Evelyn went into labour on a Thursday morning.
It started as a dull persistent ache in her lower back at six in the morning that she initially mistook for the result of having fallen asleep in the library window seat again, which Alen had told her three times to stop doing and which she had ignored three times because the window seat was comfortable and the early morning light through that window was the most peaceful thing she had found in this house.
By seven the ache had become something else entirely, and by seven fifteen she was gripping the library doorframe with both hands breathing in the careful measured way the midwife had shown her and thinking with extraordinary clarity: this is happening now.
It was George who found her.
