‘I’m not so sure,’ I surprise myself by saying. ‘I’m not sure at all. I don’t think they do know. We look good, we’re well fed, we probably look like “Happy Hookers”.’

She looks confused, but obviously understands the sentiment, cos she says, ‘Are there such?’

‘They like to tell themselves there are. They probably think we do this for designer bags, or shoes. That’s why Irina togs us out in that gear and feeds us well.’

‘Or, they no think at all …’ she says.

‘Well, they’re certainly not thinking when they’re making those faces and noises like bulls and sticking themselves inside us. There’s no light on in the brain then, that’s for sure.’

And then Nico does something seriously weird, for her – she makes a contorted, grotesque face. I mean, I never thought that face could be ugly, but boy, ugly is an understatement, especially when the little weirdo takes out a handful of hairs from the back of her notebook and holds them above her mouth, a fake moustache. She stops her breath, puffs out her cheeks, goes bright red, then pants and grunts and moans. Although I’m totally grossed out by where I imagine the hair has come from, I feel giddy in a way I haven’t in weeks. The two of us fall around the place laughing, our own special brand of hysteria. It’s a relief to know we’re still capable.

When we’ve calmed down, she places the hair back between the pages, secretively, as if she’s embarrassed I saw her secret stash. I wonder if we could commit some act of voodoo, but don’t say anything. I can tell by her face not to push it.

We sit on the window seat, pens poised, blank sheets in front of us, and neither of us can scribble a word. I bite my pen so hard the ink seeps all over my mouth and lips.

‘You look as vampire!’ she says.

I wonder how she knows about vampires, coming from that little village with the green well, where she went to collect water with her mama every day. She has told me more about her life recently, and I can’t believe her mother stood by and watched her only daughter being taken away by a man she knew nothing about. And Luca, her brother Luca, the action hero. How did he let it happen? Were they all really so scared of her father, who sounds like a complete eejit. God, if I ever got the chance to meet him …

‘Of what are you thinking?’ she asks.

‘Your village.’

This is followed by a silence so deep and wide it’s as if we have both fallen into that well.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Tell me of your mama,’ she says.