As Ralph drives into familiar territory my nervousness gets worse. I hate this area. There is a French bakery on the next street that makes my mother’s favorite pastries. I take a deep breath. It will be a nice surprise for her if I arrive with her favorite treats.

“Can you stop by Patisserie Chambon, please?” I ask Ralph.

Ralph waits by the curb. Before I can enter the shop I notice the newsagent next door and a rack of newspapers. Thorne’s name is the headline. I change direction and walk towards it.

Oh, my God! Thorne’s AI is the first one in the world to have legs.

I look at the image of her in amazement. The only AIs I have seen have transparent plastic at the back of their heads showing the wires that make up their brains so they are unmistakably robots to the human eye.

It is impossible to tell Alli is not human. She is astonishingly human-like.

I take a copy of all the newspapers carrying the story and go to the cash register. I have to pay with my credit card since I have no cash. The man tells me there will be a fifty pence charge to use my credit card. Afterwards, I go next door and pick out the pastries that my mother likes.

Leaving the newspapers on the seat, I place the box carefully on my lap and wait for my mother’s apartment building to come into view. It is a tall gray building in a concrete jungle. The walls are all full of graffiti, and children wearing their school uniforms are playing by the entrance. Ralph drives right up to the entrance. The children are immediately fascinated by the car. It is not often they see a Bentley pull up in this depressed area of London.

Ralph says that he will wait for me until I’m ready to leave.

I thank him, step out of the car, and look up at the building. It feels as if it is an old adversary. I can see my mother’s apartment from where I am standing. The door that leads to the balcony is open, and there is a thin burgundy curtain billowing in the light breeze. I walk into the building and make my way into the elevator. The door closes around me. For a second there is a sensation of panic, then I press the button that will take me to her floor, and I feel the car move upwards.

The ping of the elevator arriving at its destination is a relief. I hated the smell in the small space. The doors open and I head towards her front door. My hand raises, but I do not knock just yet. I stare at the midnight blue door while I clear my throat and collect myself.

Then I tap on the wood with my knuckles. Just once. My mother has an acute sense of hearing and it annoys her if people knock more than once.

My weight shifts from one foot to the next while I wait for her to answer the door. There is the familiar sound of several locks coming undone before the door opens.

“Hello, Chelsea.”

“Hello, Mama.” I hold the box of pastries in front of her. “These are for you.”

My mother looks similar to me, but her hair is darker and she has gained some weight, mostly on her hips and thighs. She also has some crow’s feet and she is shorter than me by about two inches. She is wearing an ox-blood red dress and black shoes.

She takes a puff of her cigarette, and regards me silently through the smoke before she takes the box and moves back to allow me to enter. While she closes and locks the door, I look around the apartment, but I do not move from the spot that I am in. I never move from one room to the next without letting her know. Everything is the way it was when I was last here two years ago.

“Should you be smoking?”

“Don’t nag.”

“The doctor said—”

“Oh for God’s sake, stop nagging. I’m an old woman now. I should be able to have a cigarette now and again if I want to.”

I exhale slowly. My mother is right. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Come in and make yourself comfortable. There is a pot of rabbit stew on the stove if you want it.”

I wonder where she gets her rabbit from now. Papa used to bring them home. He would insert his whole arm down holes in the ground and pull out struggling rabbits. Sometimes they were too scared to make a sound, but sometimes they screamed with fear. I always hated it when I saw him do it. I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“No, you never liked rabbit, did you? Oh well, I’m having a glass of red wine. Care to join me?”

I shake my head again. It’s too early to drink. She walks towards the living room, and I follow her silently. She sits in her green armchair and I take a seat on the couch opposite her.

She lifts her glass and takes a sip. “You look well. Life must be good.”

I chew at my bottom lip. “It’s not bad.”

“Hmmm …” She pins me with a hard look. “So what are you doing in England?”

“I’m …” God, I can’t believe I never thought up a reason for my presence here.

Her eyes narrow to suspicious slits.

“I’m here with Thorne,” I say truthfully.

She frowns. “I thought you stopped working for him two years ago.”

Hot blood runs up my throat and cheeks. “I’m not here in a professional capacity.”

My mother smiles slowly. “Ah, hence the expensive clothes.” She draws deeply from her cigarette. “I’m happy for you, don’t get me wrong, but don’t you think he might be toying with you?”

I swallow hard. “Probably. I don’t expect it to last.”

She looks out of the dusty window. “Yes, it’s good to have fun while your breasts are still unaffected by gravity.” She turns back to look at me. “You in London long?”

“Maybe three months, maybe less,” I say.

“Your grandmother is very ill. She asked about you the other day. You should visit her.” My mother stares at me.

What am I doing here? The walls feel like they’re closing in on us. I can smell that stale smell of cigarette smoke and old sweat. I clear my throat. “I can send her some money if she needs it.”

“She’s dying, Chelsea. What’s she going to do with money? She just wants to see you before she leaves.”

“Send her my regards.” My voice sounds hard and cold.

“Does he know?” my mother asks.

“Does who know what?” I ask, frowning.

She gives me a look that I cannot fathom. “That you stole his money.”

I look away and nod. Suddenly my focus is on finding a way to escape. Talking to my mother always feels like I’m navigating a minefield.

“Is it some kind of a pact? Does he abuse you?” she asks softly.

“He doesn’t abuse me,” I deny. “As a matter of fact, I like him.”

She laughs as if I have said something hilarious. “You like him? That’s a strange word to use for such a … complicated arrangement.”

My insides clench. “I need some fresh air.” The sound of my voice is so strained and odd it surprises even me.

My mother waves in the direction of the balcony, a knowing, sarcastic smile on her face. I stand and go outside. My mind is swimming with strange thoughts. I love my mother. I wish she loved me back. I just want her to love me, but I don’t know how to make her do that.

There is a cold breeze blowing, but the weak sunlight on my face is a welcome feeling. I clasp my hands and rest my forearms on the railing. With a resigned sigh, I lower my head to rest it on my hands. What I see below makes me jerk back in astonishment.