‘Can you tell me your name?’ Joss was saying.

‘Charlotte…’ It was a thready whisper.

‘Charlotte who?’

Silence.

Her name could wait, Amy thought happily. Everything could wait now.

But Joss kept talking, assessing, concerned for the extent of damage to the young mother now that the baby had been delivered safely.

‘Charlotte, you’ve had a head injury. I need to ask you a couple of questions, just so I’m sure you’re not confused.’

She understood. Her eyes were still taking in her baby, soaking in the perfection of her tiny daughter, but she was listening to Joss.

‘Do you know what the date is today?’

‘Um…’ She thought about it. ‘Friday. Is it the twenty-fifth?’

‘It sure is. Do you know who won the football grand final last week?’

That was easy. A trace of a smile appeared, and the girl shed years with it.

‘The Bombers,’ she said, and there was an attempt at flippancy. ‘Hooray.’

‘Hooray?’ She was a brave girl. Amy grinned but Joss gave a theatrical groan.

‘Oh, great. It’s just my luck to bring another Bombers fan into the world.’ Then he smiled and Amy, watching from the sidelines, thought, Wow! What a smile.

‘And your surname?’

But that had been enough. The woman gave a tiny shake of her head and let her eyes close.

Joss nodded. He was satisfied. ‘OK, Charlotte.’ He laid a fleeting hand on the woman’s cheek. ‘We’ll take some X-rays just to make sure there’s no damage, then we’ll let you and your daughter sleep.’

‘So is anyone going to tell me what the set-up is here?’

With the young mother tucked up in a private room, her baby by her side and no fewer than two self-declared intensive-care nurses on watch by her side, there was time for Amy and Joss to catch their breath.