But as he approached the door, Holly reached out and caught his arm. ‘Where is Freida buried?’ she said. ‘I mean, is she …?’

‘Oh, aye,’ he said. ‘She’s buried out in the Edderton church. I can take you there, if you like. Before the train?’

Holly nodded. ‘I’d like that, yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like to say goodbye.’

‘In the morning then,’ he said quietly.

Holly smiled. ‘In the morning. Thank you, Declan Ross.’

That night, the director of FullLife left her office late, and took the mirrored lift down to the front entrance that she always used. They’d done a good job of clearing up the glass. The new panel looked pristine, you’d think there was nothing there at all, except for the stillness of the air inside.

As she approached the turning doors, she thought she saw some movement outside, but it was so dark she couldn’t really tell. It was probably just some of the other staff leaving work late. She was trying to look calm, even though there was no one in the lobby to see her, but it was an act. She hadn’t been able to settle to anything all afternoon, her worry seeping into every task she attempted. Karl’s anger, Cris’s pain – they had every right to be upset. A baby had died, in her care; that was how she saw it. Every time she thought about it, she wanted to curl up into herself.

Why was it happening now? If she’d known before, she would never have accepted the job in the first place. She didn’t want to have to cope with this. She didn’t know how. She was going to have to write some kind of press statement, some kind of public apology. She’d hoped so desperately that they’d find the problem, fix the pouches, and be able to tell people everything was OK. But it wasn’t OK, and they hadn’t fixed anything. And now the care homes were running out of money. Someone had to take responsibility. The government was refusing to help – they’d made health care private for a reason. FullLife were about to lose public faith in the pouch when they most needed their support. She didn’t know what to do.