I never expected to see Lisa grow up. For years, when she was a child, I waited for the Bomb to drop. As the world lurched from Hungary to Suez, from Cuba to Vietnam, I was simply sitting it out. And Lisa’s existence sharpened the horror. What might happen to the whole of humanity became concentrated on Lisa’s small limbs, her unknowing eyes. I may have been an inadequate mother, but I was still a mother; through Lisa, I raged and feared. Publicly, I behaved like a rational responsible being – I argued the pros and cons of unilateralism, I wrote my column, I marched and demonstrated when I felt it appropriate. I kept to myself that curdling of the stomach I felt during the nine days of Cuba, the Missile Crisis … On some days I could not turn on the radio or pick up the newspaper, as though ignorance might insulate me from reality. Now? Now I no longer shrink from the newspapers. Why? The world is no safer than it was. But the monster is contained – and the daily expectation of calamity is too exhausting to sustain.