UNTIL YOU'RE MINE

A tale monopolised by women and their obsession with babies. Men have no role here except as impregnators and if a male reader braves the initial stifling atmosphere of female fecundity he will be ultimately repulsed by the introduction of psychopathic horror.

In the foreground is a family: widowed Royal Navy officer with twin sons married to Claudia, the pregnant second wife who employs a nanny with impeccable references. The setting is affluent suburbia, a friendly community unmoved by mention of distant murders of a particularly misogynist nature where women are ripped apart and the fetus abstracted.

In suburbia life goes on: the school run, the antenatal clinic, coffee with other pregnant ladies. The narrative switches between characters: Claudia and the nanny (present tense, first person singular), the warring husband-and-wife team of detectives (past tense, third person). More than one person is playing a role but motivations are opaque, except for Claudia who is living only for the coming baby. With a number of miscarriages behind her, with her husband on duty in the Mediterranean, suspecting that her nanny represents some kind of threat, Claudia is in a fragile and vulnerable state.

The climax comes: the contractions, emergency calls, the twist - which is more of a catastrophic wrench. It took a long build-up, but well done, one admits grudgingly, feeling vaguely cheated, seeing the flaws. And then the final twist, which is a revelation par excellence. Definitely not a man's book. Too raw.