‘Ah.’ Sofía nods.

‘I went inside.’ She baulks at telling the whole truth and is fairly certain Ruth will have left it up to her.

‘And has it changed the way you feel?’

It’s the question Marina has asked herself a hundred times already. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What are you hoping for?’

Tactfully, Patricia takes the children and leaves the room.

‘I suppose I want to know why.’ She looks down at her hands.

‘Listen,’ says Sofía softly. ‘Your mother must have felt very alone to have left you. She must have thought she had no choice.’

‘I know.’

‘She put you in a safe place.’

‘That’s what Ruth says.’

They are silent again. Quiet laughter floats through the door from the hall.

‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘I’ve always felt connected to the house.’

‘Well, you are, that’s true.’

Marina fiddles with the teaspoon in the saucer. ‘Why do you think,’ she says after a moment or two, ‘the police didn’t find my mother?’

Sofía sighs. ‘I suppose it would be impossible to solve every case.’

‘But it was all over the news. Surely someone would have come forward – the father, or a member of her family.’

‘Perhaps no one knew. Things were different then. Unmarried women hid their pregnancies, especially if they were very young, or if the baby didn’t belong to their husband.’

Marina rubs her temples. She knows this is true. She has been through archives and read enough stories about mothers who did exactly that.

‘And you have to remember,’ Sofía continues, ‘there was no automatic access to legal abortion in the early sixties. Vulnerable women were forced to have dangerous and often life-threatening procedures. In the hospital, we saw many women who nearly died that way. They could even be prosecuted – if the police found out.’

Marina thinks about this. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’ she says eventually. ‘I’ve read the articles that Ruth saved for me and I’ve searched records, but I might have missed something.’

Sofía considers. Then she says, ‘I have some articles myself. You’re welcome to look at them.’

She leaves the room and Marina waits, head in her hands. She is startled when a small hand touches her arm. The little girl has come in quietly and is contemplating her with solemn eyes. How much has she heard? Children absorb moods and emotions, observe actions without understanding them, or remembering what they’ve seen. It’s the nature of memory, Marina thinks, her mind drawn to Agata’s manuscript.

Sofía returns with a folder tied with a blue ribbon. She sets it on the table and takes the girl onto her lap.

‘I kept everything that reminds me of you.’

Marina holds back her tears as she listens.