35 Three months later Evie

35

Cyrus has brought home a Christmas tree which is so fat that we can't get it through the front door without breaking any branches. He's carrying the base, while Addie and I have the top end. There is lots of shouting and laughing.

‘Lift it higher.'

‘Tilt it to the right.'

‘Go back.'

‘Not that way.'

Addie keeps yelling the word ‘pivot', which she finds hilarious. And when Cyrus gets annoyed, it's even funnier.

‘You're both impossible,' he says, dropping the tree, which completely blocks the entrance. Addie is now lying on her back on the hallway rug, crying with laughter. Poppy licks her face and they wrestle.

‘We could just leave it here,' I say, picking pine needles out of my hair.

‘We're not having a tree in the doorway,' he says.

We take a breather, before trying again, wrestling the tree into the front room, and then debating the merits of the corner versus the bay window. We choose the window and set up the stand, filling the base with water.

‘My job here is done,' says Cyrus.

‘Aren't you going to help us decorate?' asks Addie.

‘No. I brought it home. The rest is up to you.'

‘What about the star on the top?'

‘Use the stepladder.'

Addie begins going through a box of decorations that we keep in the attic. Some of them are so old and brittle I'm scared to handle them, but Cyrus has bought some new Christmas lights, as well as a wreath for the front door.

I don't remember decorating a Christmas tree before now. At Langford Hall the staff did it for us and the decorations were approved as ‘safe', i.e., not a self-harm risk or a possible weapon. In Albania, we celebrated Krishtlindjet, but it was mainly about giving presents and feasting and didn't involve dressing up a tree.

Addie makes this Christmas special. She's been in Nottingham for three days and is here until she goes back to school after the New Year. After that, who knows? Sean Murdoch will go to trial next year, along with six other trawlermen, accused of facilitating illegal immigration. Willie Radford faces further charges of abduction, human trafficking and offences under the Modern Slavery Act.

Simon Buchan is the man who spoke to me in the library at Glengowrie Lodge when I was a child recovering from smoke inhalation. He was standing beneath a painting of his father, which is why he looked like a younger version of the same man. Within hours of Angus Radford's death, Simon Buchan vanished and hasn't been seen since. The newspapers have speculated on where he might have gone, naming countries that could be hiding him. Russia and Cuba are likely, along with others that don't have extradition treaties with Britain. In the meantime, the authorities have seized his houses and cars and businesses. I asked Cyrus what happens to the money. He said it goes to the government, but what's the point of that?

Arben's sister, Jeta, and Norsin Samaan, the Syrian girl, who were plucked from the North Sea, were rescued by Border Force when they raided an old convent on the outskirts of Leeds. They had been auctioned off to a criminal gang involved in prostitution and creating illicit porn films. Both are now being supported by the anti-slavery charity run by Florence's friend, Natalie. It doesn't have Simon Buchan's money any more, but other donors have come forward.

Cyrus has met with Jeta. She's still deciding if she wants to stay in the UK or go back to Albania. I know what it's like to be an orphan and to have no other in my life. That was my fate, until I met Cyrus. Now I have a second person, Addie, and I understand how love gets doubled rather than divided when a family grows.

Addie knows that she is coming to live with us.

‘Will I have to go to school?' she asked.

‘Yep.'

‘And I guess I can't smoke.'

‘Nope.'

‘Or vape?'

‘Nope. But you get to hang out with me.'

‘You can tell when people are lying, can't you?'

‘Is that a problem?'

‘I imagine it could be.'

‘You could try to lie less.'

She laughed. ‘Like that's going to happen.'

I hold the ladder as Addie reaches up to place the star on the uppermost point of the tree. She is better at decorating the tree than I am. She's done it before and she's more patient. She's also bossy like Agnesa used to be, but in a good way.

Later, I show her my secret hiding place in the attic, which is no longer a secret and seems rather childish now that I tell her about it. She lies next to me on the old rug, belly-down, chin-propped, her eyes locked on mine, as I tell her stories about her mother. We wrap Christmas presents for Cyrus and Mitch and Lilah and Sean Murdoch and Addie's Aunt Isla, but not for each other, because that would spoil the surprise. I've also bought a gift for Florence – gold and silver hair rings for her dreadlocks. She and Cyrus are still bumping uglies, which makes me happy in a sad sort of way, or sad in a happy sort of way.

Liam has asked me to a New Year's Eve party at a pub in Nottingham. I've tentatively said yes because he's promised that none of his ex-girlfriends will be there, and that he won't leave me sitting on my own. That makes me sound ultra-needy and like I want to be his girlfriend, but I'm just a girl he ‘wants to get to know', he says.

I have added Agnesa's journals and photograph album to my collection of precious things. I read her entries every day, admiring her handwriting – the way she sloped her words to the right and looped her descending letters and let some words trail off lazily, letting readers choose how they end.

Most of her entries are short and factual, but others reveal more about her inner thoughts and desires, her dreams, her plans. I flick between them, choosing random dates.

Thursday 12 May 2011

I cannot believe that I didn't want children. I hated the idea of having something growing inside me. It felt like I'd been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and that my body wasn't mine any more. I was scared to death, but that all changed the day Addie was born. I held her in my arms and knew I would do anything in the world to keep her safe.

Every morning, I wake about an hour before Addie stirs, but rather than getting a head start on the day, I lie in bed with her and watch her sleeping.

I love her sweet sighs and the rise and fall of her round belly and the way her lips pucker as though she's suckling in her sleep. And I love to bury my nose in her sofy tuft of hair, breathing in that milky baby smell.

Agnesa

Monday 3 September 2012

Addie woke me four times last night, grizzling rather than crying. I took her into bed with me and helped her settle. It reminded me of sharing a bed with Adina when we were growing up. They have the same wavy hair and the same dimple on their right cheek; and they're both contrary and cheeky and refuse to eat anything remotely resembling a vegetable in colour or texture.

I don't believe that people are reborn, or that we come back as a rabbit or cow. Instead, we each carry a blueprint inside our genes and we build on what's gone before.

My beautiful baby daughter carries some of Mama and Papa and my sister inside her. She is their legacy. And I will remind Addie every day, of the people who came before her and made her life possible.

Agnesa