“But there are two gates down the back?”

I give a nod. Suddenly my beer seems to be half gone, and my head feels muffled. “One on either side of the property. Paths that go down to the river.”

The three men put their heads together. Jorzy, as if remembering I’m still there, flicks me a look. I’ve been useful, now I need to make myself scarce. So much for being one of the men. I scrape back the stool anyway, fingering my cap. Seeing they’re now deep in conversation, I leave my half-finished beer and sidle out of the pub.

Out in the open air, I shove my hands in my jacket pockets and pause for a moment to study the yellow crescent moon before walking thoughtfully home. Let them cook up their plots and plans. Maybe I’ll work on a plan of my own.

12

“Jorzy,” I say, as we sit around the table, “tell us a real story tonight … tell us about the Director.”

I wouldn’t have asked if my mother was present, but she’s gone to bed early with one of the migraines she gets since losing her sight.

Jorzy seems annoyed, as if it’s not for me to bring up this kind of subject at home. “That’s not my story to tell,” he says. “You’ll have to ask Nanna.”

Nanna, who is cleaning up at the bench, has heard the request; I can tell by her back, though she says nothing. She dries her hands on her cotton apron, and carries a bowl of greens over to the table. A groan comes from Babet, which is quickly silenced by one of Nanna’s sharp looks. She takes her usual place at the head of the table and gazes around at us. Jorzy is already helping himself to the greens. Hunger doesn’t have the luxury of manners. I reach for the bread.

Nanna seems more reserved than usual tonight, and I don’t think she’ll be in the mood for stories. She takes a sip of water from the tin mug at her elbow, and sends a glance down the table to Marina. My sister’s head is bowed over her empty plate and I think of the secret they are keeping from Jorzy. Surely he’s noticed something by now. Nanna takes the bowl of greens from Jorzy, and puts a helping on Marina’s plate, then her own.

“I was a mature woman when the Director first came to this city,” she begins. “He was a budding young politician from the Federation who was sent here, along with a group of others like him, to try to restore dignity to the city. They came from Rocheford,” she explains to me, “near the coast. A prosperous city.”