Holly shook her head. ‘No. It was fairly easy, my part in the whole thing. I wanted to make society better as quickly as possible, and other people had invented a way to kick-start the change. But is it any better?’

‘In some ways it is, yes. In a lot of ways, in fact. And you made things infinitely better for me.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, Mum. I thought you knew that. You gave me choices. Thanks to you I always knew I had options. That made all the difference in the world.’

‘Well, then I’m proud,’ Holly said.

‘Me too, Mum.’

Holly smiled and Daphne took her hand, and mother and daughter sat together for a while, watching the clouds blowing past the sun as it sank behind the tall glass buildings in the distance.

‘After all,’ Holly said, turning on the lamp in their living room and leaving the outside to its increasing darkness, ‘I’ve had a beautiful life. I have lived such a very fortunate life.’

Standing outside the FullLife birthing centre, Eva could tell that the front panel of glass had recently been replaced. There was a piece of cream-coloured tape still visible along one edge, the kind that window fitters use to seal the glass against the frame during installation. She hoped that no one else had noticed it – she didn’t want it to be removed. It gave the building a certain fragility. For once, you could see how easily it could shatter. How carefully it might need to be repaired.

Behind her, the Thames glittered in the morning light and she could hear the waves lapping against the boats moored along the water’s edge.

In front of her were the rotating doors that led into the FullLife reception hall. There was no turning back now.

Eva strode confidently across the lobby and took the lift up to the top floor. It had never been open to the public, or to the press. There were fish tanks all along the walls – indigo hamlets, her grandmother’s favourite. She wondered if the director had had any idea why they were here, or what they’d once meant to someone. In her bag she had Freida’s folder, several of her own, some of her mum’s old letters – including the one from her grandmother – and the photo of her mum and Piotr, with paper hats on their heads, taken years ago. Everything else she’d arranged to be sent over yesterday, though she still didn’t quite trust these people, and as she pushed open the door to the director’s office she felt a little queasy.