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‘How do I get them back?’
‘It begins with one small detail, a moment, and we build from there. Do you want to try?’
She nods and returns to the sofa. I ask her to close her eyes and take a deep breath and to feel the air filling every corner of her lungs.
‘Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Feel the coolness of each breath in your nostrils. Feel your heartbeat slow.’
Evie has her head tilted back and her chest rises and falls.
‘Now I want you to think back to the trawler. The movement. The noise. The smell. The voices . . .’
‘It was cold,’ she whispers.
‘How did you stay warm?’
‘We wore all our clothes. Layers. Socks upon socks. Socks on my hands.’
‘What clothes? Describe them.’
‘I had a long dress and a sweater.’
‘Tell me about the dress.’
‘It was blue and green and had buttons down the front.’
‘How many buttons?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Picture the dress. Imagine putting it on. Doing up the buttons.’
She counts. ‘One . . . two . . . three. Four buttons.’
I notice a change in Evie. Her eyelids begin to flutter. Her hands close into fists. Her knuckles whiten. Each breath is ragged. She’s back there, a child again, all at sea . . .
15
Evie
The storm arrived when we were sleeping. It came bashing on the hatches and flooding across the decks, trying to get inside. The boat moved like it wanted to break free from the sea, bucking and heaving, creaking and groaning. Trapped below deck, we were tossed around like marbles in a rolling jar.
People were sick. Mama was the worst, retching into the same bucket until it overflowed, and the hold reeked of vomit and sweat and human waste. Mama’s skin grew cold and clammy, sunken in places and clinging to the bones of her face. I gave her a spoonful of water at a time, holding it to her lips, but it dribbled down her chin and onto her blue coat, which Aunt Polina had brought back from Italy.
I prayed. Agnesa prayed. The storm raged; the wind and the waves were relentless. We hammered our fists against the hatches, trying to signal to the crew, but nobody came to let us out.
‘Tell me about the crew. How many of them were there?’ asks Cyrus.
‘Four.’
‘Did you see their faces?’
‘Not at first, but the masks came off.’
‘Did you hear their names?’
‘Only the youngest. Cam.’
‘What did he look like?’
