Eventually, he had told her about the woman downstairs. Her name was Zoe and she had moved into Flat 2. She was from Wiltshire, had come to London for a change of scene, worked in publishing and wanted to move into journalism. Eva was still, listening to each drop of information, collecting it like rainwater in a tin. When Ron explained what the woman wanted, Eva had surprised Ron and herself by agreeing to see her.

Now, as she listens to Toby, Eva considers more carefully what to expect and what food and drink she will prepare and where the two of them will sit. She looks around the flat, placing the woman first in one chair and then in another. Her gaze is restless. It travels from the armchairs in the room, to Toby’s fingers skittering across the keys, to the table where she has placed Ron’s rose in a vase. It lingers and her mind returns to the memory she had before.

Little Eva. She is jumping up the stairs, holding tight to a woman’s hand. It must be her mother. Who else could it be? In her other hand, she holds a rag doll that has the softest hair and the prettiest smiling face. At the top of the stairs, on the second floor, they step onto the landing. Her mother crouches and presents her with a red rose. Her lips are moving. What is she saying? Her voice is like an echo.

Toby finishes Rachmaninoff and segues seamlessly into Chopin. Suddenly, Eva recalls that it isn’t her mother in the scenario she has been painting. There is music accompanying this memory. Her mother is playing the piano which means she can’t possibly be standing on the landing giving her a rose.

She closes her eyes trying to recall. The soft palm, the scent of the rose and something else. Perfume. It’s sweet and gentle and reminds her of the stars.

Eva’s eyes snap open. That’s not possible. She is muddling memories and mixing up senses. Her head is aching. She touches her temple with her index and middle finger, wills herself to focus until she is back in the role of Little Eva taking the rose. Now she sees that it’s a young woman who is looking at her, and smiling in that lovely way she has, pushing back her thick, dark hair. Her eyes are warm and her expression is kind, though Little Eva knows she is sad because she has seen the same look in her mother.