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apologetically. “I’ve picked up three copies of this magazine by mistake. I’ll just take the other two back to the shelf.”
    She picked up the two unwanted magazines, doing her best to appear flustered, and carried them back to the shelf where she slotted them back into place, the e-card sandwiched securely between them. After that she returned to the counter and picked up her purchases before escaping from the shop. Eva walked down the road as casually as she could, her nervousness gradually receding. Maybe she was actually going to get away with it. No. Think positively. She was going to get away with it.
     
    Back at her apartment Eva looked around its shabby rooms for what she hoped would be the final time. Her suitcase was already packed: some clothes, her makeup bag, a swimsuit she would never use, but when your every move was monitored by lifeless eyes, you had to go through the pretenses. She placed Brewster on top of the case, his lumpy body flopping forward to roll off the bed. She picked up the threadbare toy and balanced it carefully in place.
    “I’ll put you in a shopping bag, Brewster,” she decided out loud, and headed into the kitchen.
    The clock on the convector read 10:15. Twelve minutes until she would leave. Timing was of the essence. Eva had walked the distance to the Lite Station many times, while surreptitiously timing herself. She knew the exact duration of the journey to the International Station. She would arrive there at exactly the right time. Now if only some busybody didn’t discover her e-card too soon…
    She took a bag from the cupboard under the sink and pushed Brewster inside it, then sat him back on the bed, his eyes peeping over the top of the bag at the picture of the horses that hung on the wall. She had forgotten about it, barely noticed it anymore. Eva’s father had bought her the picture when she was a little girl. She felt a wrench at the thought of leaving it behind, but then, who took pictures on vacation with them?
    10:17. Ten minutes to go. Not for the first time, Eva had doubts. She would be leaving for good. She would never sit on the faded duvet again, its filling gathering in lumps in the corners. Was that really what she wanted? What if something went wrong? Her whole plan turned on the fact that she would deliberately miss the direct train and have to take the stopping one instead. What if someone had discovered her e-card?
    10:18 and Eva went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She drank it very slowly, rinsed the glass and dried it with a towel, then replaced it in the cupboard.
    10:20, seven minutes to go. Eva went to the toilet, flushed it, poured bleach down the bowl, washed her hands, checked her face in the mirror and walked back into the bedroom.
    10:24. She checked through her bags again, squeezed Brewster’s lumpy paw for luck, then walked around the apartment for the last time, checking that the windows were locked and everything was tidied away.
    10:26 and she began to gather up her things. She walked out of her old life, locking the door behind her at exactly 10:27.
     
    Eva walked quickly through South Street and reached the Lite Station just as her train was pulling in. She climbed aboard and stared out of the window as the train slid smoothly from the faded and badly restored Victoriana of the station and glided through the eras toward the tall glass towers of the twenty-first-century city. More and more railway lines seemed to be infiltrating Eva’s city. They were creeping across the world, growing all by themselves. She had read about it in Research Scientist . They had a new way of making them, a spin-off from the technology that had built the robot Martian factories. She gave a sad smile. It was an incredible world to live in, for some people at least.
    Her thoughts were disturbed by a plump woman with peroxide hair settling into the seat next to her. She placed her bags on the floor between her feet, then pulled a packet