The two men laugh so hard it feels as if the car’s shaking. Magda takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly.

‘Good girl,’ Igor says, then turns to us. ‘Ready?’

We both nod.

‘What is your name?’

‘My name is Natasha Popescu. I am fifteen years old. I am from Fântânele in Romania. We have been on holiday in Italy. These are my parents,’ I gesture to Igor and Magda, ‘and we are visiting my uncle, Dr Popescu in London.’

‘Fuck’s sake, don’t parrot it like that. It sounds like a speech, a practiced lie. Only answer what they ask you. Understood? When I ask your name, you say your name, no more.’ His face is bright red, veins on his cheeks pushing to the surface, like Papa in one of his rages.

‘Yes, Papa,’ I say.

The car comes to a stop outside a big building that is pure glass. There’s no time to dawdle, the driver tells us, as Magda and I step outside, raising our faces to the sun and breathing in gulps of air, stretching.

‘Don’t want to make us late, cats.’ Igor goes to push against the glass entrance, which opens sideways as he approaches, making him stumble and almost fall. ‘Cunt,’ he swears at the door. Magda throws her eyes to heaven and presses her mouth thin. He licks the palm of his hand and then rakes it through his already sleeked-back hair. A cowlick springs loose and he pushes it back. I imagine his mother taming her young son’s unruly hair, using her spittle to keep it in place, like Mama with Luca. Or more likely, he never had a mama, or he had one who only raised her hand to him in anger.

Everything inside me has become slow and still. I’m doing that old trick of holding my breath and wonder has anyone ever drowned out of water.

Inside it’s loud and hot and bright and there are more people milling about in one place than I’ve ever seen. We join a long line of men, women and children, all ages, with shiny luggage and faces, clutching small leather-bound books and pieces of crumpled or folded paper. Igor’s huge shoulders have hunched and his muscles look balled, like wire string. The light-blue shirt he’s wearing has dark stains under the arms. I wonder if my dress is wet under there too.