‘No, Paul, you’re genuinely not coming through here. There are always ethical choices around any work. That’s true, whether we get paid for it or we don’t.’

‘That’s very considerate of you, Capaldi.’

‘Paul, come on,’ the Mother said again. ‘Henry’s just doing what we asked him. No more, no less.’

‘It’s no wonder, Capaldi – Henry, sorry – a guy like you would struggle to understand what I’m saying here.’

I pushed back my chair on its castors, rose and passed through the glass door onto the balcony. I’d already established that the balcony was a rectangular circuit touching all four walls. Now, choosing the rear half of it, I kept close to the white wall, taking care not to cause the metal mesh to ring under my feet, or to cross spotlight beams in any way that could create moving shadows below. I reached the Purple Door unnoticed and keyed in the code I’d observed twice already. There came the usual short hum, but this too went unnoticed by those below. I was then inside Mr Capaldi’s studio and closed the door behind me.

The room was L-shaped, the section before me turning a corner into an extension beyond the normal boundary of the building. Leading towards this corner were two counters attached to each wall, busy with shapes, fabrics, small knives and tools. But I had no time to focus on these, and went on towards the corner, remembering to tread cautiously, because the floor was still of the same metal mesh.

I turned the corner of the L and saw Josie there, suspended in the air. She wasn’t very high – her feet were at the height of my shoulders – but because she was leaning forward, arms outstretched, fingers spread, she seemed to be frozen in the act of falling. Little beams illuminated her from various angles, forbidding her any refuge. Her face was very like that of the real Josie, but because there was at the eyes no kind smile, the upward curve of her lips gave her an expression I’d never seen before. The face looked disappointed and afraid. Her clothes weren’t real clothes, but made from thin tissue paper to approximate a T-shirt on her top half, loose-fitting shorts on the lower. The tissue was pale yellow and translucent and under the sharp lighting made this Josie’s arms and legs look all the more fragile. Her hair had been tied back in the manner the real Josie wore it on her ill days, and this was the one detail that failed to convince; the hair had been made from a substance I’d never seen on any AF, and I knew this Josie wouldn’t be happy with it.

Having made my observations, my intention was to return to the cubicle before my absence from it was noticed. I walked carefully back past the two work counters and opened the Purple Door a small way. It made the usual humming noise, but I could tell from the voices below that no one had heard it. I could tell too that the mood was now even more filled with tension.

‘Paul’ – the Mother’s voice was almost shouting – ‘you’ve been determined to make this difficult from the start.’

‘Come on, Josie,’ the Father said. ‘Let’s go. Right now.’

‘But Dad…’

‘Josie, we leave right now. Believe me, I know what I’m doing.’

‘I don’t think you do,’ the Mother said, and Mr Capaldi said over her, ‘Paul, come on, take it easy. If there’s been a misunderstanding, I take full responsibility and I apologize.’

‘How much more information do you need anyway?’ the Father asked, and now he was shouting too, but that could perhaps have been because he was moving across the floor. ‘I’m surprised you’re not requesting a sample of her blood.’

‘Paul, be reasonable,’ the Mother said. The Father and Josie were saying something at the same time, but then Mr Capaldi said over them:

‘It’s okay, Chrissie, let them go. Let them go, it doesn’t change anything.’

‘Mom? Why don’t I go with Dad just now? Then at least you can all stop yelling. If I stay here, it’s just going to get worse.’

‘I’m not angry at you, honey. I’m angry at your father. He’s the child here.’

‘Come on, animal. Let’s go.’

‘I’ll see you later, Mom, okay? See you, Mr Capaldi…’

‘Let them go, Chrissie. Just let them go.’

When the entrance door closed behind them, its sound echoed all around the building. I remembered then that the car belonged to the Mother, and wondered if the Father had money for a taxi to take him and Josie to where he now intended them to go. It felt a little strange Josie hadn’t thought to take me with her, but the Mother was still here, and I remembered the day we’d gone to Morgan’s Falls.

I stepped out onto the balcony, now making no effort to conceal myself or to soften my footsteps. Leaning over the steel rail, I saw the Mother had sat down where earlier Josie had been sitting – on the metal chair in front of the charts. Mr Capaldi came across the floor till he was directly below me, and I could see the top of his bald head, but not his expression. He then continued to walk slowly towards the Mother, as if slowness were a mark of his kindness, and stopped beside the tripod-stand lamp.

‘I can see you’re having misgivings,’ he said in a new, soft voice. ‘Let me tell you. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen many times before. And it’s the ones who stick with it, keep faith, who win out.’

‘Damn right I’m having misgivings.’

‘You mustn’t let Paul sway you. Remember. You’ve thought this through and he hasn’t. Paul is confused.’

‘It’s not Paul. To hell with Paul. It’s that…that portrait up there.’

As she said this, she glanced up in my direction and saw me. She stared past the dazzle of the ceiling lights, then Mr Capaldi also turned and looked up at me. Then he looked at the Mother questioningly. The Mother continued to gaze at me, her hand now raised to her forehead.

‘Okay, Klara,’ she said finally. ‘Come on down.’

As I descended the metal steps, I was interested to see that instead of anger, the Mother showed anxiety. I crossed the floor but stopped while still several strides away. It was Mr Capaldi who spoke first.

‘What do you think, Klara? Am I doing a good job?’

‘She resembles Josie quite accurately.’

‘Then I guess that’s a yes. By the way, Klara, how did you get on with the survey?’

‘I completed it, Mr Capaldi.’

‘Then I’m grateful for your cooperation. And you stored the data safely?’

‘Yes, Mr Capaldi. My responses are stored.’

There was a silence, while the Mother continued to stare at me from her chair and Mr Capaldi from beside his tripod light. I realized they were waiting for me to say something further, so I continued: