“I shall miss you, you know,” she continues on a more serious note, and I think she really means it.

The little dog is moving about on the grass nearby.

“What will you miss?” I ask lightly, putting my nose to her neck and breathing in her scent.

“Oh, this,” she says airily, then gives a little laugh as if that’s not what she really wants to say.

I’m thinking she means the park at night, and being out late, when other people are in bed. Maybe she’s blushing – there’s not enough light to tell. Or maybe she means she’ll miss us being together like this, being close for the first time.

I push my face towards hers, thinking to kiss her properly, the way I once kissed dark-eyed Pippa in the alleyway behind her building. Our teeth clash together and Emee draws back with a small, startled cry. It makes me fume; even that can’t be simple. Everything about her ends up making me feel inferior, clumsy, rough about the edges, a greenhorn.

“It’s not an opportunity,” I mutter, drawing away from her.

“Suit yourself,” she says, in a huff now.

Getting to my feet, I reach a hand down to her. She puts her hand into mine, like a princess, and I lift her up easily, feeling her lightness, flimsy as the fabric of her dresses. This time there’s nothing clumsy. I put a hand around the back of her neck and kiss her fully on the mouth, drawing in her breath, the cloying sweetness of her, sliding my tongue over hers and feeling her melt against me in a way that Pippa never did.

“What was that for?” she breathes when we break apart.

“Because I’m not going away.”

Then I fetch up the bony quivering dog, and hand him over to her. Feeling with my fingers and my mind, I untie the knot around its collar.

* * *

The next evening, the sound of music greets me as I make my way through the building to our rooms. When I get to our kitchen doorway, I find the room is full of people and the sight makes me pause. Jorzy, sitting at the table, is playing lively tunes on the viola. Nanna leans against the bench, smiling. Even my mother is there, sitting off to one side with Babet. There are people from the other floors; children, old people. And best of all, there’s the tantalising smell of roasting meat.

What the hell’s going on?

Marina, her face flushed and happy, rushes over to draw me into the party.

“Leho,” she gushes, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” I didn’t realise her plans were that far advanced.

“Come and see Ydra.” She leads me over to where he’s standing in a corner in his red felt vest and holding a mug of something between his thick hands.