Chapter 5: The Waiting Room

The burns clinic in Canterbury was full at two o'clock on Friday afternoon.

Eleven children sat in a waiting room with fish painted on the walls.

Tilly sat on my knee with her arm held out for the dressing change, and watched a boy across the room tear a magazine into strips.

"Mrs Ashworth?"

The woman who called us through was not a nurse.

She wore a lanyard and a cardigan and carried a clipboard held flat against her chest.

"I'm from the hospital's children's team," she said. "The A&E notes came through last night. I'd like a short word, if that's all right."

She said it kindly.

I knew exactly what the word was.

I had sat in that A&E chair and read no adult present on a form while a nurse looked at me.

"Of course," I said.

"It's routine for any burn under five where nobody saw it happen." She turned a page. "Was it you who left her?"

"I was in Paris."

"And Dad?"

"He was said to be in Zurich."

She wrote that down.

"Who was the child's main carer this week?"

I hesitated.

I did not want to say it where Tilly could hear.

"Nobody," I said.

The door of the waiting room banged open before she could write it.

"Tilly!"

Rafe came across the carpet half running, with his coat unbuttoned and his hair uncombed.

Every head in the room turned.

"Daddy," Tilly said in a small flat voice.

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