Mila goes home to the flat above the chip shop and sits on the bed with the fryer smell coming up through the floor and does not put the light on.

MilaMy mother knew. She stood at the back of that hall for fourteen years and shook because she knew whose name was in the drum, and never said it.

There is a tin on the shelf with eleven pounds in it and a photograph of a man who was in the house that night and is not in any house now.

The harbour lights are in the window and have been since she was four, and she is going to be in that house at eleven on the thirty-first.