We fell silent, straining our every sense. Sure enough, we heard the mumble of voices and the crack of floorboards as an untold number of figures passed by our door. They were moving towards the main body of the house. Cordelia only ever lived in a couple of the rooms when she called this place home. She built herself a big comfy nest out of drapes and rugs and clothes, all piled up in the centre of the empty living room and surrounded by pile after pile of books. She lived in there for months after Stefan died, too feckless to know how to turn the electricity back on or how to work the washing machine. She got thin and dirty and sank in on herself as if she were rotting. But we found each other and saved ourselves and did something half decent along the way. I kept trying to imagine her turning up and explaining things to everybody and John and me getting embarrassed at all the apologies and handshakes and back-slapping. I just couldn’t make it feel like anything other than wishful thinking. I didn’t want Cordelia walking in on whatever was happening in her home. I wanted her safe, wherever she was.

‘American accent,’ said John, moving away from the door. ‘More than one.’

‘They are American and Canadian,’ said Sera. ‘British too. The big man who arrived in the expensive car – he sounded like the man who reads the news.’

‘Your news?’ I asked.

‘BBC.’ She smiled. ‘Very … what is it Father used to say … very well-spoken. A large man. Well dressed but not particularly handsome. I do not wish to be unkind but he was quite fat.’

I shrugged, not expecting to recognize her description. ‘And who was arguing?’

‘The two American men were arguing with the soldiers. Something had gone wrong. They were being kept waiting. The man with the cigar was becoming very angry. My brother, when he found his strength, he began to demand to see the man we trust, demanded to speak to the man we were promised. Instead we were given this fat man and two more men in suits; eyes that saw everything but cared nothing. Then we knew, whatever is to happen this night, we will not secure change for our people. I would have been happier to die with my son than to be disappeared here in this unfamiliar place.’

‘Disappeared?’ asked John.

‘That is the word that is used. Hundreds of men, women, children. Thousands. Tens of thousands. We do not know. The soldiers come, the agents come – people are taken and they do not return. Sometimes a farmer ploughing his field will unearth bones. They plough them back in, afraid of what their discovery will bring. It has been this way for twenty years.’

‘And nobody’s doing anything?’ I asked. ‘Why aren’t we helping?’

‘We?’ she asked.