She opened her email and saw 1,439 messages already waiting for her. Glancing through the first few pages, she saw they were emails from staff and from scientists, from new parents and would-be parents, old people, schoolchildren; on the second page of her inbox there was an email from Holly. Probably just one of many – Holly was having a lot of ideas. They all had ideas. They had questions, they wanted to understand what had happened, and to ask her about what they could do next. She gently swivelled her chair away from the computer and stood up. On the wall were several large blank screens. The former director had used them for photos of her baby, but now Eva set up each one to display the notes she’d prepared yesterday. It was her statement of intent. Her list of what needed to be done. The NaturalBirth plans, the care homes, education, research into long-term effects, the many and varied risks – there was still so much they didn’t know. The government had to start contributing again. Some kind of universal health insurance. The new hospitals needed help, equipment and supplies. And the options had to be available to everyone, not just those who could afford them.

It was going to be hard. The extensive range of private health plans, the accessories, the covers, the add-ons, were how FullLife stayed afloat. She knew it. Not to mention the court cases pending. People had been lied to. People were angry. She had inherited a fractured company, to say the least.

She knew there was a black market internationally, that pouches were being misused and civil unrest was rising. She knew that natural birth was still preferred in some countries, and that while the UK had embraced the pouch others had voted to make it illegal. The world was divided. She knew the pouch was involved in some domestic abuse cases, even today, and FullLife had to take a stronger role in prevention and survivor support. Perhaps she’d push for new legislation. Taking Freida’s folder out of her bag, she placed it on the desk and let her fingers rest briefly on the pages.

Her phone was ringing, and when she picked it up the receptionist started talking before she’d even had the chance to say hello.

‘Oh good, you’re there, all set up? I’m holding a queue of fourteen people on the phone lines, and we’ve got a dozen or so already down in the lobby, asking to talk in person. Bethan, new director of research, is going to start some one-to-ones, if that’s OK with you – I figured you might not have time for that today – and the press have arrived. Will I send them up?’