CAROL KNEW her husband Frank was making excuses. He was giving her all the reasons why he couldn't take the day off work tomorrow. His hand was stroking his beard as he talked which was always a sign that he was playing the role of Mr Reasonable.

"For one thing," he said, "I took Monday off. Monday is an important day. It's when the little darlings bring in their weekend homework and likewise, Friday is important as it's when I select the rugby teams. Stability, ritual and routine are so important in the classroom if you want respect and smooth running."

Carol watched him as though he was at the end of a long tunnel. Far, far away, small and out of focus. Only his voice was close-up, booming like gun fire. In her panic at the thought of being alone again tomorrow with Jessica, her breath became staccato and her heart thumped as though it would escape its protective rib cage.

"The Head called me in yesterday," continued Frank, tapping the back of his hand. "He asked me if I'd had any treatment for my migraine. I've never had a migraine in my life, and there he stood offering me sympathy, saying his wife was a sufferer too and he could recommend Paramax. He suggested a visit to the doctor was the next step. Can you imagine how I felt? You must see I can't go on having a migraine attack two or three times a week, especially as really I'm as fit as a fiddle."

He has no idea, thought Carol. He has absolutely no concept of how impossible it is to be here all day with that baby who cries and cries and bloody well cries. A baby who is so fragile with her soft, pink skin and pulse on the top of her yet unclosed skull.

"You see Mike is going into hospital tomorrow for his little op, so we'll be short staffed. The next round of tests are coming up and it's not as though she's any trouble," he went on. Carol noticed how a tuft of beard below his lip wagged as he spoke.

If only he could understand how terrible it was to look after such a difficult child. Today, for instance, whilst bathing her, she had deliberately wriggled when soapy and slipped below the water. Carol had watched her for a moment as she struggled for breath. Jessica then yelled for a good hour non-stop. Nothing, nothing at all, no back patting, no bottle, no walking up and down had stopped her. In the end she had thrown her in her cot and rushed out into the garden.

"I am the bread winner now," she heard, seeing him through the tunnel again. This time his face was distorted with loathing. He must hate me, she thought, or he wouldn't punish me by leaving me alone with her. The hospital has probably given me the wrong baby. I can't believe she belongs to me.

"Don't you see how unreasonable you're being? There's nothing wrong with you or Jessica. Don't you remember who for years we longed for our own child? She must be the most wanted baby in the world."

Now his voice was far away, making excuse after excuse. Her palms were sweaty. If he left her in the morning she would have to find some final escape. Some way to get rid of that screaming pink thing that didn't love her. Some final way out.

Linda Hart