She speaks the last few words in a metallic monotone. I can’t believe my ears. She’s never performed like this.

‘Mum, Mum, can you stop – I mean, we need to handle this – it’s a bit shocking—’

‘Are you shocked, Tom? Emily?’

‘No, it’s brilliant,’ says Tom, and Emily nods enthusiastically. ‘I mean, I thought she was a bit creepy, but now it’s incredible. She’s not creepy, she’s a robot! A really good one, too. My teacher’s creepier than her… Wait, Mum – is Miss Jackson at school one too? A robot?’

‘Certainly not! We would have been told.’

‘Oh. OK. Grandma, it’s so cool you have robots looking after you. Do you like them?’

‘I love them. They’re brilliant at what they do. Honestly. I can’t remember much about the carers before, apart from them being rubbish. They never talked to me, they pushed food into my mouth, they left me sitting in the dark, and cold – it’s all like a bad dream. Thank God it’s over.’

She looks hard at me as she speaks. I’m squirming – how much does she remember? And was it so bad? I could have paid more attention, but it always seemed OK when I visited. Didn’t it?

‘Do they have a battery inside them?’ Emily asks.

‘What a good question. I don’t know. Let’s ask Winifred – look, there she is, coming out to see if I’m all right, I dare say. Winifred – do you mind answering the children’s questions?’

Winifred smiles, and she seems maternal, all of a sudden. I know all about this ability of hers, but I say nothing.

‘Grandma says you’re a robot,’ says Tom.

‘I’m a convincing synthetic human.’

They look puzzled.

‘You could call me a robot. I prefer to be called a Helper.’

They still look confused.

‘All right, let’s say I’m a robot for now.’

‘Do you have a battery?’ asks Emily.

‘Yes, I have a battery. It’s efficient, and goes a whole week on one charge. Then I can either recharge it directly, or put in a fresh one. I have a spare battery, you see.’

‘Do you have a plug, then?’ says Emily.

‘I have a place where the electricity goes in, yes. Would you like to see it?’

They nod. I have no idea where her plug goes, and I’m afraid it might be somewhere like her bottom. She won’t have any idea how funny the children will find it, if so. Before I can say anything, she lifts her blouse and shows her power socket.

‘It’s in your tummy button!’ shouts Emily, and laughs.

‘Yes, it is. And it’s well hidden.’

‘Do you eat food?’

‘No. I don’t need food.’

‘Do you drink oil?’

‘No, I have a sealed lubrication system – I mean, it’s like your heart and veins. My blood is green.’