Time is slow. Eventually Oliver says, ‘I can’t say yes or no.’ He momentarily places his hand over Anna’s. ‘Until you’ve met somebody.’ He stands. ‘Come with me.’

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Anna

Eva is the clinic’s psychologist. Oliver will decide whether I can take part in the trial after she has assessed me. I am sitting opposite her, trying to portray a calmness I do not feel.

At school I loathed exams. The pressure of knowing that the answers I gave over the next sixty minutes could potentially dictate my future. My palms would sweat, my temples throb. This is the way I feel now, but this time there is far more riding on a test than university offers and job prospects. I am not just doing this for me, but for Adam.

For us.

Oliver has taken Nell for another coffee, promising he will return the second Eva tells him she has finished. It’s all moving so quickly I don’t feel ready. I can’t stop fidgeting, agitated that I’ve already been away from Adam today for longer than I’d like.

‘Are you comfortable, Anna?’ Eva asks.

‘Yes, thank you.’ I’m not. Mentally I have never been less comfortable than I am right now.

‘Don’t look so scared.’ With a French-manicured fingernail, she tucks her sleek dark hair behind her ears. In comparison my own nails are bitten to the quick and I tuck my hands under my thighs so she doesn’t judge me.

‘I won’t bite,’ she says.

I try to relax. The room is cosy. The white walls and shiny floors of the rest of the Institute haven’t been carried through here. Instead, the paint is the colour of butter. Bright orange pots spilling with tall leafy green plants flank the door. The turquoise chair I am sitting on is soft and deep. On the oak coffee table in front of me is a jug of water and two glasses, along with a box of tissues.

Eva scrawls into a notebook.

‘Will this take long?’ I try to keep my impatience from my voice but I’m tired and tetchy. ‘It’s just… my husband…’

‘Of course. I’ll make it as quick as I can and then hopefully we can move Adam here. We have the best equipment on the island.’ Again the pen scratches across paper. Again I try to suppress a scream, not sure whether this is part of the test. Whether she has begun assessing me. I force myself to be still. Quiet.

‘I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Try not to think too long about the answers. There is no right or wrong,’ she smiles. ‘Ready?’

I nod.

‘Are you worried or anxious about anything right now?’

The desire to tell her to sod off, to get up and stalk out of the room, slamming the door behind me, is immense.