Instead, she felt strangely grateful, and wondered if this was why cancer patients always said thank you to the doctor who told them they were going to die. She knew that this was her fault. All of it – all of it her fault.

“How far behind?”

“Ms Meads, I am authorised to discuss a repayment plan with you. Your debt to Fullife is currently in excess of £250, with an additional penalty of £200 for late payment. If this sum continues unpaid in the next six weeks, I’m afraid we are licensed to initiate punitive financial reclamation services. Are you able to make the payment now?”

“I . . . no.” Finally, here it comes. Here comes the truth, the realisation of what it is, hitting her like a spot on the chin, an explosion of blood and pus in the night, her body splitting open and splattering with the harsh reality that she is just flesh, tissue and the shining, shimmering fluids that slither in between.

“Ms Meads, I have to tell you that your contract has you tied into payments for the next four years, so unless you can pay the termination fee of £750 for all services, your debt will only continue to worsen until you reach the cut-off of £1000, at which point you will go into punitive measures by default.”

Harmony was wrong. Gillian is not a kind woman. She is not warm and compassionate. She is the evil matron at school who smiles sugar and puppies on the parents’ open days, who calls the children “lovely little kiddies” and beams with delighted glee as she makes them stand in the idiot’s corner. She is the one who whips you for your own good, and enjoys giving out moral retribution. Harmony can’t believe she missed it before.

A question, surfacing from deep within her psyche. She remembered this experience – the utter paralysis of thought – from the hospital. Everything she needed to say only occurred to her later, when she could breathe again, but this . . .

“What are punitive financial reclamation services?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to refer you to your contract.”

“But you . . . you know what that means?”

A little sigh. The children are being difficult again, but that’s OK. Gillian is magnanimous about these things. “Our licence to provide nano healthcare in your body requires that we maintain all essential systems in good working order. That means your basic immunisation, cardiac and neurological packages will remain fully operative until the contract lapses or the termination fee goes through. After all, it’s in no one’s interest if you get ill, is it?” A little laugh – Gillian does like her job, she actually fucking likes it; she likes telling people about this, she finds it very interesting, despite knowing somewhere deep down inside that this probably makes her weird. “However, we are licensed to shut down non-essential systems until payment is received. Currently this means suspension of all your boosts, and I’m sorry to say you may experience some side effects as your body readjusts to having minimal nano support . . . ”