I cry. I moan. I sob. I even bite the padded edge of the bed. Once again, like when I was in labour, I am an animal. Willow is gone. Rose was saying I kidnapped her, so they took her from me. The ache of being away from her is nearly overwhelming. My breasts are rock hard, my dress is drenched. My body still aches from giving birth to her. But I don’t even have a photograph of her. Even if I did, my phone is out of battery.
‘It’s all right, Miss,’ the nurse by my hospital bed says to me in a strange, flat sort of voice. It’s not Beverly, nor any nurse that I recognise from the maternity ward. I’m in a different part of the hospital. The psych ward. This nurse has a stern face, pinched lips and nude stockings that don’t hide her varicose veins. ‘The doctor has given you a sedative so you will feel much better soon.’
‘Where is my baby?’
The nurse glances at the doorway. Two police officers stand there, talking quietly to one another. I recognise the policewoman as the one who chased me across the library. I never did hand over the baby. Karate had made my finger strength superior to most people’s, and they had no chance of getting her off me without a fight. Eventually, they’d held Rose back and allowed me to carry Willow outside, while the police formed a loose circle around me, in case I made a run for it. Outside, there had been four police cars waiting. All of them for me.
‘There’s just a bit of confusion that needs sorting out,’ the nurse says. She gives me a look that I can only describe as pity and gives my hand a gentle pat. I pull my hand away.
‘I want to see my baby,’ I say.
The sedative must work, because before I know it, I’m waking from a deep sleep. Nothing has changed except that now, a man is in the corner of the room, talking to the nurse with the varicose veins.
‘Where is my baby?’ I ask again, quieter than before.
The pair of them startle, then turn to look at me.
‘Hello,’ the man says, grabbing a chair and dragging it swiftly up to the bed. ‘You must be Fern.’
I don’t reply. He sits down. ‘I’m Dr Aston. I’m a psychiatrist. How are you feeling?’
‘Not good. I want to go home.’
Dr Aston nods, looking down at his notes. ‘Well, hopefully we’ll be able to arrange that soon, but first I want to have a chat to you about how you’re feeling. I understand you’ve recently given birth?’
‘Yes. Where is my baby?’
‘She’s in the paediatric wing. I’ve just spoken with her doctor and she’s absolutely fine. I’m told she’s being taken care of by your sister.’
‘I do not want my sister near my baby.’
Dr Aston’s eyebrows rise. He glances at the nurse and then back at me. ‘I understood you intended for your sister to adopt your baby. Is that incorrect?’
‘It was correct,’ I say. ‘But I changed my mind.’
‘I see. Well, first things first.’ He looks up as a woman appears in the doorway. ‘Ah. You want to do this now?’
‘If it’s convenient,’ the woman says.
The doctor nods and gathers his notes. ‘We’ll finish this in a bit, Fern. Don’t worry, we’ll get it all sorted out.’
Rose has been saying that for months. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. And now, here we are.
The woman comes into the room. She doesn’t look like a doctor to me. She is wearing normal clothes. She is in her mid- to late-forties with blue eyes and dark blonde hair that she wears in a long braid down her back.
‘You don’t look like a doctor,’ I say.
‘That’s because I’m not.’ She holds up a lanyard. ‘Detective Sara Brookes. Is it all right if I ask you some questions?’
I take a moment to process this. A police detective. Then I realise. I kidnapped a baby. She must be here to arrest me.
Detective Brookes sits in the seat that Dr Aston just vacated and pulls out a small notebook and pen. ‘I like your bracelet,’ she says, bizarrely. I can only deduce that making small talk helps perps to ‘talk’. ‘Is that a bush engraved on there?’
‘A fern,’ I correct. ‘Because that’s my name.’
‘It’s lovely. The name and the bracelet.’
We stare at each other for a moment.
‘Congratulations, by the way,’ Detective Brookes says. ‘I hear you had a baby girl. Where is she?’
‘She’s in the paediatric wing,’ I tell her. ‘With my sister.’
Detective Brookes looks surprised. ‘Why isn’t she in here with you?’
I frown. ‘Because I kidnapped her. Didn’t you hear?’
Detective Brookes sits back in her chair. ‘You kidnapped your own child?’
I nod. ‘At least that’s what my sister is telling people.’
‘I wonder why she’d say that.’ She gives me a long assessing stare. ‘Why don’t you tell me a little about your sister?’
The question is too broad. I can’t even begin to narrow it, so I just pluck random facts out of my mind, as if from a hat. ‘She’s the same age as me.’
‘Oh. You’re twins?’
‘Fraternal twins. And we are very different. She’s short, and I’m tall. She has no sensory issues, but I do. She’s diabetic, and I’m not.’
The detective writes on her notepad. ‘Are you close?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t know where the paediatric wing is.’
She smiles. ‘What I mean is . . . do you spend a lot of time together?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And she is . . . a good sister?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s . . . kind? Does nice things for you?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘And other times?’
I throw up my hands. ‘I don’t know. She’s just Rose, okay?’
I’m frustrated by this conversation. I just want my baby. I’m not sure what Rose being a good sister has to do with anything.
The detective nods. ‘I understand your mother passed away very recently,’ she says, taking the conversation in another strange direction. ‘I’m sorry
