‘I don’t know.’ Vee is flooded with something. It’s definitely not need; she has never wanted a child. This feeling is more a spinning sense of the magnitude of all she has so casually declined. No relationship, and therefore no child, because she has photographs to take. And here she is: photographing the Prime Minister, known and respected in her industry, working to support her sisters, going home alone, and not minding. Society wants her to think that she is lonely, but she isn’t. She’s solitary. She’s an observer. She’s stepping outside the assumptions that the patriarchy makes about what women need. It’s not the same as being lonely.

Best to point the lens away from this. ‘You’d give me your child? Really?’

‘Isn’t it better to decide myself where it should go? Instead of leaving it on a hospital step?’ Leonie indicates her belly, which Vee can see now is a different shape, even under her friend’s shapeless, too-big top, the fat that she seems to have deliberately cultivated, over the years, to make a point.

‘Leonie. Those are not the choices! Adoption agencies would match—’

Leonie starts to laugh, a great shaking sound: ‘Your face. I’m not an idiot. I have heard of adoption agencies. I’ll give it to one of them. They can sort it out.’ Leonie sighs, and looks straight into Vee’s eyes for the first time since she told her she was pregnant. Her gaze has been not quite direct, up until then. ‘I just didn’t want it to go to a complete fucking idiot.’

Tread gently, Vee. ‘You do care then? A bit?’

‘I care about the world. And the world doesn’t need another kid brought up to be an entitled patriarchal idiot. I should be able to stop that from happening. If I can find a non-entitled, non-patriarchal, non-idiot.’

‘I can see the sense in that.’ But, as far as Vee can tell, Leonie thinks most of the people on the planet are in thrall to the patriarchy. And she must feel something for this baby. There might be no such thing as maternity, but surely there is human-ness?

‘You really don’t fancy it?’

‘No.’ Vee is sure of herself this time. ‘No, I definitely don’t. But I’m glad you don’t think I’m a tool of the patriarchy.’

‘Not all of the time. Do you want another drink?’ Leonie hauls herself to standing.

Vee can leave dropping off the films until tomorrow. Leonie needs her more. When her friend comes back from the bar – more crisps, more cider – she asks, ‘Did you ever read Fear of Flying?’