The days drifted into mid-summer. After lunch Irenya often walked to an old orchard near the outer walls of Ilkyrie. She would lie in the grass and imagine a lovely picnic with David and Mikey, or maybe we’re camping. Happy, if short-lived, images that invariably prompted a flood of tears. I have to stop this, she told herself. I have to believe that time is frozen at home. David is still in bed with the flu and Mikey is asleep in his cot. Otherwise it’s me that’s frozen. I have to believe. And I mustn’t give up.
Next day, she invited a delighted Sirani to join her under the peach trees. The girl gossiped about the residents while Irenya listened; if she paid attention it took her mind off home. In the torpor of one hot afternoon, Irenya and the girl lay stomach-down in the grass of the o
