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Abigail told me about her recent house move; it was a confessional, as if she had to unburden herself.

She had lived in one of those large houses off the Barbourne Road.

Abigail employed an au pair, Tina. She was hard working and reliable. The children adored her. Then one day Tina gave a week’s notice and was gone. Not so reliable, after all.

Then it started. Every night, the sound of a baby crying.

Two years later workmen were renovating the au pair’s attic bedroom when they found it, swaddled and hidden in the eaves.

A stillborn, they said.

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