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‘You fix people?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you fix my mum?’

His heart sank. This was getting trickier. The sun was searing the back of his neck. He could feel beads of sweat trickling downward. ‘What’s wrong with your mother?’

The child’s expression had changed to one of wary hope. ‘She’s sick. She’s in bed.’

What was he getting himself into? But he had no choice. ‘Can you take me to your mum?’

‘Yes,’ the little boy said, defeat turning to determination. He climbed to his feet, grabbed Alistair’s hand and tugged. ‘It’s along the river.’

‘Right,’ Alistair said. He definitely had no choice. ‘Let’s go.’

CHAPTER TWO

SHE nearly missed him. She drove slowly back toward the airport, starting to feel really guilty. It was unseasonably hot even for here, she thought. The wind was starting to feel like they were in for a major storm, even though the sky was clear.

There was a cyclone out to sea—Cyclone Willie—but it was so far out it should never come near them. The weather guys on the radio were saying the winds they were feeling now were from the edge of the cyclone.

Just don’t rain for Mike and Em’s wedding tomorrow, she told the weather gods. Or for Gina’s the Saturday after.

Right. Back to worrying about Alistair. She’d gone two miles now and was starting to be concerned. Surely he should have walked further than this. But it was so hot. She should never have let her temper hold sway. He wouldn’t have realised how hot it was.

Maybe he’d left the road to find some shade. She slowed down and started studying the verges. Here was the bridge …

She nearly didn’t see them. A path ran by the river, meandering down to a shanty town further on. Here were huts built by itinerant fishermen, or squatters who spent a few months camping here and then moved on. Periodically the council cleared them but they came back again and again.

There was a man in the distance, just as the track disappeared into trees. Holding a child’s hand.

Even from this distance she could pick the neat business suit and jacket slung over his shoulder. Not Crocodile Creek wear. Alistair.

What the hell was he doing? She pulled onto the verge and hit the horn. Loudly. Then she climbed out and waved.

In the distance Alistair paused and turned. And waved back.

Who was he with?

She stood and waited. He’d have talked one of the local kids into taking him to shelter, she thought, expecting him to leave the child and come back to the road. He didn’t. He simply stood there, holding the child’s hand, as if he expected her to come to him.

Really! It was hot. She was wearing leather pants. OK, maybe they weren’t the most practical gear in this heat. She’d put them on to make a statement.

She’d also put her stilettos back on before bringing the car out. Her nice sensible trainers were back at the hospital.

He expected her to walk?

He wasn’t moving. He simply stood by the riverbank and waited.

Didn’t he know you didn’t stand near the river? Not for long. There were crocs in this river. It was safe enough to walk on the bank as long as you walked briskly, but to stand in the one spot for a while was asking for trouble.

OK. She gave a mental snort and stalked down the path toward them. Dratted stilettos …

Davy Price.

She recognised the child before she’d reached the riverbank. Immediately her personal discomfort was forgotten. What the hell was Alistair doing, holding Davy’s hand? Davy was six years old. He was the eldest of four children, the last of whom she’d delivered four days earlier. They lived in the worst of this motley collection of shacks.

While Lizzie, Davy’s mum, had been in hospital, she’d tried to persuade her to move to council housing. But …

‘My old man wants to live by the river. He won’t move.’

Georgie fretted about the family. Lizzie’s ‘old man’ was Smiley, an indolent layabout, drunk more often than not. Lizzie tried desperately to keep the kids healthy but she was almost beaten. To let her go home to this mosquito-ridden slum had gone against every piece of logic Georgie possessed. But you can’t make people do what they don’t want—who knew that better than Georgie?

But now … She slipped on her way down the grassy verge and she kicked her stilettos off. By the time she reached them she was almost running.

‘What’s wrong, Davy?’ she asked as she reached them. She ignored Alistair for the moment. It’d take something really dire to prise this shy six-year-old from his mum. There had to be something badly amiss. How had Alistair become involved? She had him twigged as the sort of guy who didn’t get involved.

He was still holding Davy’s hand. He was obviously very involved.

‘Mum said to go and get Dad,’ Davy whispered. ‘But Dad’s gone fishing.’

‘He went out this morning?’

‘He was going to win some prize,’ Davy said, and swiped a grimy fist over an even more grimy face. ‘But Mum can’t get out of bed and the baby keeps crying and crying and there’s nothing for Dottie and Megan to eat. I don’t know what to do.’

‘So Alistair’s taking you home,’ she said, casting Alistair an almost approving glance before stooping and tugging the little boy close.

‘He said he was your friend,’ Davy whispered.

‘Of course he’s my friend.’ She hugged the little boy hard and then put him away from her, holding him at arm’s length. She glanced up at Alistair and surprised a look of concern on his face. Well, well. The guy had a human side.

‘OK, let’s go find your mum and see if we can help until your dad comes back,’ she said.

‘That’s just what we were doing,’ Alistair said. ‘But you’re very welcome to join us.’

The hut was one of the most poverty-stricken dwellings Alistair had ever seen. The smell hit him first—an almost unbelievable stench. Then they rounded a stand of palms and reached the hut itself. Consisting of sheets of rusty corrugated iron propped up by stakes with a roof of the same iron weighted down by rocks, it looked more a kid’s cubby hut than a real house.

‘My God,’ he whispered, and Georgie cast him a warning look.

‘Most of these houses are better,’ she said. ‘But they’re mostly used by itinerant fishermen, not by full-time residents. Even so … This hut is a long way from any other for a reason. Davy’s dad is … not very friendly.’

He was starting to get a clear idea of Davy’s dad and it wasn’t a flattering picture. What sort of man left a wife who’d just given birth while he joined a fishing competition?

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Georgie said grimly, watching his face and guessing his thoughts. ‘Stay out here for a moment and I’ll see what’s happening.’

She ducked inside the lean-to shed, leaving him outside, trying to ignore the smell.

Her inspection lasted only seconds. ‘Come in,’ she called, and something in her voice prepared him for what was inside.

The hut consisted of a rough chimney at one end with a dead fire at the base, a table and an assortment of camping chairs in various stages of disrepair. There were two double-bed mattresses on the floor and that was the extent of the furnishings. There was a baby lying in the middle of one mattress, wrapped neatly enough in a faded blue blanket. On the other bed were two little girls, four and two maybe. They were huddled as closely as they could get to a woman lying in the middle of the bed. The woman looked like she was sleeping. But …

‘She’s almost unconscious,’ Georgie said, stopping his deepest dread before it took hold. ‘The pulse is really thready and she’s hot as hell. Damn. I need an ambulance. There’s no cellphone reception down here but I’m driving the hospital car. It’s parked up on the bridge and there’s a radio in that. Right. The mum’s Lizzie. The little girls are Dottie and Megan—Megan’s the littlest—and this is baby Thomas. Take care of them. I’m fetching help.’

She left before he could answer.

Help.

This wasn’t exactly familiar territory. He was a neurosurgeon. He was accustomed to a hospital with every facility he could possibly want. He’d reached the stage in his career where he was starting to train younger doctors. He’d almost forgotten this sort of hands-on medicine.

‘Is she dead?’ Davy whispered, appalled.

‘No.’ He hauled himself together. He was the doctor in charge.

‘She’s not.’

Move. Back to basics. Triage. He did a fast check on the baby—asleep but seemingly OK. He loosened the blanket and left him sleeping. Then he crossed to the mattress, stooped and felt the woman’s pulse. It was faint and thready. The two little girls were huddled hard against her, big-eyed with terror.

‘Davy, I need you to take your sisters onto the other bed while I look after your mother,’ he told the little boy. He made to lift the first girl but she sobbed and pulled away from him.

‘He’s going to make our mum better,’ Davy said fiercely. He grabbed her and pulled. ‘Dottie, get off. Now.’

‘I promise I’m here to help,’ Alistair told them, and smiled. One of the little girls—the littlest—had an ugly bruise on her arm. And a burn on her knuckles. He winced. He remembered this pattern of burn mark from his training. Once seen, never forgotten.

‘I’m here to help you,’ he said softly. ‘I promise. Dottie, Megan, will you let me see what’s wrong with your mum?’

‘He’s Georgie’s friend,’ Davy said stoutly, and it was like he’d given a password. They shifted immediately so he could work. But they watched his every move.

Alistair smiled at them, then turned his attention to their mother. He didn’t know how long it would be before help came. With a pulse like this …

The woman’s eyelids flickered, just a little.

‘Lizzie,’ he said softly, and then more urgently, ‘Lizzie.’

Her lids lifted, just a fraction.

On a makeshift bench there was a jug of water, none too clean, but he wasn’t bothering about hygiene now. The woman had puckered skin, and she was dry and hot to the touch. A severe infection, he thought. The bedclothes around her were clammy, as if she’d been sweating for days.

He poured water into a dirty cup—there were no clean ones—swished it and tossed it out, then refilled the cup. In seconds he was lifting her a little so he was supporting her shoulders and holding the mug to her lips.

She shook her head, so fractionally he might have imagined it.

‘Yes,’ he said fiercely. ‘Lizzie, I’m Dr Georgie’s friend. Georgie’s gone for help but I’m a doctor, too. You’re dangerously dehydrated. You have to drink.’

Nothing.

‘Lizzie, drink.’

‘Drink, Mum,’ Davy said, and Alistair could have blessed him. The woman’s eyes moved past him and found her son.

‘You have to do what the doctor says,’ Davy quavered. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend. Drink.’

She closed her eyes. He held her mug hard against her lips and tilted.

She took a sip.

‘More,’ he said, and she took another.

‘Great, you’re doing great. Come on, Lizzie, this is for Davy.’

He pushed her to drink the whole mug. Sip by tiny sip. She was so close to unconsciousness that it seemed to be taking her an almost superhuman effort.

These children were solely dependent on her, Alistair thought grimly. And she was so young. Mid-twenties? Maybe even less. She looked like a kid, a kid who was fighting for her life.

He could help. He poured more water into a bowl, stripped back her bedding and started sponging her. ‘Can you help?’ he asked Davy. ‘We need to get her cool.’ As Davy hesitated, Alistair lifted Lizzie’s top sheet and ripped. OK, this family looked as if they could ill afford new sheets, but he’d buy them himself if he had to. He handed a handful of linen to each of the children.

‘We need to keep your mum wet,’ he said. ‘We have to cool her down.’ He left the woman’s flimsy nightgown on and simply sponged through the fabric.

It was the right thing to do, on all sorts of fronts. It helped Lizzie, but it also gave the children direction. Megan seemed a bit dazed—lethargic? Maybe she was dehydrated as well. But Dottie and Davy started working, wetting their makeshift washcloths, wiping their mum’s face, arms, legs, and then starting again. It kept the terror from their faces and he could see by the slight relaxing of the tension on Lizzie’s face that it was doing her good. Cooling or not, the fact that there was another adult taking charge must be immeasurably reassuring.

He poured another drink for the little girl—Megan—and tried to persuade her to drink. She drank a little, gave a shy smile and started sponging as well.

Brave kid.

Then, faster than he’d thought possible, Georgie was back. She’d run in her bare feet, and she’d hauled an oversized bag back with her.

‘This stuff is always in the hospital car,’ she said briefly as his eyes widened. ‘Emergency essentials.’ When she saw what he’d been doing, she stopped short. ‘Fever?’

‘I’m guessing way above normal. But she’s drunk a whole mug of water.’

‘Oh, Lizzie, that’s great.’

But Lizzie was no longer with them. She’d slipped back into a sleep that seemed to border on unconsciousness.

No matter. Her pulse was already steadying.

‘Great work, kids,’ Georgie said, setting her bag down on the floor and hauling it open. ‘With workers like you guys, you hardly need me, but now I’ve brought my bag … let’s see if what I have here might help her get better faster.’

They worked as a team. The bag was magnificently equipped. Within minutes they had a drip set up and intravenous antibiotics and rehydration were started. Georgie had lugged an oxygen cylinder with her and they started that as well. Covering all bases.

‘Oh, God, if we hadn’t come …’ Georgie whispered.

It didn’t bear thinking about. They both knew just how close to disaster the woman had been.

‘Check the baby,’ he said. He hadn’t had time to give the children more than a cursory check, but while they were setting up the drip Davy had lifted the baby onto his knees and was cuddling his little brother. Davy—all of six years old with the responsibility of this entire family on his shoulders.

‘Will you let me see him?’ Georgie said softly to Davy, and Davy glanced up at her as if he was still uncertain who to trust. She smiled down at him—a tender smile that Alistair hadn’t seen before. Another side of Georgie?

Davy relinquished his bundle and Alistair thought, Yeah, I would too if she smiled at me like that.

Crazy thought. Concentrate on work.

Georgie lifted the bundle into her arms, wrinkling her nose at the stench. She laid the baby on the end of Lizzie’s bed, removed his nappy and started cleaning.

Was this the sort of thing doctors did here? Alistair wondered. Medicine at its most basic.

‘Has Thomas been drinking?’ she was asking Davy.

‘I dripped water into his mouth when he cried.’

‘Good boy,’ Georgie said in a voice that was suddenly unsteady. ‘You’ve done magnificently, Davy.’ She glanced across at Alistair. ‘I’ll leave the nappy off. He’s hot as well, and probably dehydrated, like his mum. We need a drip here, too, I reckon.’

Alistair checked the bag, and found what he needed. He swabbed the tiny arm, preparing to insert a drip.

‘You can do this on newborns?’ Georgie queried. Veins in neonates were notoriously difficult to find.

‘I’m a neurosurgeon,’ he told her. ‘Paediatrics is my specialty.’

‘We don’t want brain surgery here,’ she whispered. ‘We just need the ability to find a vein.’

Which he did. The syringe slid home with ease and he sensed rather than saw the tension leave Georgie.

She cared about these people, he thought with something akin to shock. He wouldn’t have thought it of her. But, then, she was an obstetrician. She just hadn’t acted like one the first time he’d met her.

There was the sound of a siren, from far away but moving closer.

‘Davy, can you go up to the road and show them where to come?’ Georgie asked, but as Davy rose Alistair gripped his hand and held it.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘Dr Georgie has done everything we need to do here. Davy, your mum’s going to be OK, and so is the baby. You found help. You’ve done everything right.’

The little boy’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Go and get the ambulance officers with Dr Alistair,’ Georgie said to him. ‘And that’s the last thing we’ll to ask you to do. We’re taking you all to hospital where we can give you all a great big meal, pop you all into a lovely comfy bed near your mum and let you all have a long sleep until your mum is better.’

There was one last complication. They wouldn’t all fit into the ambulance.

Megan was definitely dehydrated. Thomas hadn’t been fed properly, maybe for twenty-four hours. He needed a humidicrib and intensive care. And Lizzie was waking a little more now, emerging from her semi-conscious state but moving to uncomprehending panic.

She was gripping Georgie’s hand as if it was her lifeline. Every time she opened her eyes she searched in panic for Georgie. So Georgie had to go with her. Which made four in the ambulance. Lizzie, Megan, Thomas and Georgie.

‘I can’t go to hospital,’ Lizzie murmured as the ambulance officers shifted her to a stretcher. ‘Smiley’ll kill me.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I’ll kill him first,’ Georgie said fiercely. ‘So it should be quite a battle. Lizzie, you’re moving out of here. I told you last time and now I’m insisting. And you needn’t be afraid of Smiley. If you agree, I’ll swing it so he never comes near you again. We’ll organise you safe housing. I swear I’ll fix it.’

Alistair blinked. These weren’t calming, reassuring words to a desperately ill woman. But it seemed to work. Lizzie slumped back onto the stretcher and the tension seeped out of her.

‘You’re one of us,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God. Oh, Georgie, thank God.’

‘Right to go?’ the senior ambulance officer asked. These two may be ambulance officers but they didn’t look like ambulance officers. They looked like fishermen.

‘I stopped you fishing,’ Lizzie whispered, becoming more aware of her surroundings.

‘Nah,’ the man said. ‘The competition got called off half an hour ago ‘cos the wind’s getting up. Phyllis Dunn won. She wins every bloody year. Mind, she always ends up raffling her prize in aid of the hospital. Going to Fiji isn’t Phyllis’s style.’

What sort of town was this, where the ambulance officers went fishing while they were on duty? Alistair wondered. The younger officer looked at Alistair and grinned, guessing his thoughts.

‘Hey, you needn’t worry, mate,’ he said. ‘We had the ambulance parked right behind us while we were fishing, and most dramas were going to happen on the river anyway. Right?’ he queried his partner, and they lifted the stretcher. They’d have to carry it—there was no car access here.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Georgie said. She was cradling the baby in one arm and cuddling tiny Megan in the other.

‘Let me carry them,’ Alistair said, but as Megan buried her face in Georgie’s neck, Georgie shook her head. She gave a rueful smile. ‘Megan knows me,’ she said. ‘And Lizzie trusts me. It’s easier if I sweat a bit. But we need Dottie and Davy to go with you. Davy, you know that Dr Carmichael is my friend?’

Davy knew what was coming. He gulped but then he looked up at Alistair and what he read in his face seemed to satisfy him. ‘Y-yeah.’

‘I want you to help Dr Carmichael drive my car,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s an American and they don’t even know what side of the road to drive on. And, Davy, I want you to hold Dottie’s hand and take her with you. Will you do that? Dottie, will you do that? We won’t all fit in the ambulance and Dr Carmichael will bring you straight to the hospital to be with your mum.’

There was a moment’s hesitation.

‘It’s OK,’ Davy whispered to Dottie, and once more he repeated his mantra. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend.’

Dottie stared up at him dubiously, but then seemed to come to a decision. She tucked her hand into Alistair’s and held on.

‘The key’s in my pocket,’ Georgie said.

Really? In her pocket? There was a distracting thought coming from left field. He wouldn’t have thought there was room for anything at all in those tight-fitting leathers.

She had no hand free to get them out. And he had one hand free.

‘Front left,’ she said patiently.

Front left. Right. Surgical removal of car keys. But, hell, those pants were tight. Hell, those pants were …

Maybe he’d better concentrate on other things. Dottie was holding his hand, waiting for him to get on with it. The younger ambo officer was looking at him and grinning, and he just knew what the guy was thinking.

What the hell. He grinned back and retrieved the keys, almost managing to keep his thoughts on the job at hand. Almost.

But as the keys came free he had room for another thought. What Georgie had said.

‘Australians drive on the left.’

‘We do,’ Georgie said patiently. ‘Problem?’

‘You want me to drive Davy and Dottie to the hospital in your car?’

‘In the hospital car. That’s the idea, Einstein.’ She was back to being tough. Any minute she’d start with the gum chewing again. The ambo boys were looking at her in surprise but he didn’t have time to think about why she was being like she was.

‘Look, this’ll be the first time I’ve driven on the left … I’m not covered. Insurance-wise, I mean. If anything happens to the kids …’

‘Here we go,’ Georgie said, and sighed. ‘American insurance paranoia.’ The ambos had already started carrying the stretcher to the door and she was moving with them. ‘Firstly, there’s no one around to crash into,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It’s midday, and only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Or Yankee neurosurgeons. So the roads will be deserted and there’s no one to hit. Second, it’s a straight line from here to the hospital. You can follow the ambulance. If you’re nervous then move over and tell Davy to drive. He’s probably as competent as you are.’

And with that she left, leaving him to follow.

The hospital was just as he remembered it. Long and low and cool, open to the ocean breeze. Actually, the ocean breeze was more than a breeze at the moment. The surrounding palms were tossing wildly, and the sea was covered in whitecaps. But the place still looked lovely. If you had to be sick this was one of the best places in the world to be.

Alistair pulled up in the car park and took the two children inside.

The children hadn’t complained as their mother had left. Now they took a hand apiece, infinitely trusting. He felt really off balance, walking into Crocodile Creek Hospital Emergency with a child on each hand.

The ambulance was in the unloading bay, already unloaded. He hadn’t followed it closely, preferring to travel slowly and safely. For all Georgie’s reassurance, the left-hand-drive thing was a challenge, and having two small passengers made him careful.

There was no sign of Lizzie or Megan, but Georgie was in the emergency department, carrying Thomas. She was still in bare feet. He’d picked up her abandoned stilettos from the pathway—

they were still in the car—a monument to stupidity. But she didn’t look stupid now.

There was a nurse beside her. He recognised this woman from his last visit, too. Grace?

Grace gave him a smile of welcome but Georgie ignored him, bending down to greet the kids.

‘Dottie. Davy. Dr Alistair got you here safely, then? That’s great. Well done, both of you. And well done, Davy, for getting help so fast. Now, we’re just giving your mum a proper wash and getting her really cool. She hasn’t been drinking—that’s why she’s been sick. You know we popped a needle into her arm, and into Thomas’s, to get water in faster? We’ve done the same to Megan. Megan’s having a little sleep. But you guys will be thirsty as well, and probably hungry. So do you want to come and find your mum and Megan straight away or can Grace take you to the kitchen and give you some chocolate ice cream?’

It was exactly the right thing to say, Alistair thought. By the look of that hut, these kids must be starving. But Georgie wasn’t sending them away with Grace without their consent. They were being given the choice. Your mum is safe. You can see her now, or there’s ice cream on offer. The choice is yours.

‘How about you have the ice cream and then come back and see your mum?’ Grace said, tipping the scales. ‘You know Mrs Grubb, don’t you? She gave you ice cream when your mum was having the baby. She’s in the kitchen right now, getting out bowls. And I think she has lemonade, too.’

‘I really like ice cream,’ Dottie whispered, and she even smiled. It was a great little smile, the first Alistair had seen from the children. He released their hands and watched them go, but as he did so he was aware of a sharp stab of something that almost seemed like … loss? Which was crazy.

The door through to the hospital kitchens swung closed behind them, and he became aware that Georgie was watching him. She had the saline drip looped over her shoulder, holding Thomas low so it was gravity feeding. She needed a drip stand.

‘Do you want help with Thomas?’ he asked.

‘I’ll take him through to the nursery in a minute, but apart from horrible nappy rash he seems OK. You know Davy’s been dripping water into his mouth? What a hero.’

‘He is,’ Alistair said, and he thought back to the frail child sitting in the middle of the bridge and felt stunned. Awed.

‘You remember Charles Wetherby—our director? Charles has Lizzie in his charge,’ Georgie continued. She’d walked over to a drip stand and he moved with her, taking the saline bag from her shoulder and hanging it on its wheeled hook. ‘It looks like severe infection. Charles is continuing the IV antibiotics and the nurses are cleaning her up. She’s a mess.’

‘When did she have the baby?’

‘Four days ago.’

The image of Davy was still in the forefront of his mind. Lizzie, going home to the care of a six-year-old. ‘You let her go home to that?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Did you know her circumstances?’

It wasn’t implied criticism. It was a direct attack.

Back home Alistair was head of a specialist neurosurgery unit. He had hiring and firing capabilities and he used them. The voice he had used then was the one that had any single subordinate—and many who weren’t subordinate—shaking in their shoes. At least cringing a little.

Georgie didn’t cringe. She met his gaze directly, as if she had nothing to search her conscience over.

‘Yes.’

‘What were you thinking?’

‘I wasn’t thinking anything. I was making the best of a bad situation. I spent the whole of Lizzie’s pregnancy convincing her to come to the hospital for the birth. She’s had the last three children at home. But this time I succeeded. She came in. I was hugely relieved, but when her partner insisted she go straight home I sent her with everything she needed. Including a course of antibiotics. No, at that stage she didn’t need it, but I knew the hut.’

‘It was criminal to let her go back there. You know the little girl’s been burned. That’s a cigarette burn.’

‘I know. That’s new. Up until now Lizzie would have stood up to him if he’d hurt the children. It’s a sign of how sick she is.’

‘But you let her go back.’

‘You think I should have chained her up?’

‘Surely a woman with sense—’

‘Lizzie is a woman of sense,’ she said, practically spitting. ‘She’s had a lousy childhood, she has a dreadful self-image and her partner …’

She broke off. Someone was coming into Emergency—no, two men, a uniformed police officer with a younger man in front of him. The young man was dark, but not the dark of the Australian indigenous people, as Lizzie was. He looked European. Mediterranean? He was dressed in filthy fishing clothes, he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a week, and the smell of him reached them before he did.

He didn’t look like he wanted to be there, but the policeman was behind him, prodding him forward, giving him no choice. ‘Hi, Georgie,’ he said, but he didn’t smile. ‘You wanted to talk to Smiley?’

‘Smiley,’ Georgie said, and Alistair stared. Georgie was tiny, five feet two in her bare feet. She looked like you could pick her up and put her wherever you wanted. Not with that tongue, though. What she unleashed on the man before her was pure ice.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ she said, and nodded to the policeman with what was to be the last of her pleasantries. ‘Alistair, can you take Thomas for a minute?’ Before he could answer she’d handed over the sleeping baby, forcing Alistair to move closer to the drip stand. Then she poked her finger into the middle of Smiley’s chest and pushed him backward.

‘What the hell did you do with Lizzie’s antibiotics?’ she demanded, and although she spoke softly her words were razors. ‘And the supplies we gave her. The nappies. The canned food.’

‘I …’

‘You sold them, didn’t you?’ she snarled. ‘I don’t even have to guess. I know. You took them down to the pub because someone might give you a buck for them. You thieving, filthy piece of pond scum. You nearly killed Lizzie. If Alistair here hadn’t found her today, she’d be dead. She’d be dead because you stole her medicine. There’s no food in your house. The kids are starving. You spent today on the river and Harry’s just pulled you out of the pub. And Megan’s bruised arm and burned hand … You did that, didn’t you? You stinking, bottom-feeding low-life.’

‘Hey—’

‘Enough,’ Georgie snarled. ‘That’s enough. Lizzie’s conscious—only just, but she’s conscious enough to agree to press charges. You stole her medicines and you hit your kids and you burned Megan.’

‘I didn’t hit anyone. If she says I did then she’s lying. And can I help it if the kid plays with matches? I didn’t touch her.’ The man’s reply was scornfully vituperative.