At the Bridge of Angels, I give him a nod and cross to the other side of the river, while Moustache continues on without a backwards glance. Up until I turn in at the Director’s gate, I’m aware of him keeping pace with me on the other side of the river. I had hoped it would be me – and not Jorzy – to attempt the assassination. But we’ll see. If my plan works out, I might be the hero after all.

* * *

Something’s happening in the kitchen – Nanna’s territory – shouting and banging.

I was on my way back from the bathroom down the hall when I heard a crash, something shattering. My first thought is Black Marks. So I press myself against the wall, ready to run, and peer around the open doorway. Just in time to see Nanna hurling a pot across the room. It bounces off the wall and rolls under the table. What the–? Then I see Marina standing with arms folded, white lips pressed tightly together – it’s our mother’s look of determination.

What’s going on? It can’t be about the baby – Nanna already knows about that.

“–on a whim!”

Another crash.

“How dare you … risk all our lives …”

Still my sister stands like a tree in a raging storm.

“You – you fool!” The words are spat out with low venom.

Then a slap. I risk a peek. Marina’s face is turned to one side, mottled pink from where Nanna has just hit her. I press back up against the flaking wall, breathing shallowly. This is more shocking than anything else. I’ve never seen Nanna so angry, and Marina is her favourite.

And then my mother’s voice rings out clear and soft as a bell. “Stop it this instant!”

With a single sob, Marina flashes past, hands clasped over her face.

I don’t know what to do, whether to follow my sister and comfort her, or to stay and listen.

From the kitchen comes the peacemaking sound of a scraping chair. That will be my mother. Then the sound of the blackened kettle being clattered about and thumped onto the wood stove to heat – the last of Nanna’s fury hopefully being taken out on the kettle. The women will sit down together and work it out over a cup of tea.

“What’s up, kid?” It’s Jorzy, appearing through the hole in the wall, having come back from the pub.

My brother takes one look at the women in the kitchen, then turns back to the doorway, anger in his face. Now for sure he’ll find out what’s going on.

“Get lost,” he mutters.

I don’t need to be told twice.

* * *