It smelt cloying in the clinic, a mixture of air freshener and disinfectant. She gave her name to the receptionist, who directed her to the waiting room where she sat on one of the hard, plastic chairs around the edge, trying not to make eye contact with the three other women in the room. As though they’d made a collective agreement, all three were staring, eyes glazed, at a low table in the centre of the room that was covered with magazines. Good Housekeeping, Woman & Home, Woman’s Realm. A vase of perky daffodils sat in the centre. Spring flowers. If she had the baby, it would be born when – October? The thought pushed its way into her head before she could stop it. Seeking a distraction, she reached forward and picked up a magazine.

Hearty meals he’ll love you for! How returning to work will affect your marriage. Fabulous fashions to sew from sheets. Poll: home or career, can you have both?

She dropped it back on the table. Gilly had a subscription to Good Housekeeping. Perhaps she made clothes from sheets and hearty meals her husband loved. Her school friend was happy with her life, Sylvia knew that, and she admired her ability to be content with her lot. But she couldn’t understand it. Humans had stood on the moon, a woman was the leader of the opposition, Ziggy Stardust and Blondie and John and Yoko were making new rules – and then breaking them again. Why choose a regular life when you could choose an exciting one?

‘Mrs Tallis?’

She looked up. A nurse was standing in the doorway to the waiting room. She didn’t smile.

‘Ms,’ she said, and the other women in the room looked up when she spoke. One of them could only have been eighteen. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot.

Sylvia stood up and walked towards the nurse, her stomach doing backflips.

‘Come this way, please.’

The nurse led Sylvia into a private room with a hospital bed, a small wash basin and a table on wheels loaded with various medical equipment. A doctor appeared – Dr Bennett, he said – and asked her the same questions Greenham had. Why couldn’t she have the baby? Was she completely sure? Did she want counselling? By the end of his interrogation her brain was spinning and she felt close to tears. Apparently convinced, Bennett handed her a clipboard, a pen and a form. She took the paperwork and sat back on the bed as he left the room.

Boxes to complete. Consent to sign. A life to abort.