In the next row, Sylvie spotted Ruth sitting by herself. She got up and went to sit beside her.

‘Hi,’ Sylvie whispered.

Ruth smiled distantly, but it wasn’t clear if she remembered who Sylvie was.

At the front of the room, Joe was still talking about the movie.

Without her baseball cap, Ruth’s face struck Sylvie as being curiously unguarded, and she had a sudden urge to confide in her. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she wanted to tell her. ‘I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do. Help me.’ Of course, she said no such thing.

‘Let me know if I can get you anything,’ she offered instead.

Ruth’s mouth opened and closed, but there was a sudden flurry of noise, and Sylvie couldn’t hear what she was saying.

‘You dickhead,’ someone said to Buddha, who was making her way good-naturedly between the rows of chairs, knocking people’s drinks over with her tail. She panted happily and put her big, stale snout onto Sylvie’s lap for a second.

Then someone turned out the lights, and the movie began.

The main character was a robot from the future who befriended a young boy. Together, they tracked down the boy’s mother and tried to save the world from other robots. The boy’s mother had the same name as Sylvie’s mother: Sarah.

‘She’s a real feisty fucking bitch, this one,’ someone said.

And then, just when it looked like there was no hope for the heroes, Ruth reached out and took Sylvie’s hand in her own. Her fingers were gnarled and cold. They watched the rest of the movie like that, without moving from each other, even after their palms had begun to sweat.

Back in the cabin later that night, Sylvie woke and, still half-asleep, pulled on her SkinSuit and fitted the headset. Then she lay down on the bed again and whispered Harlow a message.

‘I want you.’

It was after two in the morning, but he responded within seconds.

‘Hang on. Yes.’

She adjusted the headset, logged in, scrolled through the tedious permission options and waited. The suit was filled with tiny rubber nodes, which bristled in anticipation. Now she was awake, did she even feel like this anymore? But yes, she did. Or if not exactly this, then something like it, anyway. She chose a room in Venice, with an immensely high ceiling. She clicked Afternoon. The light changed. The sound of water lapped outside the slightly blurry window in her peripheral vision. The headset wasn’t very comfortable, but at least she didn’t have to think about the walls of the cabin. She did not have to think about the bed she was actually lying on, or the person who had probably died there. That was definitely not what she was thinking about.

‘Okay,’ she heard Harlow say eventually. Then finally they were synced, and Harlow was there, tethered to one of his less absurd avatars, but which still made him look like a Brazilian martial artist. He was pressing into her, which was nice. It was him, but not him, which was fine. She would have liked to kiss him, but that was not something the suit was able to replicate.