She closes her eyes. The memory comes. Little Eva is jumping on the stairs. The young woman gives her a rose. A perfect rose. Watch out for the thorns. Suddenly, the name comes to her. It slips into her head like a detail in a dream. Connie. It’s Connie who is leading her home to where her mother is playing Chopin. It’s Connie who gives her the rag doll called Sarah. It’s Connie who helps her press flowers and who hands her the rose when they reach the landing. And it’s Connie who whispers Don’t tell anyone. Not a word. It’s our secret.

The reel of memory leaps. Little Eva is skipping out of her flat. She is standing at the top of the stairs and looking down. There is a man. He is leaning over Connie. Something is wrong. Connie is frightened. She thinks of her mother when the boys threw stones. She thinks of her father stepping in front of a bus. She thinks of her mother again, crying on the stairs when the woman with the bright blue eyeshadow delivered a lump from her body. A tiny baby. Too small to live in the world.

There is no blood now, no nasty boys, no red buses, but Little Eva feels the same cold fear.

From her position on the landing, she sees Connie looking up at her. She wants to call out, but Connie’s eyes say no.

She puts her hands over her mouth and traps her words. Warm liquid runs down her legs. Tears trickle down her face. She runs inside and to her room where she changes her knickers and her dress.

Later her mother will find the wet clothes, but she won’t shout because she never shouts. Even when Eva wets herself for many nights after that, her mother will change the sheets and wash them and tell her not to worry.

Eva misses her mother. You can never get over losing your mother. Her grip on the windowsill loosens as she gives in to the dizziness and slips to the floor.

32

Marina

February 1992

It’s a misty day; the sun shines weakly through the window; yet Marina has an urge to be away from the claustrophobic house. She pulls on her coat and goes into the hall, pausing for a moment as the familiar prickling crawls across her skin. Shaking off the sensation, she opens the front door and heads around the building towards the garden gate. Considering she has been here for a month, she has spent little time outside. From the lawn, she can see into Ron’s kitchen window. There is no sound or movement. He must be sleeping still, or perhaps he is with Eva. Marina has a feeling they will be back together soon.