In the end, there had been only one remedy to her wakefulness. It was obvious really and she should have thought of it weeks earlier: the only way to combat a feeling of powerlessness, was to reclaim the reins of power. Not half-heartedly. Not through resentment-led pilfering, or even the unreliable fixing of and fixating on others. But boldly and head-on. Of course, to do that, one must acknowledge that there is a lack of power to start with, a vulnerability, a flaw – but they had begun now, they had begun, she and George both.

Veronica pulled her laptop onto her bed and set about googling. Within twenty minutes, she had booked an appointment with a fertility specialist, a nutritionist, an acupuncturist, and with the housing officer at Camden Council. The fertility doctor had a cancellation that afternoon, and the housing officer would see them two hours after that at four. Putting down the phone to the council with a feeling of invigoration, Veronica fired off an email to George. She didn’t mention the doctor, not yet. But George replied seconds later confirming that he could make the council appointment, and also that he was glad they were taking action, with three kisses – an excess of emotion which he only appended to messages when he knew she needed them. Veronica slipped those kisses around her like a chainmail vest, conscious of how potent the sharing of truth between them had been.

Dressing in a bold red summer dress, bias cut and nipped in at the waist in ode to Hepburn, Veronica stepped onto her doorstep with a surge of confidence. She had almost forgotten this feeling, but it tasted familiar and wonderful. At the sight of the house next door, her stomach traitorously contracted a little, but she threw her chin up nevertheless, pausing only to lock the door. The latch was still sticking. It seemed to close and then pop open unexpectedly. In spite of her morning of activity, she had forgotten to call the locksmith. Making a mental note to do so when she returned, Veronica spun back towards the street, and it was then that she spotted Dominic.

Hand in hand with his little sister, it was with seeming lack of hurry that he strolled down the paving, though his shoulders were hunched peculiarly upwards as though pulled taut with tension. Veronica checked her watch. One-thirty. Clearly he was missing school. Perhaps, she considered, he was ill. Or maybe he’d been to get his hand checked at the hospital. Dominic kissed the top of his sister’s head, receiving hot, clammy arms around his neck. He smiled and looked up.

Again, Veronica’s stomach contracted. At the back of her mind, came an instant, worming whisper, a nagging that told her this boy was trouble, and not her problem, to get on her bike, to ride away, to focus on her own challenges as planned. In prudence, she knew that she should listen to that whisper. But there was another murmur too, telling her to make sure Dominic was alright, telling her to help him – that old desire to fix. Risky, unreliable, but so enticing. Veronica repaired her bike key to her bag and stood solid on the pavement, ignoring the itch at her thighs. Dominic stopped directly in front of her. He turned his eyes towards the ground and lifted his sister into his arms, kissing her neck.