His head was in his arms, his expression hidden from her as he stared down at the table. She felt sorry for him. They believed so completely in what they were doing, some of these scientists – so many people at FullLife. She’d come across it often, the certainty that they were doing good. To have believed all your life you were doing something right, only to have it go wrong in such a tragic way. It must make you question who you are. She placed her hand on his shoulder again, this time with genuine emotion. There was something surprisingly vulnerable about him. She wondered what her mum had really thought of him. She didn’t want to imagine Avigail as someone who used people, although of course she must have done – all her contacts at FullLife were being used, to some extent, as she searched for something to help her fight against them, to slow their unstoppable conversion of the whole population.

‘It can’t have been your fault,’ she said.

He didn’t move from his position.

‘I mean, I’m sure no one knew there was any danger of this happening …’

He looked up then.

He looked up, and she understood, and she pulled her hand away from his shoulder.

As Piotr pushed open the gate to the Bhattacharyya family home he noticed, for the first time, the golden-barley colour that it had been painted. Had he been asked before he would have said it was white. A white picket fence. But that’s not what it was at all. The fence was low, wooden, yes, but rustic, painted the kind of gold that nature can produce; fresh bailed hay, low sun under gathering clouds. Beyond it the garden hadn’t caught up with the December frost. There were leaves on the trees, a large ornamental grass with bright yellow flowers. And the berries – deep purple, wild orange and crisp white – what an astonishing assortment of berries. Perhaps he should have brought something, flowers, some kind of offering, but he was empty-handed. Still, they had their new baby, they probably didn’t need anything else cluttering up their home.

He stood in front of the door before ringing the bell, expecting it to be the last minute of peace he’d have until he left again. The silence he heard after ringing the bell reminded him of an empty ice rink. He knew not to press it a second time.

It was Holly who opened the door – opened it just wide enough to look out, but not wide enough for him to step inside. At first her eyes were an accusation, but as she stared at him her expression seemed to soften.

‘Nobody told you,’ she said.

‘Told me what?’

‘Not to come.’

Piotr stared at her. She was changed, something was different.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Piotr, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You have to leave us alone.’