‘I am, dear, yes. I’m happy to be awake. I feel like I’ve been dozing on and off for ages.’

‘What, all day?’

‘No dear, for years.’

I can’t help staring at her. It’s true. Her mental state over the last few years – her dementia – was like the grogginess of someone who can’t completely wake up. She slipped in and out of sleep and never seemed fully either awake or asleep. Even her most lucid moments had the disconnected quality of dreams.

Today, as she says, she’s awake.

‘We’ve all met Winifred, Mum.’

‘Winifred? She’s lovely. And she has the same name as my favourite sister. You remember her?’

‘Yes, Mum, of course. She was such a laugh, Auntie Winnie.’

‘She was, wasn’t she? I miss her,’ she says, and dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. This is new. Since the start of her decline, I haven’t seen any emotion from her except petulance and anger.

‘Oh Margaret,’ says the modern Winifred, appearing from behind us. ‘It’s sad to lose the people we love.’

She comes into the room. I step aside for her, and she goes and puts an arm around my mother, who seems comforted by the young woman’s warmth. She knows she’s a robot, doesn’t she? I mean, Winifred said she was going to tell Mum. When did she do it? Because if it was anytime in the recent past – before whatever it is we’re witnessing today – Mum won’t remember. I suppose. I want to ask her, but I’m not sure how. If she doesn’t know, it’s going to be a hell of a shock.

I feel the need to comment somehow on my mother’s recovery.

‘It’s good to find you so much better. Winifred’s doing a great job.’

‘Winifred? Yes, you’re right, she is. Don’t blush, dear – oh, maybe you can’t. Sorry.’

If anything, Winifred looks confused, though that seems as unlikely as her blushing. I see she’s less assured around my mother than she was with me. More deferential, despite the hug.

‘We can’t stay in here,’ says Mum, with a decisiveness I haven’t heard in years. ‘Let’s go and have tea in the garden.’

With that, she stands up. I step back. I can’t even remember when I last saw her on her feet. This is insane. It’s what Jordan was warbling on about, and Winifred, back in January. Hands up – I didn’t believe them. Never in a million years did I think we’d be here, a couple of weeks or so into the nanobot regime, and Mum would be talking, seeing, and now walking.

Charlotte looks amazed too. I need a word in private.