He looks at me, and he’s full of questions, I can see. I wait.

‘What about everyone else?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are they just for old people? I mean, if these nanobots can cure Alzheimer’s, or whatever – what else can they do?’

‘I don’t know. I had arthritis. Gone. I was blind. Now I’m not. I had an old injury in my knee from years ago. Fixed. Who knows what else?’

‘Nanobots, eh? That’s what you said? Unbelievable. Everyone here’s the same, right? You’re all – better.’

‘Yes!’

‘I want some. I’ve got a few aches and pains. And my mum – she’s not well, not well at all. She could do with some. And – we all could, couldn’t we? Do you think they’ll give them out to everyone?’

‘Why not?’

‘We’ll see. Anyway, good on you. If my old age turns out like it has for you, I’ll be well pleased. Looks bloody marvellous.’

Now Winifred appears and comes over.

‘Good morning, Margaret. How are you today?’

‘Better than ever. It’s fantastic – I was saying to Dave here—’

I turn to introduce him, but he’s vanished.

‘The man who brought your tea? What were you telling him?’

I look at Winifred. She is, as ever, fresh-faced and smiling. She’d be the picture of a healthy English rose if she weren’t a machine. I feel a momentary jolt of guilt – I try not to think like that about the Helpers.

But she is a machine, and I’m not, and Dave’s not. Why can’t he and I have a conversation, and why should she know all about it? I feel a bond with him, because he’s human. And Winifred’s not.

‘I asked him how he liked it here. And I told him how much I do.’

Winifred accepts the answer without hesitation.

‘Oh good. It’s what we all want, isn’t it? For life to be pleasant, and happy.’

‘Yes, dear. We all do.’

That was a tiny rebellion. It’s the first time I’ve set out to deceive a Helper. And consciously sided with the human, not the machine. Of course.

But machines are useful, too.

‘Winifred, you can answer any question, can’t you?’

‘I have access to everything online, so yes, I think so.’

‘Look at that spider.’

Winifred looks across the lawn. Her eyesight is no doubt even sharper than mine. I bet she can zoom in.

‘It’s some kind of araniella,’ she says. ‘I can probably identify it better—’

‘Look at what it’s doing. It’s weaving something like a pouch on its web.’

‘Oh yes. It’s clearly been chosen by a parasitoid wasp to be a host to its young.’

‘Clearly. What are you talking about?’