I shake my head. I knew from what Magda told me that what happened last night would happen, the first time.

A type of silence grows tall and strong, like the beanstalk in Jack’s fairytale. We could climb high and crash through the roof.

In that instant we make a pact, and I imagine us spitting and shaking on it, like the cowboys in the films Maria and I used to watch.

I look out the window and let my eyes soften and blur with the rain. Mama always loved the rain. ‘So much promise,’ she used to say, ‘so much new life … as if the pregnant skies above are breaking their waters.’

A loud grumbling sound comes from my stomach. Mama’s voice still lingers in the air: ‘Food will help soothe the rising fear.’ And I am surprised to find that I am hungry, or maybe it is the hole inside of me that is crying out to be filled.

‘Sounds like you have the acid monster in there too, eating you from the inside out,’ Sammy says.

This makes no sense to me, except I understand she means it as a joke. I close the notebook, pressing the man’s hairs between the back pages, careful not to let Sammy see – this has to be my secret – and we both go to the kitchen in our sleeping clothes. In the hall we meet Irina, and Sammy asks her when she’ll be paid.

‘At the end of the week,’ Irina says, her eyes looking anywhere but at her. They look into mine for a moment and then dart away. Sammy moves towards the door and pushes against it, half-heartedly, not looking at me. She cannot really believe their lies.

We go into the kitchen and see Ling sitting on her own at the table, eating.

‘Morning,’ Sammy sings. ‘Have a good night?’

Ling doesn’t react, just continues to eat, methodically, with great focus.

Being ignored seems to make Sammy angry and her colour rises as her words speed up. ‘Fancy a trip to the seaside, Ling?’

Ling’s eyes look like deep black holes. ‘We cannot,’ she says. ‘I here twelve weeks and no time away.’

‘What, not even a Sunday?’ Sammy says.

Ling rolls her eyes. ‘The men no care what day of week is.’

Sammy breaks a croissant in two, slides butter and dark pink jam on it and chews loudly, her jaw clicking, though she doesn’t seem to swallow. ‘I’ll organise a day’s outing and we can all go swimming.’

Ling looks out the window as droplets of rain wriggle down the pane. ‘In rain?’

‘Yes,’ Sammy says. ‘In the rain. You’ll love it, Ling.’

Ling shivers and wraps her arms around her body.