I came back for a folder and found my eight-month-pregnant wife crouched under our dining table while my mother shoved fish b0nes toward her mouth.

She found that out eight months before I did.

And she did not tell me, and I know exactly why, and it is in the sentence she had already said to me in that hospital bed.

My mother had told her the family would back her up.

A woman who has been reported to a maternity unit by an anonymous “family member” cannot go to her husband and say I think it was your mother, because the only thing that sentence does, if he does not believe her, is prove the point.

How I got the notebook, which is a question I have been asked by a barrister, two police officers and about eleven people in a pub.

I did not break into my mother’s house. I have been accused of that, in writing, by my aunt.

On the twenty-second of November, two days after, I went to collect my mother’s blood pressure tablets and her reading glasses to take to the police station, because she had been arrested that morning and had asked a sergeant to ring me and ask.

I was in that house with a key she gave me in 2019, with permission, for that purpose, with an officer sitting outside in a car.

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