Sister

and chatter around us.

“And the next day you got an e-mail from Professor Rosen?” Mr. Wright asks.

“Yes. On Saturday morning at around ten-fifteen.” I was on my way to work a shift for “weekend brunch,” a new idea of Bettina’s. “I noticed it was sent from his personal e-mail,” I continue, “rather than the Chrom-Med one he’d used before.” Mr. Wright looks down at a copy of the e-mail.From: [email protected] To: Beatrice Hemming’s iPhone

I have just come back from my American lecture tour to your message. As is my custom on these trips, I do not take my mobile with me. (My close family members have the number of the hotel should I need to be contacted urgently.) It is ludicrous to say that my trial is in any way dangerous to the babies. The whole point of my trial is that it’s a safe way of getting the healthy gene into the body. It is to effect a cure in the safest possible way.

Alfred Rosen.From: Beatrice Hemming’s iPhone To: [email protected]

Can you explain why the doctor at St. Anne’s wore a mask, both when he delivered the babies and when he gave the injections of the gene?From: [email protected] To: Beatrice Hemming’s iPhone

Clearly medical staff wear appropriate protection when they deliver babies, but it is not my area of expertise so if you are concerned I suggest you ask someone in obstetrics. In terms of the injections, whoever it was must have completely missed the point of my chromosome. Unlike a virus, it carries no infection risk whatsoever. There is no need for such precautions. Perhaps they are just in the habit of being cautious? However, at your sister’s funeral I said I would answer your questions, so I will look into it. I very much doubt there will be anything to find.

I didn’t know whether to trust him or not. I certainly didn’t know why he was helping me.

Bettina’s brunch initiative was a success and by twelve the Coyote was packed. I saw William pushing his way through, trying to get my attention. He smiled at my evident astonishment.

“Cressida, our senior midwife, told me you worked here; I hope that’s okay.”

I remember I’d given her my contact details at the flat and the Coyote when she was looking for your notes.

Bettina grinned at me and took over the drinks order I was doing, so that I could talk to William. I was perplexed that she wasn’t more surprised by a beautiful man’s coming to see me. I went down to the end of the bar and he followed me.

“I couldn’t find out who gave Tess the injection, or the other women; their notes have seemingly just disappeared without trace. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered to do it.”

But I’d already realized it would be impossible for him. If no one could find out who was with you when you gave birth to Xavier, an event covering at least a few hours, it would be impossible for him, without notes, to find out who gave you an injection, which presumably was quick and uneventful.

“I knew I’d let you down,” continued William. “So I did a bit of asking around at the genetic clinic. Pulled in a few favors. I’ve got you these.”

He handed me a packet of hospital notes as if giving me flowers. “Your shreds of proof, Bee.”

I saw the notes were Mitch’s.

“Mitch Flanagan is Kasia Lewski’s partner,” William said, and I realized how little I’d told him about my friendship with Kasia. “He isn’t a carrier of the cystic fibrosis gene.”

So Mitch had got himself tested—and clearly hadn’t told Kasia the results. I presumed that like Emilio he had assumed—or chosen to assume—that he wasn’t the father of her baby. I imagined his relief at the result, his get- out clause, turning Kasia into the trollop who’d tricked him. I wondered if he could really believe that.

From my silence and lack of excitement, William thought I hadn’t understood. “Both parents need to be carriers of the cystic fibrosis gene for their baby to have it. This dad doesn’t carry the CF gene, so there’s no way the baby could have had it. I don’t know what’s going on with the CF trial, but something’s clearly very wrong and these notes prove it.”

Again he misinterpreted my silence. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you properly, supported you from the beginning. But you can take these to the police, can’t you? Or would you like me to?”

“It won’t do any good.”

He looked at me, perplexed.

“Kasia, his former partner, she’s the type of person people make mistakes about. The police will think that she was wrong about Mitch Flanagan being the father, or lied about it. Just like they did with my sister.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

But I did, because I myself had once been prejudiced against Kasia. I knew DI Haines would see her, as I once had, as a girl who most probably slept around, a girl who could easily be mistaken, or lie, about the father of her baby.

William’s pager went off, a strange sound among the conversations and clinking drinks at the bar. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

I remembered he had only twenty minutes to get back to the hospital.

“Will you make it?”

“Absolutely. I brought the bike.”

As he left, I saw Bettina grinning at me again. I returned her smile. Because despite the fact that his shreds of proof were worthless, I was buoyed up. For the first time, someone was on my side.

Bettina sent me home early, as if giving me a present for my smile.

When I got home, I found Kasia on her knees scrubbing the kitchen floor.

“What on earth are you doing?”

She looked up at me, face sweating. “They said it be good for baby; get in right position.” Your flat had quickly come to resemble hers, everything gleaming around the chips and the rust and the stains. “Anyway, I said I like