I nod, not wanting to say my name. The silence yawns wide and rude, so I force myself to speak. ‘Are you from around here?’

‘I was, a long time ago. I live in Italy now.’

I try to remember what I know about Italy: it’s shaped like a high-heeled boot and is surrounded by the sea and gets very hot in the summers.

‘Will I get to see the sea?’ I ask.

‘If you like.’

‘Is it blue or black?’

She looks puzzled. ‘The sea is always blue.’

So, Papa.

‘Can I continue to go to school?’

‘You’ll receive an education all right,’ the woman called Magda says, and the man laughs.

‘I’m one of the best in my class.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be a quick learner,’ she says.

‘Can I get a puppy?’ I say, an image of my dog tethered to her post causing my eyes to flood with tears.

Magda is silent, she looks down, then at her husband and whispers, ‘How old is she really? I know what the father told you, but I don’t believe it for an instant. She’s no more than a child.’

The man replies, ‘Good, there’ll be more demand for her.’

‘That is not our thing.’

I hear them but not really, my own head whooshing with tumbling thoughts, blocking out what their words could mean.

The car stops on the outskirts of another village, about an hour’s drive from my own, and two girls are standing by the roadside, two guys about Sergiu’s age either side of them, holding their hands.

The man opens the door, gets out, slips the men the same cash handshake he gave Papa. I’m sure these girls don’t think they are going to marry Petre. They jump into the back seat beside me, excitement leaking off them, an electric charge in the air.

‘Quick,’ they say, ‘before our papas hear we have gone.’

They are older than me by a few years and they seem as if they’ve know each other a long time. I think of Maria. The shards tear as I try to swallow. The car drives away and the girls ask why the boys aren’t coming.

‘Not enough room in the car,’ the man says. ‘They’ll be joining us later.’

They girls look back at the boys’ retreating figures. Did they notice the money?

The car builds up speed, its tyres throwing up clouds of dirt against the already grimy windows so all I can see are streaks of trees, electricity poles, flashes of green and silver against the backdrop of a bank of heavy yellow sky. The landscape is flat and dry, parched, like my tongue. The girls giggle and whisper amongst themselves, ignoring me, pretending I’m not part of their picture.

‘You’re very quiet, little one,’ Magda says suddenly.

I nod, squeezing back fear.