‘I bet you did,’ said Marina. ‘You just haven’t thought about it for a while.’

‘Maybe.’ She sets the doll back in its place.

‘But you don’t remember where it came from.’

‘No. But I think it was from someone important.’ She returns to her seat, frowning. ‘And that makes me feel strange.’

Marina raises her eyebrows. She has never met anyone like Eva. A mix of openness and reserve.

‘Chopin,’ she says suddenly, swivelling around and playing a few bars. ‘My mother’s favourite piece, and yet – I know this sounds odd – it scares me.’

‘Maybe you associate the music with a bad experience.’

‘Yes. I’ve considered that.’ She plays a few more notes and then turns again and smiles. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being maudlin.’

They talk for a while longer. Marina shares more about herself, telling Eva about her teaching job in Bristol and when she lived abroad. ‘Actually, I was in Poland for a while.’

‘You’re lucky,’ Eva says wistfully.

‘Have you visited?’ says Marina gently.

‘No.’

‘Your mother didn’t . . . ?’

She shakes her head. ‘There was no one there for her, you see.’

Marina nods, understanding. A terrible sense of sadness floods through her. ‘Still. It’s not too late.’

‘Perhaps.’ Eva looks at her watch and grimaces. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got another pupil coming. I should get ready.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Marina stands. ‘Thank you for talking to me.’

‘I haven’t been much help.’

‘It’s not a problem. It’s been good to meet you.’

Eva smiles warmly. ‘It’s been good to meet you too. You should come again.’

‘I’d like that. I think we have a lot in common.’ Marina says the words to be polite, but as she speaks, she realises she means them, and that she would like to see Eva again. Taking one last glance at the rag doll, she heads back to her flat.

22

Connie

July 1964

Connie stopped looking at herself in the mirror and undressed in the dark, unwinding the strips of sheet, grateful that she had made it through another day with no one knowing the truth.

She checked the post each morning and often passed Dorothy on the stairs clutching hers.

A letter arrived for her father with a postmark from York. Connie inspected the envelope and stared vainly into the box for more. What was the point of having the money to buy a ticket to Paris if she didn’t have Johnny’s address?

Despite the hour, music blared from Flat 2.

Kenneth came along in his dressing gown and slippers. Ignoring Connie and muttering about the noise, he rapped on the door with his cane. Eileen appeared, glamorous in a pale green dress, surrounded by a fug of smoke.

‘Turn it down,’ growled Kenneth. ‘The whole bloody street can hear you.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ She gave him a beguiling smile. ‘It’s the end, you see, and we’re celebrating.’