The door of the house opposite opens and a man and his son appear. The boy is small, five or six. They are holding hands and the boy sets off, feet together, jumping down the steps. Eva leans forward, watching them as they reach the bottom laughing. She eases the window open so that she can hear their voices. A wind has come up. It runs through the maple tree below and slips through the gap of the window and into Eva’s room. Chilled, she wraps her thin arms around her body.

Eva closes her eyes. A memory is coming.

She is Little Eva. A piano is playing. Her mother is performing Chopin, but she is weeping as she plays, all the sadness of her life pouring through her fingers. Little Eva cannot bear her mother’s sorrow so she slips out of the flat and down the stairs.

What next?

She sits on a step with her chin in her hands. She has bare feet and a purple dress that swirls around her legs when she runs.

A woman appears and takes her hand. Together they climb back up the stairs all the way to the top. Little Eva is jumping, two feet together, in the way that children do. Who is the woman? Is it her mother come down to fetch her? What next?

The scent of roses.

Eva blinks and the memory disappears.

14

Marina

January 1992

The estate agent is close to the Tube station. Marina enters and Wayne jumps up from his desk and hurries to greet her.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asks, running his hand through slicked-back hair.

‘It’s the boiler,’ she says, and explains the problem of the scalding water and lukewarm radiators. ‘Can you contact the landlord?’

He shuffles his feet. ‘I can try.’

‘Try?’ Marina is taken aback. She knows the rent is low and that she agreed to accept the place as it is, but even so, she has rights.

‘I mean, I’ll ask him to OK repairs.’

‘Ask him?’

‘Tell him. Yes. Tell him.’

Marina is unconvinced. ‘Why don’t you give me his number?’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Cut out the middle man.’

He looks around helplessly. He is a good five years younger than Marina and a lot less self-assured. An older woman stares across disapprovingly from her desk.

Marina lowers her voice. ‘Listen. I understand that you can get into trouble. But it’s freezing in the flat.’

She holds out her hands and wiggles her numb fingers. He peers at them and grimaces.

‘Give me his number, or his address, if you like. I can say I found it myself . . . No one needs to know.’

He sighs. ‘It’s very unorthodox. And the landlord is quite particular.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He prefers to be anonymous.’