Eva arrived in front of the cafe to meet Quentin. The image of herself yesterday, sliding in a heap to the pavement, was like a half-memory that she was pleased not to remember too well. On the way there, she’d passed a gleaming department store that had police tape zigzagged across its side door. There’d been another break-in. And there were teenagers on the Tube, whispering angrily about something. She’d been in a daze for too long, but she was wide awake now. And she wanted answers.

That morning she’d listened to the radio with half her concentration – background noise while she made coffee, swirled honey in yogurt. Then she’d listened with full concentration to news about a celebrity marriage and the sports results and realised, when they came to their chirpy conclusion, that something was missing. So she’d searched online for news of the Bhattacharyya baby, expecting the sites to be full of details, name, weight, hair colour. Nothing. A few sites carried a cursory message, hidden far from the home page, about the family requesting privacy. Now, all of a sudden, that family wanted privacy? No. There was only one reason to avoid saying anything – only one reason she could think of for FullLife to pass up the opportunity of this much publicity. Something had happened. For the first time, she saw a shadow falling over their flawless success. And stepping outside, she saw the same shadow falling over their flawless society.

She marched into the cafe, first again, and selected a different seat today – a table at the back, where they could remain unseen, where their voices would be masked from the rest of the room by the grind and whir of the coffee machine. Her eyes scanned the room then she reached into her bag and pulled out the paper from the train. She was planning to look for any more news of the ‘NaturalBirth’ plan. Whatever that really was.

The editors had managed to fill ten pages without saying anything at all: a new housing development had opened its beige show home, cinemas were screening Hollywood blockbusters and old winter classics, shops were advertising expensive perfume and bright toys. The paper felt flimsy beneath her fingers, slippery from its gloss coating. But there it was, a small advert – eighth of a page, they really were trying to stay below the radar – carrying the FullLife logo and a list of their health-care plans. And buried in the middle was the new NaturalBirth plan. Unlike the FullBirth plan, which was still top of the list. To the side, a man and woman carrying matching pouches with all the latest accessories, dressed in complementary designer labels: Pop duo prepare for twins.