Jorzy sighs. “Staying here is no answer, you know that. Not for Marina.”

* * *

The next day, light footsteps are running through the house and I’m immediately alert. Yet it’s only Babet’s flushed face that appears at the door of my cubbyhole.

“Leho!” she gasps. “There’s a girl asking for you!”

Various possibilities fly through my head, not making sense. “What d’you mean?”

“A Travester girl,” she cries, grabbing my foot. “Come on, hurry up.”

I climb out of the cubbyhole, smoothing down my hair as we run through the building. When we get to the street door I point my finger at Babet: “You stay here.”

She’s grinning and I know she probably won’t take any notice. “Leho’s got a girlfriend,” she sings.

I shut the door firmly behind me and look around. There’s a cart further along the street that sells turnips and potatoes, and a girl is standing next to it talking to the driver. She’s wearing a long blue cloak, the hood up over her head, but I know it’s Emee.

“There you are,” she says when I reach her. “Thank you, my good man,” she addresses the driver, who hands her a bag of turnips.

“How did you find me?” I blurt out.

With a sniff she says, “That’s no way to greet your beloved.”

The turnip seller grins and winks, making my ears go hot.

Her voice drops to a whisper. “I asked around. Everybody seems to know you.”

I take her elbow and walk her towards our building. It’s hard to know what to do with her; it’s different in Trabant Street where she comes and goes as she likes. But here, do I invite her inside for a cup of chicory? No, that’s no good. The place is a slum, compared to her house. Do we go over to the river? Too far, and we’re bound to be stopped and questioned by Black Marks. Emee herself solves the problem.

“I bought something for your mother,” she says with clear eyes, holding out the paper bag of turnips, then crinkles her nose at them. “The man assured me that Cerels like to eat these things, though I can’t say they seem very appetising.”

I take the bag from her in confusion. “Um, thanks.”

“So?” She raises her pale eyebrows at me.

“What?”

“Now you take me to meet your mother,” says Emee.

I frown at her. “What do you want to meet my mother for?”

“Because …” She rolls her eyes, though it looks like she hasn’t entirely thought this through. “What you were saying, the other day, about the wild camps … I want to know if it’s true.”

“You don’t believe me?” I splutter.

Emee hesitates. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” Every time I see her she makes my blood boil.