Marina gives a nod. That explains why Nanna has been so grumpy lately. “And I’ve told Ma.”

“What about the contraceptive?” I ask, thinking of the depots where Cerel women have to report every two months for the injection. There’s one in our street, a dingy brick building with steps worn smooth by all the women going into it.

Her fingers are twined together so tightly they look bloodless. “I – I don’t know. People say they don’t always work. I’ve heard stories. Sometimes there are … accidents. Women fall pregnant. And some of them want to keep the baby.”

We both know what happens if a Cerel should fall pregnant and want to keep the baby: eventually the woman disappears. They aren’t allowed to have babies any more. Babet was the last baby in our building, and she’s nearly nine.

“Maybe the last dose they gave me wasn’t strong enough,” she continues with a frown. “It can vary … Or, it happened about the time I was due for the next injection, maybe the drug had run low, its effectiveness …” Her voice falters, as if she has run out of energy.

I can hear the kitchen merchant outside on the street, banging his pots together to call the women out to see his wares. “But why the country?” I wonder out loud.

Marina gives a low chuckle and a sniffle.“You’ll think I’m silly.” I make no response, not thinking anything. “I know it would’ve been dangerous, and I know it would’ve been a mongrel, but Leho, I wanted to keep it.”

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, Leho,” she whispers, grabbing my wrist, “what am I going to do?”

“Have you told Nanna about the dispensation?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. I’ve only just heard.”

“She’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, maybe,” she says with a sigh. “She might know what to do.”

There’s the sound of boots in the hallway and we both freeze. “Hey, you two, what’re you doing in there?” It’s Jorzy, peering in at us, his face darkened from the day’s welding, except for around his eyes where the skin is white from the goggles.

Marina instantly reverts to her usual self. “Jorzy,” she exclaims, shimmying out of the cubbyhole, “you look like a raccoon!”

Staying put, I listen to their voices as they move away. Jorzy’s voice is teasing, while my sister’s is light and lowered, as if she hasn’t a care in the world. How can she do that?