XII

XII

After the nurse leaves, I go outside and sit on a cobbled wall. The stones are cold.

I call the only number I can remember.

“Mum.”

She breathes at the end of the line.

“Mum, the baby died.”

Minutes pass between us in a dull silence. It might be raining.

“Mum?”

Her sigh is thick as wet bread.

“You must be relieved.”

It is raining.