She lifted her head and looked at the dashboard clock: 11:35 p.m. ‘Shit,’ she muttered. She must have fallen asleep without realising it. Cautiously, she peered between the curtains drawn across the windows. Seeing Jim’s grizzled face, she opened the door.He climbed into the van, thumbing over his shoulder at the Walshes’ unlit house. ‘Looks like they’re asleep.’‘I was too,’ Anna admitted.He placed a plastic bag on the table and removed two polystyrene cups and several silver-foil trays from it. ‘Coffee and Chinese takeaway. I got you chicken. Everyone likes chicken, right?’‘Thanks. I haven’t eaten since this morning.’ Anna peeled the top off a tray. The smell of spicy food made her realise how hungry she was.As they ate, Jim said, ‘I’ve had an interesting evening. I’ve spoken to several midwives and doctors who worked at Queen’s Medical Centre back in ’98. Not a single one remembers Sharon Walsh. Neither does the hospital have any record of her having antenatal care.
