Again, we drive. The rain intensifies, big fat drops smashing from the sky, bouncing against the roof and the windscreen. The van slows down and the driver curses loudly, and the other two men speak low. I look around me at the girls’ faces, all so young, and I want to play a game of Chinese Whispers; I want to send a whisper around, pour into their ears that there are eight of us and three of them and we can bite, hit, hurt, push the men out the doors. We can do something, anything, instead of sitting here waiting for them to do things to us. The waiting, the not knowing, this is the worst of all. But we don’t speak the same language, and we are all too tired, too frightened. Even Magda has shrunk back inside herself.

The van stops after hours of moving slowly through the pounding rain. The men jump out and go to the toilet in the grass, and gesture at us to do the same. The girls try to find a private spot, somewhere to hide, but it’s a big open field. As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see the outline of a small boat with no roof. Must be moored near a river, or a lake, or the sea. The man who was driving herds us towards it, like we are stupid sheep – we are stupid sheep. I look at Igor, who is checking his phone. Magda is wet through, her hair sticking to her head, making her seem vulnerable and very young.

The boat is waiting at the mucky, sandy shore and we all step in one at a time, no helping hand to guide us. Our feet are wet and slippery and we sit, clutching the low sides of the plastic floating tub, which doesn’t seem big enough to hold us all. It rocks and sways each time another body enters. Two of the men push it deeper into the water then jump in, the boat almost capsizing. Everyone is soaked with rain, everyone is cold; no one seems to know what they are doing. The driver of the van gets a phone call and speaks to the other men, and one of them pulls a string and a chugging sound starts up. It gets louder until it has revved up enough power to motor. I hold on to the side and look down at the water. Is this the sea, Papa?