1969
Chapter 1: Linda Booth
Ashford, morning: Tuesday, September 16th
She’d always been afraid of the dark. The shadows along the corridors of the hospital, the blackness of corners, the sounds, source unseen, on the maternity ward were the stuff her nightmares were made of.
She kept herself busy by checking on the sleeping mothers in each bed and by visiting the nursery, where the babies snuffled and whimpered. She told herself she was nothing if not professional, even as she picked up and cuddled a crying infant; something forbidden by the ward sister.
Now, standing in one of the small private side wards, Linda Booth watched with relief as the sky lightened with shades of pastel blue and gold above the buildings on the opposite side of the hospital grounds.
Behind her the woman in the bed shifted and moaned. Linda moved to her side. ‘How do you feel, Mrs Worth?’
Harriet Worth moved her head on the pillow and pushed herself up in the bed, a small action that made her grimace. Linda felt a wave of sympathy. It had been a difficult and protracted labour and, at forty-four, the woman was too old to be having another baby; her records showed that her last child was now a teenager.
‘My mouth is dry.’ The woman spoke in an apologetic tone.
Linda poured her a glass of water. ‘Here, drink this.’ She waited, studying her; she was very pale. And so small and frail it was hard to believe she had given birth to a robust baby boy the day before.