As she lay there, she could hear Kurt shuffling papers next door; every time he shifted in his chair, it made a soft squeak. She wondered if feelings could penetrate walls too, whether he sensed her frustration. If he did, it wouldn’t bother him. He never seemed to care what she felt. She heard him grunt to himself, then the rumble of drawers opening and closing; he must be packing his papers away in the filing cabinet. His footsteps plodded down the hall, paused outside her room. She held her breath. He walked on. Soon she heard the fridge door open and close, then the TV—a sports commentary of some sort. She peered out, tentatively testing the waters. ‘Can I watch too?’ She wasn’t interested in sport, just wanted to ensure he wouldn’t disturb her.

‘Stay in your room,’ he growled. ‘I don’t like the way you speak to me.’

She closed her door quietly. She was safe now. Punishment by banishment, except it was exactly what she wanted tonight.

She changed into pyjamas and snuggled up in bed with The Old Man and the Sea—the latest novel Geraldine had lent her. A small book, only one hundred pages. She flicked to the beginning. He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. A book about fishing! How ironic when she and Kurt had just been talking about boats. She sighed. Geraldine couldn’t have known.

Two hours later, Miki had finished the book. Kurt was asleep, but she was alive and awake. The book had surprised her; like all of the novels Geraldine had lent her, it was full of revelations. It was a story about an old man, a boy and a swordfish, which sounded simple but wasn’t. She hadn’t imagined she would like a book such as this, but the writing was magical—it had made her feel as if she was there with the characters. In the fishing village where the old man lived, she could smell the salt air. She could see his squalid home and imagine him rolling his trousers to make a pillow, padding them out with newspaper. When he went fishing on his small boat, it was as if she was with him on the sea, chasing the swordfish, watching the light shift on the water. She could see flying fish leaping into the air, which seemed impossible; they crossed from water to air and then back again, unfettered by walls or windows or locks.

As she read, she felt like she was fighting the swordfish with the old man, the line cutting into her hands. She loved the swordfish as he did. She saw the changing colours and moods of the sky and the sea.