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migraine.
    Her arms started to shake and she experienced an almost vertiginous nausea as she tried to remember the names of familiar sights and sounds. This had been happening to her at least twice a day since Flo was bornthe first time, slumped in a hospital bed at King’s, she had been staring past the mass of bouquets on the table at newborn Flo, in her Perspex hospital tank, and there, right in front of her, her daughter turned into a piglet.
    Findlay, sitting on the end of the hospital bed, pushing a small fire engine with a broken ladder along the railings, became a centipede, and Robert became a beara huge bear clumsily trying to pull the blue curtains round the bed for some privacy.
    Now, all she wanted to do was hurl Flo over Mary’s shoulder through the silver spirals and into the wall behind her, where the impact would no doubt make various bits of Flo burst open and trickle over Wimmer-Ferguson’s impervious black and white faces. Then everybodyincluding Marywould be able to see that Flo wasn’t a human baby after all; she was in fact nothing more than a tiny pig.
    Kate stood with her arms shaking, listening to Mary give her a rundown on all Flo’s bowel movements since 8.30 a.m.
    Then it passed, and after it had passed, she remembered to smile adoringly at Flolike the woman on the front of the Johnson & Johnson’s wet wipes packetand nod and say ‘great’ in response to Mary’s monologue.
    Mary looked surprised, indicating that ‘great’ wasn’t quite right.
    ‘Everything okay?’ she asked.
    ‘Everything’s fine,’ Kate said, hoping she was still smiling.
    ‘I saw Findlay todayhe’s a big boy nowhe’ll be leaving us soon?’
    Kate was aware of Marywho had been Findlay’s primary carer as wellwatching her.
    ‘I know,’ she said vaguely.
    ‘Where’s he going?’
    A pause. ‘St Anthony’s.’
    ‘That’s gooda good school. A lot of my friendstheir children, they all went there and now they go to university.’
    Mary was smiling at her.
    ‘And Findlayhe told me Flo had an accident this morning. He told me she fell off the bed.’
    ‘I know,’ Kate said again, sounding as though she was confirming gossip she’d heard about another person’s child. ‘She did sort of roll offonto the duvet, fortunately. Our duvet was on the floor.’
    Mary carried on smiling, and carried on watching. ‘I think she has a bump, just on her left temple. There’s a swelling.’
    Mary’s finger hovered over the pink and green protrusion.
    ‘But the duvet was on the floor,’ Kate insisted, taking in Flo’s swollen forehead.
    Mary nodded. ‘I didn’t put her to sleep this morning.’
    ‘She hasn’t slept?’
    ‘I didn’t want tonot with that swelling. It’s not good for them to sleep after a head injury.’
    ‘Head injury?’
    ‘I think she should see the doctor,’ Mary said calmly.
    Kate watched her take hold of Flo’s hand and balance iton her finger and for a brief moment it became a tiny trotter she saw balanced on Mary’s index finger before the tiny trotter became a tiny baby hand again. After reassuring Mary that she would take Flo to the doctor’s that afternoon, she finally managed to exit the sensory room with the A4 sheet of paper she was given every day, accounting for Flo’s dietary and excretory highs and lows.
    Findlay was retrieved from the Butterfly Room and coaxed into his coat. It was all looking normalno sign of pigs or centipedes. She even managed a breezy smilein case Mary was still standing in the corridor behind them, watchingand a light-hearted, faux commander’s, ‘Okay, people, let’s move out,’ for Findlay.
    Ignoring his retort‘We’re not people, I’m Spiderman’she propelled them across the playground past the nursery’s chicken coop, and through the security gate. There, on the pavement by the Audi that they were two instalments behind on, was Ros Granger, mother to Lola and Toby Granger.
    ‘Kate!’ Ros called out, dismounting from her Dutch-style