Baby Maeve was born on September 17th, 1989; a normal delivery weighing in at seven pounds and ten ounces. They’d got a shortlist of names, but when she arrived with her milky skin and shock of black hair, she was Maeve.

Mike wept holding Maeve in his arms. He shook his head. ‘You were brilliant, Karen, brilliant. Look at her, our daughter, she’s gorgeous.’

Karen pulled the baby blanket down and peered into the bundle. The black hair reminded her of a cat. Baby purred, her eyes flickering open – they were foggy grey. Karen flopped back on the hospital sheets exhausted and watched Mike tenderly holding their baby. He couldn’t look away, as if he was bewitched.

It was the middle of the night when she was taken up to the ward. The nurses seemed pleased with her; she’d been uncomplicated, a normal delivery with no fuss. She heard the nurses rushing back and forward, flicking lights on and off, gossiping about a birth on the delivery suite that afternoon. ‘Like an octopus,’ she heard a nurse whisper. ‘A freak,’ the porter shuddered. Karen drifted off to sleep, with strange dreams whirling.

She was woken by a mewling sound from the cot. The nurse switched her night light on. ‘You need to feed your baby, she’s crying.’

Karen got out of bed, surprised she could stand, that life went on. She peered into the cot, waiting for a surge of love – to be awash with maternal longing – but all she saw and felt was a baby crying and everyone expecting her to make it stop. The tiny white and black thing clenched its fists. She was unsure which bit to pick up. The nurse said kindly, ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll pass her to you.’

Karen sat, and the nurse laid the ball of hunger near her swollen, engorged breasts. ‘You need to put her to your nipple.’

Karen had opted for breastfeeding – she dared not. Breast is best had been drummed into them all at the NCT classes. Wicked and weak was the woman who relied on bottles. Karen uncertainly undid her nightie, the baby pummelled at her skin. She limply held the heap of fury. The nurse gently pushed the black head into her nipple. Karen felt pincers of pain. The nurse held the head in place and Maeve got the hang of sucking.

‘Is it meant to hurt so much?’ Karen asked.

‘It’ll get easier once your nipples harden,’ smiled the nurse. ‘You’ll get the hang of it. Best for baby and best for you.’

Never, thought Karen.

At visiting time, Karen obligingly smiled, took the flowers and munched the grapes. Mike was besotted, he baby-talked into Maeve’s face, cooing. After thirty minutes, Karen touched his arm. ‘I’m really tired, do you mind if I take a nap?’

‘Oh God, of course, darling. I’m sorry, so thoughtless. I’ll leave my girls to get a rest.’

He tenderly placed Maeve back in her cot and bent to kiss Karen. He’d done the same twenty-four hours ago before they’d driven to the hospital. He’d held her between contractions and kissed her saying, ‘Tomorrow, we’ll be a family.’ She’d nodded – she thought it was what she wanted.

As he kissed her forehead, Karen asked, ‘Aren’t you going to take her with you for a little while?’

Mike looked puzzled. ‘No, darling, she needs to stay with you for her feeds.’

‘Oh.’

Karen couldn’t sleep; she was buzzing, wide awake. She listened to the ward clatter: the nurses chatting, babies crying, mothers murmuring. Baby Maeve in the cot next to her bed grumbled then howled. Karen stayed still. An older Irish nurse came to see why she wasn’t feeding her. ‘I’ve tried,’ Karen lied. ‘I don’t think I’ve enough milk.’

‘Well, let’s give her a bottle to tide her over and you can try again tomorrow. Sometimes it takes a while for your milk to come through properly.’

Karen asked, ‘Could you give her this bottle? My belly is really sore.’

The nurse sat next to Karen and gave Maeve the bottle. ‘What a lovely name for a lovely baby,’ she cooed.

Karen felt overwhelming relief as the baby guzzled the bottle, slurping and gulping, away from her. Once fed, Maeve relaxed her fists, her crumpled face ironed out smooth again. The nurse gently laid her back in the cot and she slept.

It only lasted three hours, then the whimpers grew to growls; hunger leapt out, running through the shadows. It filled corners, rattled windows, pulled curtains. Karen bit her fingernails. How could something so little be so big? The ward clattered and clanged, everything loud and bright; it smelt of sweaty women and birth. Karen wanted to be home – a home before all this, before it came and started crying.

The Irish nurse was by her bed again. Karen had put her fingers in her ears, her eyes closed.

She touched Karen’s elbow. ‘Wouldn’t you have a little go yerself?’

Karen bit her lip. ‘I can’t, not tonight. Just help me out tonight. Please.’

Nurse Riley looked at Karen’s face and her wide eyes, pleading. She sighed and turned to the cot to sort out baby Maeve.

Karen sheepishly asked the nurse, ‘Do you think she smells funny?’

‘Your baby? She smells divine, a gorgeous baby smell.’

Karen nodded and wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh.’

The breastfeeding nurse specialist came to Karen the next morning. She was a big woman with a shelf bosom. ‘The night staff said you had trouble feeding last night. Shall we try again?’ She talked with her head on one side and smelt of pear drops and baby sick.

Karen wanted to hit her. There was no we, this was all up to her.

She watched the nurse lift Maeve out of the cot and hand her over. Maeve nuzzled in Karen’s nightie. Karen glanced at her, a parasite. ‘I’m sorry,’ Karen pleaded, ‘can you give her a bottle this feed? I’m too tired.’

The nurse pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think you’ve tried very hard.’

‘I have,’ flared Karen.

The nurse raised an eyebrow and took a frantic Maeve off Karen. ‘Mummy’s tired. We’ll give you a bottle this time, baby, but next feed, we’ll try again, eh?’ She looked at Karen, waiting.

Karen nodded weakly, too relieved to feel guilty.

Karen didn’t go to the dayroom to talk to the other mums. She didn’t want to swap birth details or baby talk. She stayed by her bed, pretending to read. The auxiliaries came to make up fresh beds. She heard them talk about the baby in room two: ‘It has a syndrome. It has to go for surgery this morning.’

Karen wished her baby was going for surgery, that it could be wheeled away, that it wasn’t next to her all the time, sniffling and scuffling.

She remembered a story in the papers years ago about a baby stolen from a hospital ward; it was never found. Karen thought about the story a lot.

Mike visited in the afternoon. Karen told him, ‘My milk still hasn’t come through.’ He happily gave Maeve her bottle, all gooey-eyed, crooning as she slurped. Karen winced at the happy scene. It stirred something deep inside her: disgust.

In the middle of the night, Maeve was a bundle of bawling hunger again. Karen stayed rigid in bed, frozen in fear. Nurse Riley eventually came to her and gently lifted Maeve out of the cot, handing her to Karen.

‘She won’t feed, I’ve tried,’ blurted Karen. She had no intention of putting Maeve near her breast again. Her skin prickled, she pulled her nightie tighter together.

Nurse Riley cooed, ‘Let’s give her a bottle, eh?’ She crooned and cuddled the burning baby, eventually calming Maeve enough to take the milk. She sat opposite Karen. ‘You must be tired, eh?’

‘I can’t get the hang of breastfeeding.’

‘Don’t worry, pet, it’s not for everyone despite what the NCT say. Nutty Condescending Toffs, that’s what we say it stands for in the trade.’

Karen gave a small smile.

‘You’ve got a beautiful baby here.’ She put Maeve back in the cot. ‘Night night, beauty.’

‘Do you think she has a syndrome?’ Karen asked.

‘No, she’s perfect. What on earth makes you say that?’

‘She makes strange noises and smells… not good.’

Nurse Riley laughed. ‘You really are a new mum. You’ll get used to it all.’

Karen drifted off. She woke with a start, her heart hammering; she could hardly breathe. When the panic passed, she stayed awake, staring into darkness, too afraid to dream.

Day three, Karen was due to go home. She dressed with a dry throat, her mouth full of sawdust. A nurse with butterfly eyes took Maeve away for a heel prick or something. She brought her back and offered her to Karen.

‘Put it back in the cot,’ Karen barked.

The nurse looked confused. She took Maeve away again and must have changed and fed her. She was quiet. Karen felt numb, as if the epidural had spread through her whole body. She stared into space.

When Mike arrived on the ward with the carrycot they’d chosen together, the sister in charge touched his arm and asked him to come to the office for a chat.

Karen stared blankly. Everything was beginning to make sense – the room she’d given birth in was room number six. Karen cracked her fingers, clicked her teeth, walked in circles. She threaded words together, ready to explain, to tell Mike what was happening, but when he arrived they slipped away, her sentences unravelling.

Mike sat next to Karen’s bed with a fixed smile. ‘Hey darling, how are you doing?’

He bent to kiss her. Her head felt too heavy to lift off the pillow, it was sucking the life out of her. Her mouth opened and closed in billowing, white, absent spaces – words evaporated. She watched him stare at the cot, immediately he was under its spell. She was the only one who knew what was happening. She had to fight its evil alone. She fought back tears.

Mike rubbed his forehead. ‘Erm, sweetheart, the nurses think it might be better if you stayed another night.’

Karen clung to the notion in desperation. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’ She wanted to be alone so she could think about what she could do. Mike couldn’t see the evil – none of them could. It was all going to be up to her.

He looked sad. ‘Don’t you want to hold her?’ he asked.

He didn’t understand, that’s how it worked, leaking evil through its skin when held, that’s why he was besotted.

Mike gave Maeve a bottle when it was clear Karen wasn’t going to move as the bawling and whirling fists got worse. Karen dared to glance quickly as he fed her, she didn’t want to risk any of its powerful rays. She saw it gathering strength, getting nourishment, everyone was falling for it; it was too clever for them all. Mike held it to his chest to burp, that was dangerous – heart to heart was its most powerful position.

She said cheerily, ‘She’ll be fine now, put her back for a sleep.’

‘I’ll just give her a little cuddle.’

‘Put it back now!’ Karen shouted.

He gently placed Maeve in her cot and covered her in a blanket, worriedly glancing at Karen. Once settled, he brought his chair up close. ‘Honey, the nurses think that maybe tomorrow you should see a doctor to chat over things.’

‘What things?’

‘How you feel about the baby and stuff. Don’t you love our baby?’

Oh dear. He was absolutely in its control; she needed to tread carefully. It snuffled as if to warn her of its power. Karen smiled with effort. ‘Of course I’ll see the doctor.’ She squeezed his hand and kept her lips sealed.

He kissed Maeve first and then Karen. ‘See you tomorrow, sweetie.’

As soon as he left, she wiped her face where he’d kissed, in case any of its power had been transferred.

That night, Nurse Riley lifted a starved, wailing Maeve. ‘Come on, Karen, shall we try and feed her together, eh?’ She spoke to her as if she was subnormal.

Karen felt it gather strength, eyes glowing red, the smell stronger, its voice deep and devilish. She lay absolutely still, staring at the ceiling, deaf and dumb until Nurse Riley gave up trying to talk to her and took it away for another feed. Karen knew she would look at its eyes and be bewitched. They were all under its spell.

It was a full moon. Karen knew that was a good sign. She remembered the story about the missing baby. She had to be quick, into the nursery and out, skidding up the hospital corridors, jumping the cracks – that’d be bad luck.

At 3am, the ward sister met a dishevelled Mike hurrying up the corridor. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. She touched his elbow gently and led him into the ‘quiet room’.

A sad-looking doctor was waiting for him. He stood. ‘Hi, Mike. Take a seat, please.’

The office smelt of BO. There were plastic flowers on a filing cabinet, and a half-eaten box of chocolates with a thank-you card on the table between them. The doctor pushed them aside with a sigh. He shifted in his chair, it squeaked. The sister came back with a tray of sweet tea, and left again.

The doctor leant forward, holding his hands loosely together between his knees. ‘I’m afraid we have bad news…’