‘There are no nests in there, Mummy.’ There was a day when I called her Mummy.

Ok, hup now, Samantha. Shake it off, face forwards and forget. Shake and flap. I know now why animals do this. Ever see a dog after a fight? Or a cat after it’s been chased? Or a duck after it’s been raped? That duck pond in Herbert Park was a revelation. Those randy buggers would sometimes go at one female so hard they’d kill her. If she managed to survive she’d flap her wings and shake her whole body and swim away. I spent a day there last year, mitching with Brian, smoking doobies under the willow tree, and saw three gangs of ducks go at a single girl duck. I pretended to find it funny, until the last one, where they banged her head so hard against the edge of the pond her head bled. Then, it didn’t seem about desire. Then, even Brian stopped laughing.

39. Nico

39

Nico

This man is different. He looks and he sees, and this makes me afraid. Sammy knows this man. I hope he is not her uncle or her father’s friend or …

When we get to the room he asks how old I am. I tell him I’m eighteen. He studies me closely, not believing this answer, but, I think, happy with what he sees.

‘What is your name?’

‘Natasha.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Romania.’

‘Where in Romania?’

I try to remember the name of the village. I make one up: ‘Golesti.’

He nods, as if he knows that place, knows everything there is to know about everything. ‘Do you mind being here?’

What does he want? He hasn’t touched me or taken off his clothes.

‘Did someone hurt you?’ He gestures to the bruise on my head, which is in its final yellow stages. How many weeks have passed since that night? I sometimes wonder if my birthday has come and gone yet.

‘Are you here against your will?’

The answers to these questions get stuck inside. I know I should cry to try and stir his compassion, his rescuing knight tendencies, as Sammy would say – I can see her orchestrating this moment, her hands jerkily drawing out the right notes, her body palpitating with excitement – but I can’t squeeze out any sound, it’s all dry and caked inside. Can I make this man see without having to say it, the way Mama used to read my thoughts hanging in the air? Even as I think this, I’m waiting for an explosion of colours, a smack on the side of the head, a clap of thunder, ringing bells. I flinch.

‘It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.’