At eighty my stomach grew so large my family got frightened. The scan found something — and then a twelve-year-old record with my late husband’s name on it, and a folder called PROJECT AGNES.

That is the only reason anybody on this earth knows there were eleven letters and not ten.

It had been sitting in that box, under a cereal packet, for nine days.

The reference number on it is the same reference number that was on Dr. Opoku’s screen.

And here is the only thing I have, after a year of this.

My husband spent eleven years and a great deal of money building something that would go on working after he was dead.

He thought about every single part of it.

The funding paid up to 2034. A woman with a silver case walking onto a ward three days before the end to put her name on it.

Eleven letters a year apart. And a cream envelope in a drawer with four lines in it telling his wife exactly what to do and exactly when.

He was an insurance man. He spent forty years thinking about what happens to people after the thing happens.