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play for months and the sound sent a rush of excitement through her. Without giving herself time to think, she put on some lip-gloss, grabbed the baby monitor, set the alarm on her watch for thirty minutes, and went downstairs.
    When Marco answered the door she said, ‘I haven’t got my tambourine, can I rattle something of yours?’
    Marco replied exactly as she’d hoped. He seized her around the waist and kissed her. He then lookedat her monitor, from which Robbie’s voice was wailing.
    ‘Don’t worry, he’s fine,’ she said.
    They staggered into the hall, and into the bedroom, and then Marco lifted up her skirt.
    The pain surprised her. It was sharp and piercing, and as he penetrated her a snapshot of midwives and blood and large metal salad servers flashed before her. What had happened down there? Had they sewn her up a little tighter than before?
    The sound of Robbie’s crying whirled out of the monitor and around the room and she looked at her watch over Marco’s bobbing shoulder … He’d only been crying for ten minutes. She shook her head and returned her attention to Marco, who gave three quick shoves before he was done.
    Afterwards they walked into the living room, where the other lad was playing his harmonica. He didn’t acknowledge Krissie at all.
    ‘You sure he’s all right?’ Marco asked, grimacing at the screaming monitor as he handed her a shaker.
    ‘Yep, don’t worry,’ Krissie replied, turning the monitor down a bit after looking at her watch.
    Without another word or glance in her direction, Marco picked up his guitar and started playing.
    Krissie felt humiliated. What had she done? What was wrong with her? She didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to behave, so she sat there and shook her shaker while the baby monitor howled anagonising harmony. The seconds pounded on her watch, but she would not give up, she would wait the full thirty minutes. She would be a good mother.
    *
    Sarah arrived at Krissie’s house at nine o’clock. Concerned about how her friend was coping, she’d decided to drop in.
    She knocked once but there was no answer, only the sound of Robbie crying. She phoned Krissie’s mobile, which she could hear ringing inside. She rang the landline again, but it rang and rang. Sarah banged on the door. No response. Mindful of Krissie’s fragile state, Sarah phoned the police.
    The siren made the boys stop playing, and when the siren stopped the alarm on Krissie’s watch started going off. It was time to reassure. She jumped to her feet and ran upstairs.
    When she got to her door, Sarah was standing there.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ Krissie asked.
    ‘Where were you? I called the police! Quick, open the door,’ Sarah said.
    ‘What? Why? He’s fine!’ Krissie said as she turned the key. She went into Robbie’s bedroom and saw that he was bright red with panic.
    ‘Hey!’ Krissie said, picking him up. ‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.’
    Tears came to her eyes, seeing him like that.What had she done to him? She rocked him gently, and for a fleeting moment she understood him, that he was lovely, that he liked being held in her arms, that only his mum could calm him down. She cried with him, her lips against his tiny ear. ‘I’m here, I’m here.’
    ‘Controlled crying,’ she explained to Sarah. ‘I was trying to be strong, like the book says. I had the monitor.’
    An incongruously pretty young policewoman knocked on the door a few minutes later. ‘Everything okay?’ she asked when Krissie answered the door.
    ‘We’re fine. I was just downstairs briefly. Doing controlled crying, you know, teaching him to sleep. I had the monitor on and was heading back up when Sarah arrived and called you.’
    ‘Controlled crying? That’s a nonsense if you ask me. You’re better off putting them in bed with you,’ the too-pretty cop said, before heading out the door.
    ‘Shite, I’m so stupid! I’m so sorry. Shite! Shite! Shite!’ said Krissie, tossing her