Holly had already had her photo taken a fair few times in connection with the campaign and had even been interviewed on the early-evening regional news. She’d cut quite a figure with her long red hair bedecked with yellow ribbons, coltish legs encased in blue jeans and a figure-hugging tie-dyed T-shirt clinging to her curves. That she was also articulate and engaging on camera meant that she was now becoming the go-to person, a ‘good talker’, as it was known in the media business, for soundbites about the campaign. It wasn’t long before she had her own hashtag, #GreenGoddess, to go with the #JustBreathe #WhatPriceBreath and #CFDrugsNow ones that were doing the rounds on Twitter.

In truth, she found all this a bit embarrassing, but anything that drew attention to the campaign to get the drug on the NHS was worth it, she figured. Rachel had attended a few events by her side, but after Harry’s recent hospital stay, she was trying to stay close to home, and so a trip to Westminster was out of the question.

So it was that, on a sunny Wednesday morning, Holly stepped off the train alone at London Paddington and headed to the Underground. Her base for the night would be an Air BnB just on the outskirts of Westminster, which enabled her to be present for as long as possible at the demonstration. A few stops later, hot from a train carriage crammed with commuters and a few tourists, she stepped off at Westminster and made ready to join what looked like hundreds of other protesters on Westminster Square.

As she approached the statue of Winston Churchill, around which most of the demonstrators were congregating, she was pounced upon by a news reporter who was covering the story.

‘Cathy English, Channel 4 lunchtime news. Are you OK to have a word?’

‘Sure,’ Holly composed her features into a smile. ‘Can you just give me a sec to sort my hair out?’ Holly reached into her bag and pulled out several yellow ribbons attached to butterfly hair clips, shook her hair out and attached the ribbons in. She’d been practising a lot in the mirror at home, so they looked striking with very little effort. Yellow was the colour of the campaign, and the contrast with her red hair was powerful.

‘You’re Holly Renton, aren’t you?’ Cathy chatted as Holly ran her fingers through her hair to untangle it a little more. ‘The Green Goddess?’

Holly grimaced. ‘That seems to be my hashtag at the moment, yes.’

‘OK, are you good to go? We’ll record this for the twelve-thirty slot and it’ll probably get a repeat on the evening news, too.’

‘Yup, let’s do this.’ Holly pushed away the habitual butterflies that seemed to flutter in her stomach.