Shortly afterward, Ramzy leaves with Aunty Nush. (I think she even smiles at me: it’s hard to tell. Her lips draw apart a bit, revealing broken, gappy teeth, and then her mouth closes over them again, like a sheet covering a corpse.)

Mimi has told me to rest. Relax. How on earth can I? My mind is racing with the possibility of winning a million pounds.

I look up the Geordie Jackpot and spend a good twenty minutes reading stories about people whose lives have been changed by a massive sum of money. Some of them, to be honest, are not happy stories.

Family breakups, arguments, divorce, drug problems, crime: some people, it seems, are not very good when it comes to large sums of money. Me? I’ll be fine.

I let myself imagine what I would do. Split it with Ramzy? Definitely. Then I’ll buy Dad a new workshop: he’s always complaining that it’s cold and needs up-to-date equipment.

About half an hour later, I’m still daydreaming of how I would spend the money when I hear voices outside my room, and the door opens.

“Hello, Georgina.” It’s Jessica. I’m allowed to go. Discharged is the word they use. “Your dad’s had to go. Come with me,” she says.

Ten minutes later, I’m following her through hospital corridors and across parking lots toward the building where she works. She’s talking all the time—more, I think, than I remember her ever talking.

“The police will be calling this evening to interview you. Your dad has spoken to Ramzy’s dad…” and so on. It’s all very matter-of-fact, but then it usually is with Jessica.

I look at her bony back as she stalks ahead of me and I think—for the umpteenth time—how different she is from Dad. They met through Mum, indirectly. I think I said that already. It’s hard to keep track, especially now my mind is a little fuzzy. Since Mum died, Dad has raised money every year for the local biobotics research unit. Two years ago, they invited Dad and Clem and me to the opening of a new part of the building. There’s a big board with people’s names carved on it, and Mum and Dad’s are too:

ROBERTO AND CASSANDRA SANTOS

It was the only time I’ve ever seen Dad wear a tie. We were standing around, not knowing anyone, and a plain-looking lady with short, spiky hair came up to Dad and introduced herself.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Jessica Stone.” She didn’t bother to introduce herself to me or Clem.

There was something in the way that Dad looked at her that meant I knew. I know we can’t really see the future, but I had a vivid mental picture of this Jessica Stone sitting on our sofa.

When we were going home after the ceremony in Dad’s shiny old car, I said, “Dad, you know I don’t want a stepmum,” and he laughed but didn’t say anything.

The biobotics lab at the hospital seems to be bigger than the time I was there with Dad and Clem. Outside, there’s a new stack of trailers, two stories high, and definitely more people, all looking like they’re in a hurry, clutching iPads and clipboards and speaking into their phones or earpieces as they walk.

“No results yet…expected Tuesday…”

“Well, get on to it then—it’s been a week already!”

“I’ve sent the samples twice. You can’t have lost both of them, Tasha…”

The main building is made of old red and orange bricks. Above the huge double doors is a sign:

THE EDWARD JENNER

DEPARTMENT OF BIOBOTICS

The sign looks old, with curly writing, but I know that it can’t be because “biobotics” is a new science.

“Wait here,” says Jessica. “I’ve got to clear you with security.” Then, as an afterthought, “You feeling OK?” but she doesn’t wait to see me nod in reply.

Inside the doors is a lobby with a high ceiling and a shiny stone floor the color of thick cream; in the middle of the floor is a plinth bearing a statue in whitish marble of a man wearing old-fashioned clothes and holding a small, naked boy on his lap. The boy looks like he’s struggling, and the man is frowning in concentration: he’s poking something into the boy’s shoulder. I’m frowning too because I swear this statue wasn’t here before.

“Simply marvelous, isn’t it?” says a voice beside me, and I turn to see an elderly security guard in a dark uniform with a tie, staring in awe at the statue. He gently brushes the little boy’s marble leg with the back of his hand.

“Hello, Jackson,” I say, and he inclines his head.

“Charmed as always, Miss Santos. To what do I owe the considerable honor?”

I don’t really want to get into why I’ve been to the hospital, so I just say, “Oh, just a checkup, you know?”

I guess being a hospital security guard means he knows not to be inquisitive about people’s reasons for being there, and he nods slowly, and we turn our attention back to the statue.

“Is it new?” I ask. I didn’t see it last time I visited, I’m sure of that.

Jackson chuckles. “Well, it’s new to us, young lady. In fact, it’s very old. Look.”

He points to an engraved panel on the plinth, which says simply,

JENNER BY GIULIO MONTEVERDE

1878

“It’s on permanent loan from Genoa, Italy. In honor of the work done by people like your stepmum.”

Jessica is not my stepmum, I want to say, but Jackson is an old family friend so I let it go.

“What’s he doing to the boy?” I ask.

“Giving him an injection. An inoculation. Immunizing him against…”

I know this from school. “Smallpox!”

“Very good.”

“This must be the man that Jessica says saved so many people’s lives.”

He nods solemnly. “She’s right. More than anyone else in history, they say, thanks to vaccinations.”

Jessica approaches across the marble floor. “Sorry it took so long, Georgina. Security’s a nightmare.” She looks at Jackson. “Sorry, Jackson. You’re an exception.”

“You’re exceptional yourself, Miss Stone. No offense taken.”

“Come on,” says Jessica to me. “Let’s get you in. You’re going to have to wait for a little bit before I can take you home.”

I follow her through the lobby, down a long corridor into the new wing of the building. All along one wall are huge glass windows. On the other side is a laboratory like something from a movie. White-coated people with hairnets and face masks hurry between lab stations, with anxious expressions in their eyes. Rack upon rack of test tubes inch along a long conveyor belt, while articulated robot arms dip in and out of them.

It’s transfixing to watch: like some sort of medical factory.

Then a shout goes up at the other end of the corridor. “There she is!”

Round a corner comes a small crowd of people in white lab coats, all of them hurrying toward us, their faces a mixture of fear, panic, and relief.

“Jessica! Where have you been?” says the lead one, a large man with a carefully sculpted beard.

Jessica seems flustered. “I…I’ve been here, I mean…” Her fingers go up to touch her ear. “I’m sorry. I have my earpiece turned off. Earpiece on! What’s going on? This is my, erm…this is Georgina, by the way.”

They all do the polite thing, and there are a few seconds of “Hi, Georgina, how are you?” but they don’t mean it. As soon as they can, they turn their attention back to Jessica.

Beard Man: “It’s a big one, Jess. I think we’ve at least identified where the CBE’s coming from.” He shows her his tablet. Jessica looks for a second and then says something that casts a chill into my heart.

“The church of St. Wulfran and All Saints?”

“It’s an animal shelter,” someone says.

St. Woof’s.

The others nod and murmur.

“Looks like it. And it’s already spread.”

“This is not good.”

Soon everyone is talking at once, and the crowd huddles together, squeezing me out, so I’m sort of on the margins of the group and it’s pretty clear that everyone—Jessica included—has forgotten that I’m even there.

That’s when I hear a shout from down the corridor: “No! Please, no!” Everyone turns to see a white-coated technician running toward them, clutching a phone to her ear. “I’ll call you back!” she gasps, and then stops. I can see her face through the press of people, and I’ve never seen anyone look so distraught.

“It’s here,” she sobs. “It’s confirmed. First human case, two others suspected…” Then her shoulders slump, her phone drops to the floor, and she covers her face with her hands.

The group of people I’m with gasp aloud, and Jessica mutters, “Oh no. Oh no, no, no…Please, God, no!”

The bearded man goes over to the crying woman, murmuring comforting words, and she whispers, “We tried…we tried so hard, and now everyone’s going to…”

She cannot finish her words and starts weeping quietly. And then the group begins to move, gabbling as they hurry off back down the corridor, taking the sobbing woman with them. The panic in the atmosphere is so intense I can almost feel it on my skin.

And there I am, left alone, standing in the middle of the corridor.