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happened. Grabbing the children in turn, she forced her fingers into their mouths in an effort to make them sick. Then she rushed to the fridge and brought milk, thinking in her panic that it might help. As the children began to lose consciousness she called her mother at work, who told her to call for an ambulance.
    Later Michelle was to admit that as much as fifteen minutes might have passed between the discovery of the stricken children and her calling the emergency services.

THE PAGET HOUSEHOLD, DALSTON
    W hen Peter came out of the bathroom he could see from his wife’s expression that it was bad news.
    ‘Peter, we couldn’t have picked a worse day if we’d spent our lives planning it.’ Angela handed him the sheaf of newspapers brought by her daughter Cathy from her paper round. Cathy was aware of what her father was intending to do that day and her heart had sunk when she’d seen the front pages. Two small children — a ten-year-old and a nine-year-old — had died after taking ecstasy tablets.
    Peter glanced from headline to headline. Angela had already read them all. ‘It’s clear that it was a terrible accident. These kids found big sister’s little party stash and ate it. They might have necked a bottle of cream sherry or rat bait, but it’s being spun as if the poor girl forced the bloody things down their throats. The mother, too. It’s like she’d left the children in the care of a Yardie gang.’
    Cathy Paget called from the living room. The police van the sister and mum were taken away in was stoned by an angry mob. It’s on Sky every five minutes.’
    The newspapers were almost unanimous in their interpretation of the tragedy. This was no accident. E killed these children. The people who took E killed them, and the people who dealt E killed them. Ecstasy was an instrument of child murder and those who apologized for it were apologists for infanticide.
    Peter bit his lip. Not a good day to raise the subject of drug legalization in Parliament. The achingly cute photographs of the dead children stared at him from the front page of every paper. Innocent victims of evil drug-takers.
    Cathy emerged from the living room. ‘They’re going to kill you, Dad. Every report, and I mean every single report on your speech is going to be accompanied by the photos of those kids. They’re going to say that you’re proposing a Private Member’s Bill to kill children.’
    ‘Thanks, darling. That makes me feel a whole lot better.’
    ‘She’s right, Pete,’ said Angela. ‘You don’t have to do this thing if you don’t want to.’
    They went into the sitting room and watched Sky News for a while. The footage of the mob trying to get at Michelle and her mother while they were taken in for questioning was horrible to watch.
    ‘She’s just lost her son,’ Angela said, with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh my God, people are terrible, aren’t they?’
    Every now and then the footage was punctuated with shots of Peter, the commentator reminding the viewer that the MP for Dalston North West intended that day to introduce a bill proposing the legalization of drugs.
    ‘Pretty poor timing,’ one anchor remarked.
    ‘Tasteless and insensitive would be better descriptions, I think,’ her colleague replied.
    It was much the same spin on all the channels. The general feeling was that this new and terrible tragedy must surely now bring the legalizers to their senses.
    ‘Do you want me to drop it?’ Peter asked his wife.
    ‘No, of course not,’ she replied.
    ‘Thought not,’ said Peter. ‘Sod them. This tragedy has got nothing whatsoever to do with my bill. Nothing. Like you say, Angela, it could have been booze or cleaning fluids. How many kids have died through alcohol this week? Beaten by drunk parents, run down by drink-drivers, poisoned on fucking Alcopops? Where are their pictures? Why aren’t they on the front page?’
    ‘Dad. They’re going to kill you.’

THE HILTON HOTEL, BANGKOK
    S onia had finally