We go into the kitchen and with shaking fingers I open the fridge and take the dinner out. It is heavy with layers of pasta, meat and cheese. Sammy turns the knob on the cooker and puts the bowl in, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again it is as though the wind outside has blown through her and she has turned back into a version of her former self. Her eyes are glassy as she looks at her watch.

‘Are you feeling pukey yet?’ she says.

‘Pukey?’

She sticks two fingers down her throat. I shake my head at her.

‘How’s the head?’ she says. ‘We’ll be better if we can get food inside us.’

We both sit and wait for the bell on the cooker to sound. I can’t hear the bird over the wind, which sounds like its tearing through the trees. I wonder if she found a sheltered spot to hide, away from the wind’s insistent prodding, or maybe she has flown away. I never got to see her, though I imagine a sturdy little thing, two tiny legs and a big proud chest into which she draws air to propel her brave flight away from here. I think of Luca and my eyes fill with water. Sammy takes the dinner out and lifts it onto our plates. It’s golden and bubbling with hot cheese. I force a big bowl of it past the stone in my throat, which gets pushed down into the centre of me and my stomach swells.

‘Jesus, what is it with you teenies? You can really put it away. You should have seen Ling this morning with her cereal. She ate so much I thought she might explode.’ On this last word she blows out her cheeks and makes a sound like thunder.

I think of Ling drawing the heart on the car window – I’m glad she tells herself those kinds of lies.

‘Ok so, Roomie. Time to enact our plan. To recap: when you’re alone with a man later, let your beautiful blue eyes fill with tears. Can you do that?’

‘They don’t look to me.’

‘Well hook them in, make them look at you, make them really see you.’

I cannot imagine any of the men that pay to use us allowing themselves to really see us. They would not be able to do what they do, if they did.

Back in our room, we find our nighttime outfits lying on the bed ready for us.

‘Nowhere to hide in this gear: maximum exposure!’ Sammy laughs, and I catch it. We both start cackling like witches as Irina walks in the door with her bag.

‘You two better watch yourselves.’

We stare hard at each other, all the while snorting and streaming. This kind of laughter is as much about crying as it is about laughing.

‘Snap out of it, girls,’ Irina says.