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buzzer entryphone. The windows on the first floor were tinted glass. Paula had scanned the street carefully, looking for a sign of the protestors Saoirse mentioned, but it was deserted. A placard tied to the lamppost opposite declared that the clinic murdered babies. Paula averted her eyes from the pictures. She checked the display on her phone – she really didn’t have time for this today – then leaned on the buzzer, looking furtively round her.
    There was an answer on the intercom. A girl’s voice came over it, harassed. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Um . . . I’ve got an appointment.’ It was silly, but she didn’t want to say her name aloud in the street.
    ‘Who did you make it through?’
    ‘Dr McLoughlin, up at the hospital?’ Paula was getting irritated – she needed this appointment, difficult as it was, to be as quick and soothing as possible. She needed to get back to her life and help find Alek Pachek and bring him home.
    Over the intercom, the girl sighed. ‘You better come up.’ The door buzzed open and Paula went up a flight of polished stairs. It was the same at the top, a clinical but comfortable space.
    At the reception desk, a dark-haired girl was speaking into the phone in annoyed tones. ‘Well I know, miss, but I can’t do anything about it. We can reschedule, maybe. Don’t shout at me, miss. I’m only doing my job.’ She sat the receiver down with a clatter. ‘Sorry about the buzzer,’ she said, unapologetically, to Paula. ‘Security, like. There’s been threats.’
    ‘I can imagine. Er . . . what’s happening?’
    The girl threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Listen, she can’t see you today.’
    ‘Oh.’ Paula held on tight to the strap of her bag. ‘Why?’
    Another sigh. The girl wore a pair of cheap grey trousers, and had long shiny black hair and red nails. ‘She didn’t turn up.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The doctor, of course. Dr Bates.’
    ‘Is she sick?’
    ‘I don’t know. She never thought I might need to be told. I’ve been getting dog’s abuse all morning for it.’
    Paula was trying to adjust. ‘OK – so she just didn’t turn up this morning?’
    ‘That’s what I said. I’ve rung her mobile and it’s not on, even though if she can’t get hold of me within five minutes she’s losing the head.’
    ‘Is there anyone at home you could try?’
    The girl’s sneer deepened. ‘I’m not allowed her home number, am I? “Security”.’
    ‘I’m sorry – what’s your name?’
    A pause. ‘Erin.’
    ‘Well, Erin, is this the kind of thing she’d do?’ Without thinking she’d slipped into work mode, the questions you always asked. Being the one who looked, who sought. That was better than lying on a couch in a doctor’s office with your legs wide open, having to make some kind of decision about the rest of your life.
    ‘No way,’ Erin was saying. ‘She’d go mental if I took a sick day. I have to ring her by seven to let her know. And she’s mad on data protection. All the appointment details are protected, the client names and that. I can’t even get into them without her.’
    Paula looked round at the waiting room, the racks of pastel leaflets on contraception and choices – that word again. ‘When did it open?’
    ‘This summer. She said it was a disgrace we’re in the UK but the women here have to go to England for abortions. Some people come to her for coils and that, but mostly it’s for termination referrals.’ She looked at Paula as if suddenly remembering that was probably why she’d come too. ‘Anyway, there was lots of trouble – bricks in the window of her house and even death threats. She had to go ex-directory and all that. She gave me one of those alarms, you know the ones, you can set them off if you get raped or something.’
    ‘But you like working here, even so?’
    Erin twisted her mouth, considering. ‘I suppose. She’s a massive cow, like, but it’s only ’cos she cares. This place is like her life.’
    ‘You’re