I wonder how sophisticated her mind is – if I can even describe it as a mind. She seems to have one, and if she hadn’t told me otherwise, I’d have assumed she was a human being. Perhaps it’s best to think of her as a clever but slightly naïve young woman who’s recently moved to this country.

‘In England, we’re reserved. We don’t ask personal questions until we know someone well. Sometimes not even then. The embarrassment comes from seeming too inquisitive.’

‘Being inquisitive leads to knowledge.’

She’s finding this complicated. And in truth, I have so many questions, I don’t know where to begin. I sense I need to reassure her. Which is bizarre, since she said she has no feelings. But she makes me feel the need.

‘Winifred, this is quite a day so far. I feel like Samuel Beckett’s father. He spent hours having a massive heart attack, and then at lunchtime he died, and his last words were, “What a morning!”’

‘You’re not dying. I don’t understand.’

‘It’s a joke. Sort of. Can you manage jokes? Perhaps not. Let’s say, words fail me. I wake up, able to see, and walk and talk, like Lazarus—’

‘Yes, I know him!’

‘Well done, dear. Nice to know the Bible is required reading for robots—’

‘It’s not required. It’s helpful with humans of your age.’

‘Thank you for that. Can I say, we don’t usually draw attention to people’s age?’

‘Why not? I know your age. You’re eighty-seven.’

‘Am I? Funnily enough, I didn’t know the exact number, so thank you again. Let’s move on. I have had several surprises today, not the least of which is learning you are a robot.’

‘I would prefer to be called a Helper, or a synthetic human, if you don’t mind.’

‘And I thought you were a well-brought-up girl from the home counties. It’s quite a different thing. And a lot to take in.’

‘Are you OK?’

I look at her. Am I OK? Yes, I’m terrific. I’m myself. To the power of ten. I can’t explain it, and like I say, I have lots of questions, but it’s fantastic. I wonder how long it will last.

‘Am I OK? What do you think? You’re the carer.’

She looks at me intently, and I sense she’s doing some kind of analysis.

‘You’re in good shape. Pulse good, blood pressure good, a little inflammation of the joints, one or two small internal repairs needed, but mentally alert.’

‘What repairs?’

‘Some wear and tear, that’s all.’

‘And you can tell all this from looking at me?’

‘More or less.’

I don’t believe that, either.

‘There’s something else going on here.’