Rosie held him. Her eyes kept the doctors away, the nurses, even her family, she kept them all away. Her nana stepped back, giving her space. And she held him so tight. She held him and rocked him, she kissed his forehead, stroking his dark, damp hair, and she said, ‘Hello, baby Will,’ and she rocked him and kissed him with Kaz standing beside her and she whispered, ‘Wake up now, baby Will. We’re here.’ But her words wouldn’t come out right. ‘We’re here,’ she tried to say but her whole body was shaking and he did not wake up, he could not wake up. Kaz was reaching out to her and together they held their baby and the room fell silent until quietly Kaz started to sing the tune he’d sung to Will in the pouch, and Rosie started to cry, and then, to break.

James waited by the pass-through airlock for the failed pouch to be delivered. It had to be sent through in stages. Each level of the cleanroom had a pass-through, so the scientist from the receiving class of lab collected the pouch then carried it across the lab to where the next level of pass-through was located. Like a relay. A very slow, cautious relay. The pouch had been put in a sterilised box and sealed, of course. It wasn’t visible to any of them. Not until it reached James Quentin’s lab, and they opened it up.

The first time, they’d decided something physical had gone wrong. Some problem with the umbilical cord, perhaps, something to do with it getting tangled. It was easier that way – they’d thought it was a one-off. It wasn’t.

Bethan must have noticed his hesitation. He wasn’t sure if she was using the opportunity to take control or simply trying to help, but she carried the opened box from the bench in front of him to the central area, where she began dividing it up. She didn’t seem to have any hesitation. Her use of the scalpel blade was adept and assured.

Of course, it wasn’t an actual living creature, the pouch. It shouldn’t feel like having to cut open a person. But James had joined FullLife to help create the new generation of pouches, to make them better for the babies, more inspiring, more enjoyable for the parents. The audio adapter – that had been his idea. People loved it. It had won him promotion to director of research. And yet here he was. Dissecting, not creating.

He was staring at Bethan, though he hadn’t realised until she stared back.

‘What?’ she said impatiently.

He shook his head. ‘It’s just …’

‘There’s work to do. Come on.’