She raises her chin, turning her face in my direction. “I know, son.” Then she smiles, changing the subject. “I remember when I was a girl, and the city was so peaceful – we used to play hide-and-seek in Anahay Park. Gosh, it was fun. So many trees – you could get lost in that park.”

Anahay Park is still there, and I’ve walked its wide tree-lined avenues; though only late at night, when the Travesters are in their houses.

“In autumn it was golden – the trees turned gold, and the ground was also gold from the fallen leaves. It was so lovely.” She sighs. “In winter, we’d take our sleds to the park. There was a slope that was perfect for sledding.”

The sound of singing comes from another part of the building. I take a toothpick from my jacket pocket and start cleaning the dirt out from under my nails. My hands could do with a wash.

“Tell me about the doll’s house,” I say.

“Ah.” She smiles. “The beautiful doll’s house in my Travester friend’s room. We’d play with that house for hours. It had a roof that lifted up on hinges, so you could move the little people and the furniture around. We’d make up stories about the doll people, things they had done, their comings and goings, little dramas. There were even little plates with tiny meals on them. One plate was heaped with fruit. Another with bread and cheese. We’d set up little meals around the table with the dolls. Mother and father and children, all together, and living in this beautiful mansion of a house.” She sighs again. “So beautiful.”

“I saw something similar the other day,” I tell her. “But it was glass and metal, like the House of Law, and instead of people inside, it had little animals, pairs of them. It was in the window of a house. I saw it one night. It was lit up inside by some kind of small lamp so the whole thing was glowing.”

Her head’s on one side. “That is special,” she agrees. “I should like to have seen that.” She turns her cloudy eyes to me, and it’s like her mother’s instinct is seeking me out.

“Tell me about Jorzy,” says Ma, her tone changing, “why doesn’t he come to see me? He’s at the table each night, but he doesn’t come and chat like he used to. Is he keeping away from me for some reason?”

“He’s been busy,” I say quickly.

An inadequate answer, yet I can’t tell her what I suspect, that Jorzy doesn’t want to be alone with Ma in case she asks too many questions, or the right question. Ma is sharp. And she’s been here before, where Jorzy is right now: plotting an overthrow. Or at least, plotting something.