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allergies?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Good. Would you like me to order your dinner?’
    ‘No, I’ll make do.’
    ‘Fine. Do you have a passport?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You will need one.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Mr. Barrington travels often and I believe you will be required to accompany him on some of those trips.’
    ‘Uh… I see.’
    ‘I will make the necessary arrangements for you and contact you tomorrow.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Oh, and when you go to meet the solicitor please take some form of identification with you. Do you have any questions?’
    ‘Er… No. I don’t think so.’
    ‘If you do come up with any question or requests call me on this number. I will be happy to assist.’
    ‘OK. Thanks, Miss Arnold.’
    ‘It’s Mrs. Arnold, actually. Have a nice day, Miss Bloom.’
    Lana lets herself fall backwards and smiles. She feels a wild surge of joy inside her. He has not changed his mind.
    It seems almost impossible to imagine but she has pulled it off. Raised the money. Her mother will go to America.
    Still, she never expected such competence or thoroughness.
    This is more like a business takeover than the simple transaction she had envisaged. Naively, she had thought up the oldest scheme in the book, imagining visits to seedy hotels or an odd-smelling flat somewhere in London, probably Soho, but with brutal efficiency he was drawing up her reality to mirror his unemotional world where everything is black and white, and every effort must be made to stop any sort of grey in the form of confusion or disorder creeping in.
    She glances at her beside alarm clock. She must have been more tired than she had realized. It is already nine thirty even though it is another grey day outside. She holds her tender head in her hands. A couple more paracetamols should do the trick.
    She sits up and looks down upon herself. The orange dress is badly crumpled. The details of last night are fuzzy.
    Only the kiss remains crystal clear. She lies back on the bed, closes her eyes and remembers his eyes—how unaffected he was. If not for that pulse drumming madly in his throat she would have thought he had felt nothing.
    Eventually, she can no longer put off meeting her mother so she drags herself out of bed and pads to their shared bathroom. The tiles are sickly green and one or two are cracked, but everything is sparkling clean.
    She takes off the orange dress and carefully hand washes it in the sink. She wrings it out, hangs it inside the bath, and gets in it herself. She turns on the shower head, and holds the warm stream over her body. When she comes out, she feels like a new person. She slips into clean underwear and dresses in jeans and a white shirt. Then she combs her hair, ties it into a ponytail high on her head and with a last look in the mirror she goes into the kitchen.
    ‘Morning, Mum. How are you feeling today?’
    ‘Today is a good day.’
    Lana smiles brightly at her mother. Both look forward to the good days. The good days are what keep them going.
    ‘Didn’t you have to go to work today?’ her mother asks.
    ‘Nope. Got fired yesterday.’
    Her mother shoots her a surprised, worried glance. ‘Sit down. I want a word with you.’
    Lana sits and her mother puts a bowl in front of her. ‘Is this man really giving us the money?’
    ‘Unless he backs out,’ she says and pours some cereal into the bowl.
    ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘Blake,’ she says pouring milk.
    Her mother sighs. ‘Are you purposely making this hard?’
    ‘All right. His name is Blake Barrington.’ She sprinkles two spoons of sugar on her cereal.
    ‘Barrington?’ Her mother’s forehead creases into a frown. ‘Why is that name familiar?’
    Lana finishes chewing before she answers. ‘Because it’s that famous banking family,’ she mumbles and quickly spoons more cereal into her mouth.
    Her mother gasps and sits on the chair opposite her daughter. There is something in her mother’s eyes she has never seen before. ‘How long have you been