I sit with Charlotte and Cara in the nursery, taking in the mass of murals, colourful and bright, occupying the walls. Mobiles hang from the ceiling, dangling birds and horses and little bells which sway and tinkle with the slightest movement.
From outside comes the slam of a car door.
More visitors?
Charlotte, feeding Cara, is still pale but a touch of pink blushes over her cheeks.
Recovering a day at a time...
Uncertain as to how I approach the subject, I speak carefully. "How are you feeling now?"
But she simply smiles slightly. "I'm getting better. I'm not coughing much now." She strokes Cara's face, very gently, not disturbing her daughter from her meal. "The important thing is that Cara is healthy. When they had me prisoner in there, yes, it was awful, but the main thing I was
