Evil, monstrous, sickening. The worst words are inadequate to describe what happened to Preston Davey, sexually abused and killed by the men who adopted him.

All week his lovely face has been smiling from the front pages – a sight almost too distressing to bear.

The sweetness of babies is a magical thing. That there exist people who would do such harm to one of them is beyond comprehension. It makes me long, frankly, for the days of the rope. 

Jamie Varley, a 37-year-old former teacher, was given a whole life order for the abuse and murder of 13-month-old Preston. His partner John McGowan-Fazakerley, 32, was sentenced to 25 years in prison for allowing the death of a child, child cruelty and sexual assault.

What sharpens the tragedy is that it was avoidable. Three times in the space of six weeks Preston was rushed to Blackpool Victoria Hospital. The first time unresponsive. The next time with a rash and vomiting. Then with a fracture of the elbow. Twice there were unexplained bruises. The broken bone was explained away as an accident while putting Preston down in his cot.

‘You lot are going to think we have been abusing him or something,’ joked Varley. On the first visit, at least, someone did inform the police but this was overruled by a consultant who thought there was nothing to worry about.

Beyond this initial alarm raising, there seems to have been a strange reluctance to recognise the red flags being waved. How can a child break their elbow in a cot? How can a baby learning to crawl be moving so fast that they are bruised on the head?

Could it be that something was inhibiting medical staff from voicing their concerns about Varley and McGowan-Fazakerley? In the wake of the verdict, a senior social worker told the Daily Mail: ‘In my experience, social workers can find it difficult to confront same-sex adoptive parents, due to a fear of being seen as politically incorrect.’

It is not a great leap to imagine NHS workers feeling the same. Their safeguarding guidelines talk about the importance of ‘fostering good relations between people who share a protected characteristic under the Equality Act 2010 and those who do not.’

The language of inclusion has infiltrated every part of the public sector. A well-meaning desire to promote equality has been warped into a desperate desire not to offend. The greatest sin for a public professional is not to fail but to betray any whiff of bigotry.

Could this help explain what happened in the Blackpool hospital? It certainly might help explain the rather different treatment I received when pitching up at A&E with an injured infant.

In April 2021, I had just had my third baby. With a two-year-old, a one-year-old and a one-month-old, I had three under three and was as tired as it is possible for a human being to be.

One morning I took the baby out for a walk, wearing her in a newborn sling on my chest. It being cold, I wrapped her up in a squashy suit and thick woolly hat – thank goodness. For as I stepped out of the house I saw, as if in slow motion, my baby slipping out of the sling and on to the doorstep. In my chronically tired state I had forgotten to do up one of the fastenings. The right side was open and she fell on to the hard ground.

It was a moment of sheer horror. I seized my tiny daughter, who was crying her heart out, and – hyperventilating with worry – hot-footed it to A&E. They were marvellous: shining lights in her eyes, checking the little red line on her head, reassuring me that all was well. As I waited to be discharged, a slightly awkward young medic beckoned me into a side room and gently questioned me on my mental state. ‘How are you feeling, day to day? Do you have much support at home?’

Chatting to the medic a penny dropped that I was under suspicion for harming my child. A week or so earlier, I had brought her into A&E with a low temperature (which, it turned out, was a fuss over nothing). Would my second visit in two weeks trigger an alarm with social services?

It was a long ten minutes in which I became increasingly paranoid. Behind the medic’s furrowed brow was the thought formulating that this crazy tear-stained lady had deliberately dropped her baby?

Acutely aware that in my sleep-deprived state I looked like a wild-eyed maniac, I began convincing myself that they would take my daughter away.

In the end, social services weren’t called – but for a good friend of mine, things went further. One week she took her two-year-old into A&E with a rash; he was found to be fine. The next week he had breathing difficulties, so she called an ambulance. When the paramedic arrived my friend sobbed with worry and on the way to hospital happened to mention the previous visit.

The combination of tears and repeat trips to A&E triggered alarm bells for the paramedic, who promptly referred my friend to social services. There followed separate visits from the social worker and health visitor, who said that my friend’s medical records had been gone over with a fine toothcomb. Hours had been spent on discussions about whether to escalate the case.

In both instances, my friend and I were concerned mothers and not child abusers. But were we outraged at being interrogated? Or fuming at being referred? Absolutely not. Speaking to her while writing this, she tells me she is glad the system is overcautious rather than undercautious. ‘They should have a "trust no one" policy,’ she tells me.

I agree entirely. No, it isn’t pleasant to be quizzed about your child’s injuries. But courtesy, politeness and political correctness must never get in the way of discovering the truth.

Overcaution must apply to all, whether you represent a ‘protected characteristic’ under equality law or not: male or female, straight or gay, white or black, disabled or able-bodied. We always hear that ‘lessons must be learned’ after instances like this and here they are clear: make the safety of children paramount.

Treat everyone equally. And trust no one.

Is Geri auditioning to be Pope?

Another event, another all-white ensemble for Geri Horner. While I think she looked lovely at Royal Ascot this week, I can’t help wondering what she’s auditioning for: Eliza Doolittle or the next Pope?

George SHOULD go to Eton 

There will be much scoffing at the news that Prince George is off to Eton but it’s a fantastic choice. I’ve never met an old Etonian I didn’t like. Twenty of them have run the country. They wear natty waistcoats, row boats down the Thames, even have their very own field sport – The Wall Game – like Quidditch at Hogwarts.

Let’s face it: if most of us could afford it, we’d send our own sons there, too.

What could explain Brooklyn Beckham’s decision to appear on a tacky TV ad making fun of estranged parents David and Victoria? Pleading for a private life yet constantly seeking the limelight; deliberately embarrassing his family; ungrateful for the privilege he was born into – Brooklyn, you and Harry should hang out.

Bare nipples are always a public no-no 

Well done to the French resort towns fining men £130 for the offence of being topless in public. Restaurants are being particularly strict: no moobs over the moules mariniere. We need the same rules here, urgently – before an England victory in the World Cup. I don’t care if you’re male or female: a bare nipple is a public no-no.