‘Natural birth,’ they were saying – she was saying, it was a woman in an advert on the radio, a young woman, presumably an actor – ‘that’s why we chose natural birth instead of using the pouch, with the new FullLife NaturalBirth plan.’

‘And we couldn’t be happier,’ the man joined in, backed by the sound of young children running into the room.

What were they doing?

Natural birth. It was what she’d been fighting to preserve her entire professional life. It was everything her mum had believed in. It was what no one wanted any more, what FullLife had destroyed. So why were they promoting it now – in a new health-care plan, no less? Were they scared of losing their customers? Or trying to gain more? With FullLife, it was usually about money.

She realised her hands were clenched around the edge of the table, so she sat back and consciously released the pressure in her fingers. The advert had finished, and a DJ was talking about Christmas and pop charts in a voice that seemed to belong to a different time. As if nothing had happened.

Should she be pleased? Perhaps she should, but she couldn’t be. If women were being encouraged to return to natural birth, then there must be a reason. Hardly anyone had listened to her arguments in favour of it, not for years, and none of her campaigns had made it onto the radio. But this wasn’t about her. Neither Eva nor her mum was responsible for this. FullLife had spent decades – billions – promoting the pouch as the better way, and now they seemed to be doing a U-turn all on their own. For reasons of their own. Someone, surely, should be asking why.

Still, it was none of her business. Not any more.

She stood up, walked across the room and filled the kettle. It was something to do, a distraction from the unease she’d been feeling all day, that had just intensified. There was the piano room. She could use that as an office. There was the last of her mother’s money. Outside the sun fell below the fields on the horizon and the kitchen was suddenly dark, the moon no more than a sliver. She touched the backs of her fingers against the kettle. The heat emanating from it was still a few degrees short of burning her knuckles.

Chapter 2

EVEN AT SEVENTY-SIX, Holly Bhattacharyya was amused by the thought of being a matriarch. To be seen that way by her family was one thing, but quite why the rest of the world had to join in she had no idea. Silly world, she thought with a smile as she deliberately made her way down the staircase much more slowly than she needed to, her walking stick planted firmly on each step in front of her. Holly liked to make an entrance. And there was some fun to be had today.