I wake to the sound of a voice on the air, the smell of crisps and stale sweat, and look at Magda who is lying with her head awkwardly on her shoulder. A loud bell sounds and her eyes fly open as she jolts upright. There are marks on her cheek and her face is puffy and red. Bending down, she retrieves her handbag from underneath the seat in front. Opening it, she reaches for a tiny mirror and looks at herself and me in the reflection, crosses her eyes and touches her nose with her tongue. A Zanesti thing. I miss Luca so much in that instant I feel I might evaporate from longing. Magda rubs lipstick on her mouth and brushes powder on her face, then pouts at me. I try to pout back.

‘Hello, cats,’ Igor says. ‘Getting yourselves ready for the night ahead?’

She puts the mirror away and snaps the bag shut. ‘When we arrive we’ll all be resting,’ she says.

‘We’ll see,’ Igor says.

Another journey: I wonder if it’ll be a boat or a car with black windows. I imagine I’m on the highest branch of the highest tree in the forest and a soft breeze is tickling my nostrils. The clouds are dancing around my head and I reach out and grab one and burrow down into its feathery folds. The airplane starts to descend and the pressure builds, pushing against my cheekbones so hard I fear they might break.

Magda nudges me. ‘Do this.’ She holds her nose and blows hard, turns bright-red and looks as if she might explode. When I swallow, my ears pop and I yawn. I try to tell her she doesn’t have to push so hard, but she can’t hear me. Igor is rootling around in his ears with his fingertips and his forehead is bunched. I hope his brains erupt through his ears.

When the plane hits the ground the wheels bounce and the engine makes the loudest noise I’ve ever heard. People on the airplane clap and cheer.

20. Sammy

20

Sammy

After about twenty minutes Mr Manicure arrives, dapper in chinos and blazer. He’s delighted to see me and is super-duper false-friendly. ‘Well, look who’s here … wasn’t sure you’d turn up again, wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again …’ Something about the tone of his voice, which is patronising and over-familiar, and the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a couch he’s considering buying, makes me think of Brian. My spikes rise. There’s still time to rethink this plan.

‘Still at that place?’ he says, doing that fake-concerned thing with his face.

‘Actually, I thought you might be able to recommend somewhere else.’ I’m not slurring; my words are crisp and precise.