A baby cries in one of the flats upstairs. For me, a rush of memory. Why now? Why this memory?
16, Mill Road Cambridge (up the road where subz lives now) about 20th May 1965. The landlady is waiting for us when we get back from the maternity hospital. My wife escapes to privacy upstairs. "No babies are allowed here," the landlady scolds. "You should have told me."
I'm choked with emotion, but somehow find the right words: "Well, there is nothing for you to worry about then, Mrs Blenkinsop. Our little girl was born dead."
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That would certainly have stopped her in her tracks and should have been remembered for the rest of her life.