‘Oh, don’t worry, they’re all very healthy and well nourished. It’s not the food that’s a difficulty, it’s the space.’ She pointed towards the window and Avigail followed her there to look out. ‘Our new building site.’

Beyond the edges of the grassy field behind the care home she was standing in, more areas had been sectioned off with wire fencing, and a series of cabins were already positioned for construction workers and on-site management. They were building more.

‘My God, how many children are there?’ Avigail said.

She stepped back and felt her leg brush against something. Or someone. A child had wandered in from the dormitory opposite. The manager started to usher her out of the room, muttering something about the naptime supervisor, but Avigail stopped her.

‘What’s your name?’ she said, kneeling down to be at the same height as the toddler standing in front of her. She had wide green eyes and olive skin and skinny arms, and she reached out a finger to touch Avigail’s brightly coloured dress. ‘My name’s Avigail,’ she said. ‘Do you want to tell me your name?’

The little girl shook her head and backed away.

‘It’s OK,’ Avigail found herself saying. ‘It’s OK, you can tell me your name.’

The manager touched Avigail on the shoulder to get her attention, and she stood up.

‘We let them choose their own names,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, the babies are anonymous when they arrive here, you see, and it gives the children a sense of identity to choose their own names when they’re ready.’

‘Identity?’

‘Or control, if you prefer … She can come with us, for a few minutes.’

Avigail looked at the little girl, who was watching with her back pressed against the wall. She felt a surge of anger at the pouch, at that awful synthetic milk, at every way in which women had stopped being mothers.

‘Where are the pouches kept? Before the birthing process, I mean.’

‘There’s another building for that,’ the manager said. ‘Couple of miles from here. But they get the very same nutrients as everyone else. FullLife deliver fresh bags twice a week, and take away the old ones for recycling. This way.’ She was walking through the corridor now, pointing in to the dormitories, each with around ten beds, some occupied by napping children, and each with plenty of toys, plenty of heat. Avigail followed close by her side, passing room after room after room. ‘FullLife give them all the same check-ups, too. Completely for free, of course. It’s quite wonderful.’

The little girl was walking along behind them, holding on to Avigail’s dress – now and then Avigail felt a tug on the hem as the girl’s small legs struggled to keep up.