Later, I couldn't think whose idea it had been to visit the Tate that day. I did remember we'd been talking about going for ages, months even, and how pleased I was when Mickey finally took a rare day's holiday to spend with us. I remembered that we thought we should do something more interesting than trotting round the local park behind Louis's pushchair for the millionth time that month; that I was happy it would just be us three for once as we caught the train into town.
So whose fault did that make it when my whole world fell apart?
Every mother's nightmare. Well written.