"No, it's, uh . . . it's . . . Can I use your phone please?"

     Mo must have seen something in my face. He handed over his mobile. But I had no idea what number to dial. I called Elaine instead, the only number I could remember.

     "Hello? Who's this?"

     I felt a blush of warmth, an abdominal tug.

     "Elaine, it's me. How're you doing?"

     "Still waiting. You know how it is with hospitals. Waiting, waiting, waiting. How's the baby?"

     "I'm just calling . . ." Why was I calling? What was I doing? Elaine had entrusted me with the baby and I was about to admit that I was the worst father in the world?

     "What number is this?" she asked.

     "The baby's fine. She's asleep."

     "I miss her." Her voice became shaky. "Sorry, still feeling a bit fragile."

     "I just . . . What's your mother's number? I wanted to call her to . . . thank her for those pyjamas. I'm wearing them now."