So now Marina is unemployed and, without a reference, unlikely to get another job. We’ll feel the pinch now, without the handful of coins she earns each week. During tonight’s meal, Nanna explains to Jorzy that Marina has been replaced by a Travester girl at the Haretts’. Ma blinks in surprise, though says nothing. The lie bothers me. Whatever the problem, they should tell Jorzy – he’s the head of the family now, and needs to know, instead of us harbouring these secrets. But what can I say? Like it or not, Marina has sworn me to secrecy.

Tonight we have eaten our fill. Nanna bought a bag of potatoes from the market, wheeling it home in her old trolley. She roasted a large dish of them, cut into pieces, in the goose fat Marina had “borrowed” from the Haretts before she left.

“D’you intend to give it back when you’ve finished with it?” teases Jorzy.

Babet chokes on a potato and Marina smiles, though she is obviously tired. We queued for hours at the House of Law. “They won’t miss it,” she says dismissively.

Nanna fetches the board and her knife and four apples, and starts to divide them up at her end of the table. The other apples, I notice, have been hidden away somewhere. I’ve yet to find Nanna’s secret cubbyhole, not for want of trying.

“Tell us a story, Jorzy,” says Babet.

Marina, leaning her cheek on her palm, sighs. “Yes, a story.”

Nanna frowns at my sister, and I know the old woman is thinking about the dispensation and Marina’s trouble – whatever it is. I’m also longing for some distraction. There’s a heaviness in my chest that feels like sadness. Later, I’ll go out into the city and search for a gift for Marina to make up for today: the humiliating interview with the official sitting behind his desk, smug in his tailored black jacket lined with silver trim. Later still, I’ll go and visit Ma, and maybe I’ll curl up on her bed like Bit’s dog.

“Tell us the one about Neptune’s twin,” I say to Jorzy.

When I was little, that story used to make me think of the Director. It’s said that the Director has a twin brother.

Jorzy sends me a quick look across the table. The others, intent on Nanna’s ritualistic dividing of the apples, don’t notice anything. It’s like I’m sending my brother a message, the way his story about the mermaid was a message.

“All right,” he agrees. “Why not …”

His gaze goes to the apples, now in quarters on the board. Nanna starts to pass them around the table: two quarters each, plus one extra for Jorzy and Marina. The sound of crunching fills the room.