‘Naughty,’ Igor, says, tut-tutting when he sees me reaching out to touch a pink scarf, bringing to mind Mama scolding one of the boys. How she would love this soft-as-a-petal scarf.

We keep on walking until we get to a place, a holding room, where there are orange plastic chairs all glued together and full with people.

‘We have fifteen minutes,’ Magda says. ‘Shall we buy some sandwiches?’

Igor tells her to shut up, loudly, and an older woman with steel-grey hair, blue powder on her wrinkled eyelids and thick gold jewelery turns sharply to stare at him, heavy earrings dangling.

‘I’ll get the sandwiches,’ he says, and stalks away. He doesn’t ask what we’d like to eat. When he returns he hands me one with egg inside. It smells too strong, but I swallow, and use the cola to help push it down. There are potato crisps, which are salty and crunchy.

Another train of people forms as they get off their chairs – this one is very slow and people start to sigh and raise their voices, and some of the children cry. High-pitched bells and crackling voices speak from the air.

‘The flight’s delayed,’ Magda says.

Igor’s leg is twitching and he takes out his mobile.

‘Not here,’ Magda says.

He glares at her but does as she says. He taps in a number and listens to a voice on the other end, then puts the phone back in his pocket. When I look at him in this bright light I realise he’s much younger than I thought; maybe only Victor’s age. Magda’s not so old either. Beside all these other people with their children and their tiredness and their suits, she looks very pretty in her blue skirt and tight-fitting blouse. I see that some of the men look at her, and at me.

The queue starts to move and Igor says, ‘About bloody time.’ His voice is much louder and harsher than the other men’s voices, his shoes are sharp and pointed, so shiny you can see your reflection in them, his face is flushed, eyes over-bright. The other men look at him sideways and the women look away, apart from the older woman from before who is studying him through her hooded, owl-like eyes.

‘What’s that old wagon looking at?’ Igor mumbles at us.