Mama nods her head, coaching herself. ‘Your father has decided and he knows best.’ Her voice is high and false from the effort of trying to contain the lie. Not for the first time I wonder what kind of a world it is that Papa gets to make all the decisions over Mama.

A sound leaks out of me then, and it doesn’t sound like my voice, it’s young and unformed, like a five-year-old’s. ‘Don’t let me go, Mama, please don’t let me go …’ I want to wrap myself around her, hide under her skirts like I used to.

She moves away, her back tall and stiff. ‘Your Papa is a stubborn mule, Nico. It will be for the best, in the long run … yes … for the best …’

There is no arguing with Papa. Once he has made his mind up about something, it will come to pass, like the overly sweet wine that no one wants to buy, or the rotting plants or sick animals that he kicks about like stones. Our house is a world where Papa’s word goes. I will not be allowed to go back to school, and I am to be married to this man. Mama learned, and he no longer has to hit her.

I think of the poor dog and how she will be treated after I leave, and somehow this forces my voice back to the surface. ‘Can I bring the dog?’

‘Now don’t be a silly girl. You’ll be going on an airplane. How do you think that dumb animal would like that?’

The dog’s helplessness makes me feel strong. Her silence allows me to continue to speak. ‘She won’t like being left here without me. And I don’t like the idea of flying through the clouds away from my country.’

Mama’s face has turned hard and rigid, and she pretends she hasn’t heard me as she begins to hum a tune I’ve never heard, off-key and wobbly. She always said someone would have to kill her before getting her up there in one of those containers in the sky, those ‘metal tin cans with wings’. I decide now is not the best time to remind of her this. Maria would love to fly away from here, but not even Maria would want to go away with a man whose eyes have never sought hers. My throat feels raw, cut on the shards of stone as I try to swallow.

Mama’s voice has a new, high-pitched, sing-song tone to it. ‘Maybe your new husband will get you a puppy. That would be nice. Company for you while he is out at work, until you have your first baby, then you’ll be so busy you won’t notice that you’re alone all day.’

I’d make sure the puppy was a girl and I’d call her Silvia. ‘What does he do, Mama?’