Mad Cows by Kathy Lette Page A

post-natal depression, dear.’
    Maddy thrashed to sitting position and swung her long legs to the floor. ‘You’ve got to find him!’
    Dwina and the doctor forced her back on to the examination table, tethering her down with leather ties. ‘You’re neurotic and highly stressed.’
    â€˜Gee, you’re right . . . Maybe I’m not getting out enough.’
    â€˜I don’t think you realize just how seriously this little incident could set you back.’ Dwina stroked the creased material in her lap as though soothing a fractious cat. ‘Officer Slynne is going to object to bail, on the grounds that you may well be charged with infanticide.’
    Where was Alex? Maddy thought frantically. She refused to believe his Vamoosing Gene had kicked in. Not again
. ‘Now he can add a count of grievous bodily harm. The Governor tends to lock troublemakers like you in the strip cells.’
But if not, then where the hell was he? Was the father of her child really so determined to make a footnote of himself as the Biggest Bastard Act in Recorded History?
    â€˜The Segregation Unit is the grimmest, dirtiest, coldest corner of the prison. Are you listening to me?’
Maddy realised with a jolt that he hadn’t even asked her about Jack. She made a mental reservation at Anguish Café. Never kick a woman unless she’s down. Was that his credo?
    â€˜You must centre yourself, Maddy. Stop projecting. I mean, what on earth do you think you are doing?’
    â€˜Um . . .? Rounding out my prison tan?’
    Dwina waited until the doctor had left the room before taking Maddy’s face in her hands. ‘You can trust me, Madeline. I am your friend.’ She untied the leather restraints. ‘Your
only
friend. I’m offering you an intimate human interaction . . . yet all you do is put up barriers.’
    â€˜Hey, six in a cell getting into their pyjamas simultaneously makes intimate human interaction sort of unavoidable, you know?’
    â€˜
Where is your baby?
’
    When Maddy didn’t answer, Dwina made a disappointed adjustment to her mouth. The voice now emerging from it had taken on a tone of weary admonition. ‘So you smuggled him out. So what? Even if you do ever get out of jail, which after today’s little demonstration I doubt, you’ll just be one more single mother.’
Maddy had to face facts. Her prince had come, seen . . . and pissed off as fast as his chauffeured car would carry him
. ‘Children of single mothers have their noses pressed into life’s rectal canal. They consistently obtain lower educational qualifications than their IQs imply. They get the worst jobs. Is that what you want?’ Dwina folded her arms and glared at Maddy, who was staring despondently at the shelf of self-help books –
Constructive Depression: How To Make the Best of Feeling Down
. ‘Obviously you like theatre – I saw you signed up for playgroup. Well, all the world’s a stage, Maddy. And
you
can write the script. Think of your child. Think of
Jack
.’
    Maddy swallowed hard. As if she had done anything else. She was constantly savaged by daydreams. Was Gillian giving Jack toys which were chew-proof? Was she checking whether plastic wheels could be pulled off? Maybe he’d swallowed one already? Did she know what to do if he was choking? Maddy tugged agitatedly at the paper napkin she was wearing , incongruously called a gown – she’d written shopping lists on paper longer than this.
    â€˜Is it a financial incentive you want?’ Dwina continued with controlled urgency. ‘Demand for adoption has never been higher. Babies are a commodity. A rare commodity. Loop-holes in the law mean that richer couples can gazump those going through legal channels . . .
are you with me
?
    The sullen doctor sidled back into the surgery with Sputnik in tow, a mauve ellipse beneath her right eye. He tossed Maddy her clothes, indicating