Friday 30th April 1971
The baby began to cry. The wail rose from the blankets and out of the pram. It no longer remained muffled but echoed around the grey stone walls. She’d been a very good girl all the way through. She laid there, as silent as the beautiful woman who had given birth to her by the side of the lake.
David rocked the pram. He didn’t look inside, just kept his gaze on Julia. The vicar encouraged him to stand. It had been David’s one special request. Hymns, songs, all of it meant nothing to him, because there was something he had to do.
He walked forward, glad of the pram. He needed stability. On top of the blanket, near the baby’s feet, lay a bunch of lilies. He lifted them and held them in front of him, before he turned and reached out.
‘Here you are, my darling. Your
