowwherethestorageunitis?”Sheshakesherhead.“AndIdon’twantto.Idon’twantanythingtodowith

it.”Peteleansforwardandsaysgently,“I’mafraidyoualreadyaresomethingto

dowithit.Andthere’smore.Lucy,youneedtohearwhathe’sthreateningtodonext.ToTheo.Andwhathe’salreadydoingtoDavid.”

110PETE

ITWASJUSTANordinaryday.ItwasjustanordinarydayinWillesdenGreen,northLondon.Summerhad

cometothecity,butateightthirtyinthemorningthestreetswerestillrelativelycool as I took Theo on his scooter to the Leyland Avenue Nursery andPreschool. He’d settled in well. Harvey Taylor’s report had helped a lot, bysettingoutexactlywhatextrasupporthe’dneed.Itwasworking,too.Slowlybutsurely,hewasgettingthere.

Havingdroppedhimoff, Iwenthome, turnedonmy laptopand thecoffeemachine, then loggedontoDadStuff.Therewasa thread for thosewhosekidshad been diagnosed with CU. Music lessons helped, apparently, and simplebody-languagegames.Inanycase,itwasgoodtosharetheproblemwithothers,particularly those whose children were older and had been through this stagealready.

Thenthedoorbellrang,soIputdownmycappuccinoandwenttoanswerit.Therewere fiveof them.Twoinuniform, two inwhite forensicbodysuits,

andoneinplainclothes.Itwastheoneinplainclotheswhosaid,“PeterRiley,IamarrestingyouonsuspicionofthemurderofMilesLeopoldLambert.Youdonothavetosayanything,butifyoudonotmentionnowsomethingwhichyoumention later, a court might ask you why you did not mention it at the firstopportunity. I have here a warrant to search these premises and to seizeelectronicdevicesorotherevidencerelatingtothisinvestigation.”

“I’d better callmy solicitor,” I said, stepping back to let them in. “Beforeyoutakemyphone.”

111Caseno.12675/PU78B65:SUMMARYANDCONCLUSIONbyCatherineJackson,SeniorCrown

Prosecutor.

1. The investigation into the death of Miles Lambert (12675/PU78B65) has now beenongoingformorethantenmonths,and,intheopinionofthepolice, isunlikelytoyieldanyfurtherhigh-qualityevidencetoassisttheCrownProsecutionServiceinthedecisionthatmustnowbemaderegardingwhetherornottobringanycharges.

2. ThecircumstancesofMr.Lambert’sdeath—anapparenthit-and-runwhilereturninghomefrom a morning jog at approximately 6:50 A.M.—undoubtedly indicate a criminal act.However,thevehiclethatstruckhimhasnotbeenidentified,andnoneofthosequestionedbythepolicehaveadmittedanyinvolvement.

3. Suspicion was initially directed at Peter Riley and Madelyn Wilson, who prior to Mr.Lambert’sdeathhadbeeninvolvedinacourtcasewithhimoverthecustodyofhisbiologicalson,Theo.There isampledocumentation in thebundle showing that,despite initiallybeingquiteamicable,therelationshipbetweenthetwofamilieshadbecomeacrimonious.However,Mr.RileyandMs.Wilsonhadbeen successful in that case, and—thecommunicationswithTania Lefebvre and Harvey Taylor notwithstanding—might therefore be presumed to havelittlemotivetoharmMr.Lambertoncethejudgmenthadbeenhandeddown.

4. They were also able to give each other consistent alibis for the time at which Mr.Lambert’sdeathoccurred.Mr.Rileywasengagedinaheatedexchangeaboutheadliceontheinternet forumDadStuff from 7:02 to 7:38, making a total of eleven posts from his homenetwork. Ms. Wilson’s assertion that she was making Theo’s breakfast is consistent withphone tower data showing that hermobile remained in the house until she left forwork asusualataround8:18.

5. Police also questioned Mr. Lambert’s wife, Lucy, but again found nothing that wouldindicateamotive toharmherhusband.Footage fromtheLamberts’nannycamsplacesMrs.Lambert inherhousedrinkingcoffeeuntilafter thearrivalof theemergencyservicesat thescene at 7:14. She told investigating officers that she was unaware her husband lay dyingoutsidetheirfrontdooruntilshewasalertedbythepoliceatapproximately7:25.

6. Perhaps most important, forensic scrutiny of both the Lamberts’ BMW and theVolkswagenGolfownedbyPeterRileyyieldednosignsthateitherhadbeeninvolvedinanincidentofthisnature,andnothingofdirectrelevancewasfoundinthesearchhistoriesofanyoftheelectronicdevicesseizedandexaminedbypolice.

7. In short, there appears to be no reasonable chance of a conviction in thismatter, and Ithereforeconcludethatnofurtheractionbetaken.

CatherineJacksonSeniorCrownProsecutor

112MADDIE

TREVOSEHEADISJUSTasbeautifulasMilespromised—ahugehouserightonthebeach,withonlythecoastpathandthesanddunesbetweenusandthesea.Mileswas right, too, in his prediction thatTheowould love it.We’vebought himatinylittlewetsuittorunintotheseain,whilePete,alsolookingquitecuteinhismatching shortie, stands sentinel to protect him from the treacherous currents.EvenDavid,itturnsout,lovestositinarockpoolandsplash,somostmorningsLucyandIsitwithhim,ourfeetinthecoolwater,chatting.

WerarelytalkaboutMiles.SometimesLucyfeelstheneedtosaysomething,andthenIsimplylistenwhilewhatever’sonhermindspillsoutinarush.Then,justassuddenly,she’llstop,shakeherheadasifclearingitofthememory,andtalkaboutsomethingelse.

ButIcanseeherconfidencegrowingdaybyday.It’lltakeyears,Iimagine.But already she’s a different person than the nervous, jumpy creature we satoppositeinthecaféalmostayearago.

I suspect shewould never have helped us on her own account, though. IttookPetetellingherwhatMileswasthreateningtodotothechildrentodothat.Sheletoutacry,andherhandflewtohermouth.Someoftheothermothersinthecaféglancedatherbriefly,thenwentonwiththeirchatting.

Fromthatmoment,herresolveneverwavered.Itwasherwhotrackeddowntheaddressofthestorageunit,herwhostolethekeyfromMiles’sdesk.Whenwewent to look, itwas justasshe’dsaid—anoldVolkswagenstationwagon,thetaxmanyyearsoutofdate.Thereweredentsonthebonnet,andacrackinthewindscreenwhereitmighthavebeenhitbyaflying,tumblingskull.

But itwasme, not her or Pete,who drove it toHaydonGardens the nextmorning. Inmymind, therewasnever anyquestion about that.PetehadbeenshockedwhenIfirsttoldhimwhatIwasplanning.Thenhesaidthat,ifithadtobe done, it should be him. But I knew something like that would have eatenawayathimafterward.Forme,it’sdifferent.

It was when I was researchingMiles’s personality that I began to realizesomething about myself, something important. Psychopathy is a spectrum,Annette told me: These are traits most people have none of, a few have inabundance,butsomehaveascatteringof—justenoughtomakethemfearless,orlackinginsqueamishness,orclearheadedinacrisis.Justenoughtomakethemruthless, too. When I found the psychopath test online I filled it in out ofcuriosity,butevenbeforeIcalculatedmyscoreIknewI’dbeonaverydifferent

partofthatspectrumfromPete.IdroveupbehindMilesashegothomefromhisrun.Thesound,orperhaps

somesixth sense,musthavealertedhim,becausehehalf turnedandglimpsedmeoverhisshoulder.Foramoment,hekeptgoing—speededup,infact,asifhemeanttotrytooutrunme.Thenhe’dslowedandturned.Facingme.Staringmedown,asifhisgazealonemightbeenoughtomakemestop.

WhenIkeptoncoming,andhesawImeanttohithim,hegrinned.There’dbeennofearinhiseyes,onlyakindofalert,exultantexcitement.

Andanod.Whetherthatwasagestureofacceptance,orsomethingelse—ofrecognition;welcome,even—Icouldn’thavesaid.

—I ALMOSTDIDN’T TELLPete itwasdone.Ifeltnoguilt,noinnerneedtoconfess,

andinmanywaysthelessheknewthebetter.ButIhadtogohomeanyway,togetmyphone,andIdecidedthat,onbalance,heshouldknowourchildrenwerenowsafe.

Hesatveryquietly,hisheadbowed.Hewastorn,Iknew—bothhorrifiedatthethoughtI’dactuallydoneit,andrelievedournightmarewasover.

“Bytheway,”IaddedwhenI’dfinished.“I thinkyoushould tellmewhathappenedwithyouandBronaghnow.”

Hestaredatme.“Howdoyouknowanythingdid?”“Well, forone thingyouraccountdidn’tquite tallywithhers.Foranother,

youtoldastupidlie.YousaidyoucamebackfromYorkontheFridaymorning.Youwereright,ofcourse, thatIhadnoideawhatplanetIwasonbythen, letalonewhatdayof theweekitwas.But it’sall there inmymedicalnotes—thedateandtimeIwassectionedandadmitted.YougotbackontheSaturday.”

“OhGod.”Petetookadeepbreath.“It’sbeeneatingmeup,nottellingyou.Iwasgoing totellyou—IspentthewholetimeonthattrainworkingoutwhatIwas going to say. And then—well, obviously I couldn’t say anything when Ifoundyouinthestateyouwerein.Orwhenyoufirstcamebackfromhospital.SoIjustkindofleftitandthenitbecameharderandharder.”

So,hesitantly,he toldme.HowBronaghhaddroppedaheavyhintor twowhentheywerealldrinkingattheVuduLounge—“Thisismyfirstbignightoutinsixmonths,Pete.IfIdon’tfindaridetonight,IthinkI’llgocrazy.”Adance.Anarm—his—aroundawaist—hers,pullingherclose.And thenshe’d lookedhimintheeyeandsaidsoftly,“Youdoknowablowjobwouldn’tcount,PeteRiley,don’tyou?Whatwithyounotevenbeingmarried?”

Hestopped,shamefaced.“And?”Isaid.

“Butthatwasjustthepoint.Ofcourseitwouldcount.Andonceshe’dsaiditout loudlikethat…Isuddenlyrealizedwherethiswasheading.Howsqualid itwas.AndI—Iwasjustlettingithappen.SoIwentandpackedmybagandgotonthefirsttraintoLondon.”

Nowitwasmyturntostare.“Youmean—nothinghappened?”Hefrowned.“Thathappened.Itwashardlynothing.I’drealizedI’dalmost

risked everything—you, Theo, everything I care about—for some stupid,momentaryegoboost.And thenofcourse Icamebackandfoundyou ill, so Ifeltevenworse.Ithinkthat’swhyIthrewmyselfintolookingafterTheo—totrytomakeituptoyou.AndIrealizedthatIlovedit.Imean,Ilovedhimalready,butitwasmorethanthat.Ilovedcaringforhim.Beinghisdad.I’dfinallyfoundwhatIwasgoodat.”Helookedatme.“Canyouforgiveme?It’stheonlytimeI’veevencomeclosetodoingsomethinglikethat,Ipromise.”

“OfcourseIforgiveyou,”Isaid.“Iloveyou,stupid.”

—CAN PEOPLE LIKE ME love?Really love, the way Pete so clearly loves me and

Theo,fromtheverybottomofhisheart?Opinionsonthataredivided,Igather.Butthen,I’monlymarginallyonthespectrum—thewayIreactedtotheNICUconfirmsthat.AndwhenIlookatTheo,soakinguptheemotionalliteracyPete’steachinghim,Iknowthatchangeispossible.

Petewill bemy conscience. He’s already persuadedme to drop our legalactionagainsttheNHS.It’srightthatDavidreceiveapayouttohelpLucylookafterhim,heargued,particularlyasMileslefthernothingbutdebts.Butwe,andTheo,don’tneedit.Sowesettledforgettingourcostspaid,togetJustinWattsoff our backs, and with the police investigation effectively closed, NHSResolutionwasonlytooeagertoaccept.

As for my own slipups, I don’t see any need to confess those to Pete. IguessedthatwaswhatMileswastellinghim,ofcourse,whenwecollectedTheoafterthehearing.IwaswaitingforPetetosaysomethingtome,orforMilestofollowitupwithsomeevidence—awitnessstatementthroughtheletterbox,anaffidavitpingingintoPete’sinbox—butheneverdid.

Hehadnothing,Ieventuallyrealized.Perhapsitwasnevermuchmorethanashot in thedark in thefirstplace.PerhapsDonMaguirehadpickedupsomegossip,oneofthoserumorsthatfloataroundabusyofficelikemine.Ifhe’dhadmore, the Lamberts’ barrister would surely have found away to use it at thehearing.ThenI’dhavebeenaccusedofperjuryontopofeverythingelse,andthebalance between us and the Lamberts would have tilted yet again—and whoknowswhatthejudge’sdecisionwouldhavebeenthen?Sogradually,Irealized

mysecretwassafe,andwiththatgrewmyresolvenottotellPete.Itwouldonlyhurthimatatimewhenourrelationshipneededrebuilding,notundermining.

Sometimes I find myself wondering what, in the end, the difference isbetweenpretending tobenice, thewaypeople likeMilesand, Isuppose, Ido,andtryingtobenice,thewayPete,Lucy,and,itnowseems,manyotherpeopleaswell do. Perhaps, I think, it isn’t somuch aboutwhat you actually do, butwhy.ThoselikePetewhoseheartsarepure—thefundamentallydecent,honest,loyal ones, the ones Miles would dismissively sneer at as the meek—they’reliving,somehow,inabigger,richerway.Psychopathsareliketone-deafpeopleataconcert,mockingthosewhocryatthebeautyofthemusicasfools.

SoIwilltry.Iwillhumalongandstudythescore,andperhapsonedayIwillhearit—properlyhearit,thewaymypartnerdoes.

Andyet,andyet…It’sstruckmethere’sstillasmallgapinLucy’saccountof how Theo and David got switched. Effectively, she said she’d gone alongwithPaula’smistake.ButhowhadPaulacome tomake suchamistake in thefirst place? She might be brusque, but she’s a very competent nurse. Is itpossible someone had already changed the mobile incubators around, orpositionedtheminsuchawaythatanursemightreasonablytakethewrongone?

But then I glance over at Pete, so lean and handsome in hiswet suit, andthinkhowridiculousthatis.

He’s crouching down now, showing Theo how to smack the surface ofDavid’s rock pool gently,making the ripples catch the sunlight soDavidwilllaugh.Theo’sgetting thehangof it;and,what’smore, isactually resisting theurgetojumpinandmakethewaterexplodealloverDavid’sface.ItlooksasifhemightevenbeenjoyingmakingDavidchortle.

At theendof theday, Idecide,youhave to letsuspiciongo, to trust thoseyoulove.TodootherwiseistowalkinMiles’sshoes,andwhowouldwanttolivethatway?

Although it’sgood toknow that, if it everbecomesnecessary again, I canwearthoseshoesforatime.Toprotectmyfamily.

IlookagainatPete.Sometimeonthisholiday,Ithink,I’llaskLucytomindTheoforawhile.PeteandIwillgo forawalk,upon thisbeautifulheadland.Perhapsitwillbejustasthesunissetting,agoldenyolkburstingintothesea.Andthereonthecliffs,withthewindtwistingourhairintocrazyshapesandthespraysaltyonourlips,we’llstartaconversationaboutmarriage.

AcknowledgmentsWRITERSAREOFTENASKEDWHEREtheygettheirideas,oneofthehardestquestionsto

answer.Idon’tknowwhatfirstpromptedmetowriteaboutswappedbabies—although itwas,of course,oneof thegreat staplesof theVictorian“sensationnovel”—but during the writing process I did come to see that the plot washeavily influencedbywhatwashappening in thepoliticalworld at the time. Iwanted,Irealized,towriteabouttwoordinarypeoplewhotrytoresolveanear-impossiblesituationthroughdialogueandcompromise—andwhenthatdoesn’twork, face the challenge of deciding at what point dialogue and compromisebecomefutile.Hopefully,bythetimeyou’rereadingthistheworldhasbecomeamoresettledplace,andthatparticularaspectofthestoryhaslessresonance.

Manypeoplehelpedwiththeresearchforthisbook.InparticularI’dliketothank N, a consultant neonatologist whose hospital trust have asked that sheremainanonymous(shehasnoconnectionwith thehospital in the location thefictional St. Alexander’s roughly occupies, or with my fictitious privatematernity hospitals), solicitorMonicaRai andHisHonour JudgePeterDevlinfor their guidance on matters of family law, and consultant psychiatrist Dr.Emma Fergusson for allowing me to pick her brains on everything frompostpartumpsychosis tohigh-functioningpsychopathy.Theerrorsand libertiesthatremainintheseareasareofcourseentirelymyresponsibility.

I’dalso like to saya special thank-you toTobias JacobHadi, forallowingme to refresh my memory of what a two-year-old is like, and to his mum,CarolinaWalker,foragreeingtowhatmustsurelybeoneoftheoddestrequestsa mother can receive from a total stranger. I should point out, too, thatCAFCASS are by no means as difficult as my fictional social worker mightimply: For every horror story (and there are a few) there aremany stories ofempathyandcaringbytheirofficersinthemostdifficultofcircumstances.

My thanks to my publishers at Ballantine, and particularly Kara Welsh,DeniseCronin, andRachelKind for falling in lovewith the initial pitch; StefBierwerthandall the teamatQuercusforbelievingin itassoonas theyheardabout it; and Caradoc King, Millie Hoskins, and Kat Aitkin for being suchfantasticfirstreaders.AnneSpeyer,myeditor,madethisstorysomuchbetter,notjustoncebutagainandagain—thankyou.

Finally, it seems appropriate to dedicate a book so focused on family andparentingtomychildren:Tom,Harry,Ollie,andthememoryofNicholas.IntheevocativewordsoftheOldTestament,mybowelsyearnuponyouall.

BYJPDELANEYTheGirlBeforeBelieveMe

ThePerfectWifePlayingNice

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TheNewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheGirlBefore,BelieveMe,andThePerfectWife,JPDELANEYhaspreviouslywrittenbestsellingfictionunderothernames.

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