Little Face by Sophie Hannah

window. His voice sounds as if it's coming from far
away. When he turns, his face is pale with anger. `All right, then. All
right. I didn't want to have to do this, but you've asked for it. Are you
going to tell Simon about your history of mental illness or shall I?'
    `Don't be ridiculous,' I say. `David, do you remember that woman
from the hospital? Mandy?'
    `Alice was on Prozac for depression for nearly a year after her parents died. Also, and Cheryl will back me up on this, the night after Florence was born she claimed another baby was Florence, some random
baby in the hospital.'
    I freeze. This is true, but I'd forgotten about it almost completely. It's
so stupid and irrelevant. I didn't even know David knew about it. I certainly haven't told him. One of the midwives must have, when he came
to visit the next day.
    Cheryl appears in the doorway, carrying her scales. I can see from
her face that she heard what David said. She looks at me unhappily.
She doesn't want to betray me, but her common sense is telling her that
perhaps the incident is relevant, perhaps her belief in my sanity and
trustworthiness has been a little rash.
    `I was exhausted,' I explain. `I'd just had an emergency C-section
after a three-day labour. I was so tired I was hallucinating, literally.'
    `You still are,' says David. `Look where your hallucinations have
got us.'
    `Cheryl offered to take Florence so that I could sleep, and I let her.
Then I felt guilty. It should have been my first night with my little girl
and I'd been only too glad to hand her over.' I cannot stop the flow
of tears as I tell this story. Part of me feared, that night, that I was the
worst mother in the world. A good mother would surely cling to her
precious baby twenty-four hours a day and make sure no harm came to her. `After ten minutes or so I was still awake, overtired and feeling guilty, missing Florence like mad, so I thought I might as well go
and get her back. I buzzed for a midwife, and Cheryl came in a few
seconds later holding a tiny baby. I ... I thought it was Florence, but
only because it was Cheryl who'd taken her away a few minutes earlier. I was almost out of my mind with tiredness. I hadn't slept at all
for three days!'

    `And as soon as I brought Florence into the room, she realised her
mistake,' says Cheryl. Thank God. She is still on my side. Simon
knows this too, and he is inclined to take me more seriously because
I have the tacit support of my midwife. Thank God for Cheryl.
    `Cheryl, do you remember Mandy?' I ask.
    `Three days she was in agony,' David tells Simon. `It wasn't even
proper labour, that's what they said. They tried to induce her twice and
failed. Even when they put her on a drip, it didn't work. Nothing did.
In the end they did an emergency Caesarian but the anaesthetic didn't
work properly. Did it?' His eyes challenge me to deny it.
    I shake my head.
    `The pain was so bad she passed out. She missed the best bit, when
they lifted Florence out. By the time she came round, it was all over.
And the breast-feeding was a total failure too, Alice was devastated
about that. She'd really wanted to feed Florence herself. Don't you
think all that'd be enough to traumatise anyone, Inspector? To bring
on a sort of ... I don't know, post-natal madness?'
    I am too shocked by David's account of Florence's birth to say anything in my defence. He seems to know all the facts but none of the
truth. Did he perceive it so negatively at the time? If so, he showed no
sign of it.
    For the first time, I visualise his mind as a dangerous country, one
I am afraid to enter. All these years I have waited for him to let me in,
assuming that I knew or could imagine how the land lay. I pictured the
anguish and insecurity that were the legacy of having grown up without a father, been separated from his son, suffered the trauma of Laura's death. I attributed to him the thoughts and feelings that I
would have had if I were him.

    `This