I don’t recall how I got there. Another blank. But I seem to have got there quickly. I do remember the sense of emptiness when I entered the flat. I went into his room from habit and sat in the corner, looking at the walls. I had no idea what to think.

Tugging at the threads of the novel on the wall, I summoned memories.

I was twelve. Mum fished a red flag out of a drawer. It was in this room. She got a pair of large scissors, cut out the hammer and sickle and used the fabric to sew me a dress—it was red and off the shoulder, velvety to the touch. The tradition of sewing clothes from improvised objects was deep-rooted in our family. Mum put her finger to her lips as a sign that I was not to tell anybody. Dust cast to the ceiling by the heavy red cloth shimmered in the warm summer sun.

I was eight. It was summer, two girls a little older than me were playing out in the courtyard by the very sandbox where an unexploded shell is now sticking out. They always took up both swings, synchronising their rocking for absolute ages. I was alone and desperate to make friends with them. Day after day I watched them swinging. They ignored me completely, swaying obliviously in their own invented world.

“I’m opening the door and going into the house. There’s lots of beautiful old furniture. Look, a vase on the table. You can have that.”

The other said: “I’m holding the vase . . . oops, it dropped. It’s broken.”

“Never mind,” said the first. “I’ll wave my hands and recite a spell and, there you go, the vase is back on the table. I’m going outside now. Our friends are there and they’re having a party. Come quick!”

It must be such an amazing feeling to believe you can close your eyes and imagine yourself in a different world. I was so jealous. I too wanted to see that realm of theirs. I finally plucked up the courage to ask if I could join. They said yes, but no matter how much I shut my eyes and imagined myself walking through the door that they described to me, their world never appeared. I had genuinely believed they could see it. I burst into tears. They just giggled.

At home in bed, I closed my eyes, but the dreams only dragged me further away like a current.

When I grew up, I realised how stupid and naive that all was. But now I wonder again if maybe there is another world. What do you think? A world where people live when seeking shelter from war and suffering. Like a bomb shelter where all your family are safe. Alive. And broken vases can be repaired with a simple spell.