‘Aman, Zozo,’ Pavlo drawls. ‘I’m fine. Everything’s fine.’ His head is bobbing slightly on his long neck. The girl, whose head is resting on his shoulder, sniffs and lets out a loud, nasal snore. Zoë realises that they are both high. Sure enough, Pavlo’s works, which are all too familiar to her – the glass and steel syringe, the spoon and sponge, the rubber ligature – are scattered across the small table that also holds Mama’s old phonogram. Feathers snorts again and opens her eyes. Red-rimmed, the pale eyelashes slightly crusted, they focus on her momentarily and close again. Feathers has a high, rounded forehead, a small, upturned nose and an even smaller chin. A silver thread of spittle connects her lips to Pavlo’s lapel.

Zoë lets go of Pavlo’s hands and stands up. ‘I told you not to bring her back here,’ she says, furious.

‘But it’s just Feathers,’ he protests. ‘She wants to look after me, Zozo. She’s so kind, isn’t she?’

‘Kind? She’s a little junkie thief. And a whore. A Drapetsona whore.’

‘She isn’t on the game any more.’ Pavlo tries to look affronted but his face keeps reforming into a rubbery smile.

‘Do you believe that? For God’s sake … You know she’s a thief. She stole Mama’s silver hairbrush and flogged it for dope!’

‘How do you … ?’

‘How do I know? Because she bloody told me! She doesn’t think about anyone except her precious little self. She doesn’t care about anything except heroin. And men. Think you’re her only one? Open your eyes, Pavlo.’

‘She cares about me.’ Pavlo pulls Feathers, now snoring gently, harder against him. ‘She loves me. And anyway, it was me who took Mama’s brush. She wouldn’t have minded.’

‘You’re lying,’ Zoë says, furious. But even through their opiate haze, Pavlo’s eyes are sad, almost pleading. She sighs. ‘Why, Pavlo? Why do you protect her? She steals from you – from me, from everybody. She keeps you on the needle. Don’t deny it: she can’t stand the thought of you getting clean. It was her, wasn’t it, who got you back on the shit when you came out of the army?’ Zoë hears her voice rising. ‘Can’t you see how she drives people away from you? What about Daizy? She told so many lies about Daizy that the poor girl – she’s my friend! – she had to leave Kokkinia!’

‘Please, Zozo. The Germans are here. My ribs hurt. I just want …’ His head wobbles and he blinks. ‘Some peace. I’m sorry about the brush. I’ll buy you another one.’

‘What good will that do? It was Mama’s!’

With obvious effort, Pavlo lifts his head and meets his sister’s eyes. ‘I know you hate Feathers. She likes you, though …’

‘She bloody doesn’t!’