She’d tried to take down the framed print of that first article many times now. The most recent time she’d gone so far as to take it out of the expensive frame and hide it under the squirrel-patterned cushion on her favourite armchair so she could sit on it while her family tried to search without her noticing. She didn’t let on that she could see them doing it. Instead she pretended to doze, even let her mouth droop open and faked a snore, while they were leafing through the magazines under the coffee table. She could hear her daughter’s whisper – ‘She’s sleeping now, Rosie, go and search her room’ – and Rosie’s loyal reply that she would do no such thing. If she’d had a favourite out of all her grandchildren, which of course she didn’t, then Rosie, with her deep hazel eyes and easy smile, would have been it.

But as Holly pushed open the door, readying herself for another interview, and walked serenely into the front room where Rosie and the journalist were waiting, there it was – cleaned and gleaming – hanging right bang centre over the mantelpiece. Holly Bhattacharyya and her husband Will, it read in the caption beneath her determined twenty-three-year-old face, this morning became the first couple to give birth using the new and still controversial baby pouch. She looked for her squirrel-patterned cushion and noticed that it had been relegated to the long sofa, where it was now being squashed behind the journalist’s substantial back.

‘Oh, crap,’ she said, letting the metal walking stick clatter to the ground and standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.

Rosie took her arm and guided her to the comfy chair. She was late already. On purpose, of course.

‘Nana?’

Rosie was wearing the pouch, and had even dressed to match. Holly felt a swell of pride. Her granddaughter was so good with these journalists – she was a natural.

She turned her eyes towards the middle-aged man interviewing them, and the sleek charcoal-grey phone he’d placed on the coffee table. It was already recording. Hopefully Rosie had done most of the interview already.

‘So, er, you were saying William …’ the journalist began in a softer voice than she’d expected him to use. More accented, too. Still, his words were wolfish.

‘I’m not talking about Will,’ Holly said abruptly.

‘We were all very close to Grandpa,’ said Rosie, glancing reassuringly at Holly, and shaking her head just slightly. ‘That’s why we’ve chosen his name.’

Holly’s face softened as she realised what they’d been talking about, and moved her hand to touch the soft, warm pouch that was cradling new life – her great-grandson. Will. Like the man she had loved. Rosie had attached the portable nutrient bag for the interview, and a muffled gurgle came from the pouch. Now she thought about it, Holly rather fancied a biscuit.