As for worrying about the selection during IVF, you could drive yourself mad thinking about all the potential lives that never were, from the eggs never fertilised, the embryos that did not survive. You could drive yourself mad worrying about choosing one over the other, but they were just cells. She believed that. After all, for every child that was born there could be another, potential child that would never be conceived the night after. It was the child that was born that mattered. The life that was lived.

Picking up the basket she kept by the back door, she headed out into the garden despite the dark. Light from the house lit the grass, and the glow of London was reflected in the winter colours as she selected stems of rich green leaves and red berries. Indoors, she arranged two vases and took the first quietly to Rosie’s room. She was lying on the bed now, the walls bare, the curtains drawn, but she sat up as Daphne placed the flowers by the window. They would catch the sun in the morning.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Rosie said, her voice weak and quiet, but genuine.

‘You’re welcome, sweetheart.’ Daphne kissed her on the forehead. ‘Any word from Kaz?’

Rosie shook her head.

‘He’ll come home when he’s ready. And so will Nana.’ Daphne didn’t know if that was true, but she’d always thought it best to deal with one problem at a time, and right now Rosie was exhausted. ‘Try to get some sleep, love.’ She went to pull the door over as she left the room, but Rosie called her back.

‘Leave it open, Mum?’

Daphne smiled and nodded. ‘I love you very much, sweetheart.’

Downstairs again, Daphne looked at the second vase she had arranged, added one more sprig from the spare cuttings in the sink and some extra plant food. Then she carried it up to the attic, to her mum’s room, and arranged it on the dressing table between the family photos that Holly kept either side of the mirror she used when curling her hair. It felt wrong, this room being empty. Like a vital part of her was missing. But her mum would come home soon too, Daphne reasoned, and when she did, she’d quite like her to see that she’d brought her some red berries, some prickly holly, and some of the unexpected winter flowers from their new purple daphne.

Holly stood in the middle of Freida’s room – part office, part lounge, part dining room – with the framed newspaper article celebrating her past at her feet. Eva and Piotr were looking decidedly scared of her now. Ha!