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the baby. The young lady doctor with long dark hair carries him into the room.
    â€˜Hello, remember me? I’m Dr Wilmot,’ she says. ‘I thought it would be good for Susan to have her baby with her for a while – and good for him too.’ She rocks him gently, stroking his little wisps of hair.
    â€˜I keep forgetting he’s so tiny,’ Jack says, his face screwing up. ‘It must be awful for him. All the other babies have their mothers.’
    â€˜He’s still got a mother. I think he needs a little cuddle with her right now,’ says Dr Wilmot. ‘You hold him for me for a moment.’
    She hands the baby to Jack and then bends over Mum and starts untying her nightie. I draw in my breath.
    â€˜I think Mum would like to cuddle up really close with the baby,’ Dr Wilmot says to me. ‘I’m sure she used to cuddle you like this when you were tiny.’
    She takes the baby from Jack, unwraps his shawl and takes off his little nightgown too, so he’s just in his nappy. He cries a bit, waving his legs about. They’re so
small
, but he’s quite strong, kicking his funny little feet. It’s just the way he kicked when he was inside Mum’s tummy. He’s not really a little stranger – we’ve known him for months and months. We just couldn’t see him.
    Dr Wilmot lays him down very gently on Mum’s bare chest, his head between her breasts. He gives a little snuffle, almost like a sigh, and then lies still, nestling in.
    â€˜There! He’s a happy little chap now,’ Dr Wilmot whispers, but she’s looking at Mum. We’re
all
looking at Mum. I clench my fists, praying for amiracle. She’ll open her eyes and clasp the baby close . . . Her eyes stay shut. Her arms are still. She doesn’t move at all, apart from breathing in and out, her chest rising and falling underneath the baby. He stays curled up there, his eyes shut too.
    I wish Jack and Dr Wilmot and the grumpy nurse could vanish. I want to climb up on Mum’s bed and curl up with them too.
    Dr Wilmot puts her arm around me. I lean against her, sucking my thumb.
    â€˜Has he got a name yet, your little brother?’ she asks.
    â€˜We thought we might call him Georgie – or Harry – or maybe Will,’ says Jack. ‘Something quite plain and simple.’
    â€˜No! He’s going to be called Samson,’ I say. ‘Mum said.’
    They stare at me.
    â€˜
Samson?
’ Jack echoes, looking astonished. ‘Your mum didn’t say anything about calling him Samson!’
    â€˜She did, when he was kicking inside her. She said he was big and strong, like Samson.’
    â€˜Oh, I see! Like the strong Samson in the Bible. But she was joking, Ella,’ says Jack.
    â€˜No, she wasn’t! I was there, you weren’t. She wants him to be Samson, Jack, truly.’
    â€˜Well, let’s think about it. We don’t have to name the baby just yet.’
    â€˜But he can still be Samson, can’t he?’
    â€˜Perhaps he could have Samson as a middle name?’ Dr Wilmot suggests.
    â€˜Mum chose Samson for his first name, she really did, honestly. Mum and I think it’s a brilliant name,’ I say. ‘Samson. That’s his name.’
    â€˜But it’s not up to you, missy,’ says the grumpy nurse. ‘It’s Mummy and Daddy who choose their baby’s name. And your mummy can’t say what she wants at the moment so Daddy has to choose, not you.’
    It feels as if she’s kicking me in the stomach. I can’t even argue. Jack’s not my daddy and I can tell everyone that – but he
is
the baby’s dad, that’s a fact.
    I swallow and don’t say anything.
    The grumpy nurse nods as if to say,
That’s settled
her
hash
.
    Jack’s looking at me too. He waits until the nurse is out of the room and Dr Wilmot is carrying Samson-Georgie-Harry-Will back to the nursery for a change and