Jorzy starts to light his pipe. “It’s been a while since we heard the family history,” he says, glancing across at Nanna.

Ma lifts her chin, her scarred face soft in the light. “Yes, tell the history,” she agrees. “I’d like to hear it again too.”

The history is as familiar as a favourite shirt, or the oversized jacket I always wear. The history cheers us up – even dour-looking Nanna looks more cheerful – and reminds us that as long as you have family, things can’t be all that bad.

“All right,” says Nanna, putting her gnarly hands on the table.

“I am the mother of your mother,” she begins, casting her gaze around the table. Babet’s eyes are wide above her bowl, and even though I’ve heard this story many times before I’m just as riveted. Nobody stops eating. “My parents were Bartold and Sirry. They lived in this very house, along with aunts and uncles and children and three dogs. Only our clan lived on the ground floor back then. Bartold was a merchant, and travelled the land buying and bringing back goods to the city to sell.”

Jorzy holds a lighted stick to the pipe, his eyes cast down so you can’t see his face and what he’s thinking.

“The parents of my parents were Jochim and Matilde. They too lived in this house. Jochim was a tailor and Matilde was a seamstress. They made very fine clothes for the wealthy of the city. They worked side by side in their business. A good team. Every day rich people came knocking on their door, wanting clothes.”

The next part I know nearly by heart.

“The parents of Jochim and Matilde were Jorzy and Krista.” My brother Jorzy was named after this earlier parent. “They came from the country, after many years of wandering with the clan, wanting to settle in the city. Sewn into the lining of their coats, they brought with them beautiful gems and gold, which they had picked up in their travels. They lived above the narrow shop at the far end of Newbolt Street. They were jewellers and sold fine jewellery to the wealthy of the city.”

A sigh issues from Marina. Her head is bent over some darning, but a sadness emanates from her. I also find it sad that our family came from such a thriving background and now we are nothing.

Nanna continues, ignoring us, lost in her dream of the past. “The parents of Jorzy and Krista were Baba and Theressell. They lived in a caravan, drawn by a horse, and along with others of their clan, they travelled the land. Theressell earned a living by reading fortunes …”

Jorzy tips me a wink. Nanna likes to think she has inherited her gift of reading tea leaves from this distant relative. Though nobody is quite sure whether Nanna is actually psychic or not, she uncannily knows things before they happen.