She calls out again, and this time Mama hears her. For a moment the girl is frightened, because she has been disobedient. She has looked back. But Mama leans and whispers something to Papa, and then she makes her way along the rail to where the girl is sitting, hugging her knees, on the damp rug. ‘My poor little bird,’ she says, gathering up her skirts and sitting down. She takes her daughter in her arms and pulls her close. The girl smells salty tweed and perfume, Coty powder. One of Mama’s fair ringlets has come loose and the girl winds it around her fingers and holds it against her face. ‘Are you frightened?’

‘Mmm hmm.’ The girl nods, letting the rough cloth scratch her forehead. It feels so ordinary; it feels like home. A little spark of bravery ignites inside her. ‘A little bit.’

‘Everything is going to be absolutely fine, my dearest one.’ Mama is speaking English, which is their special language; Papa talks to her in Greek, though his English is as perfect as Mama’s. So many languages at home: English, French and Turkish; Greek, of course. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’ The girl shakes her head. ‘To Athens. Isn’t that exciting? Papa is moving his shop there.’

‘Can you move a shop?’ The girl rubs her eyes, thinking. ‘What about the windows?’

Mama laughs and ruffles the girl’s hair. ‘He’s left the windows. But all the precious things, all the lovely things are on board with us. He’ll find another shop in Athens, and we’ll find another house.’

‘But what’s wrong with our house?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. But sometimes one has to do something … something new. And exciting! An adventure!’