Standing over the sink, I rest my hands on it. I close my eyes and take in a few deep breaths. Suddenly the door opens, and Andrea is standing there with a smirk on her face. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

“Hello again,” she says, and this time there is no sweet smile. The gloves are off. No one is around and she doesn’t have to pretend.

“What can I do for you?” I do not try to hide my distant tone.

“Just came to tell you not to get too comfortable as Thorne’s latest squeeze,” she says.

“Excuse me?”

“Thorne becomes infatuated with a bright young thing every once in a while. It’s his way to relieve the tension of being cooped up for days on end by himself talking to those robots.”

I frown.

“Oh, you poor thing. Did you not realize that the man has no time for a real relationship? He just needs a body, any body, to satisfy his impressive sexual appetite,” she says as she walks over to me. Instead of looking directly at me, she stares condescendingly at my reflection in the mirror.

I don’t look away. I don’t want to show any kind of weakness around her. “That doesn’t bother me,” I lie.

She laughs. “It’s just a bit of friendly advice, woman to woman, but if you’re into being used, go for it. Enjoy it while it lasts, girlie. Trust me, when Thorne finds someone else, the fancy dinners, the expensive dresses, the Louboutins, the parties, and all of the romance … well, you can kiss them all goodbye, and go right back to wherever it is you came from.”

She smiles again, but it isn’t a fake smile she presented before. It is a triumphant smirk. I want to wipe the smile off her face with a slap, but a lump in my throat catches me off guard. She flounces out of the Ladies. I tell myself she knows nothing about me. Nothing.

I look in the mirror and all I see are my lips. Hot pink.

England is so cold and gray. Mama and I sit on plastic chairs in a waiting room of the Social Services office. Everybody here is pale and seems unhappy. We are sitting near an old man who smells of wee. He smiles at me and I try to smile back, but I can’t because I am so unhappy and frightened of what will happen next. Already I have lost Papa, Momo, and Monsieur Lemarie. All my friends are gone too. All I have left is Mama, but she won’t even look at me. She stares straight ahead.

Now she turns to me. “When they call us in I want you to cry and look pitiful.”

“What if I can’t?” I whisper back.

Something cold and hateful flashes in her eyes. “Why don’t you think of Papa or Momo?”

Surprised by Mama’s tone I say nothing else and stare ahead of me. When Mama’s name is called, we go into a cubicle and sit in front of a woman with bored eyes and untidy hair. Her name is Mrs. Stevens. Mama carefully puts the urn with Papa’s ashes on the table. Mrs. Stevens raises her eyebrows in a kind of disbelieving way.

As soon as Mama starts telling our story she starts sobbing, but Mrs. Stevens seems completely unmoved. She just dumps a box of tissues next to the urn for Mama to use. Sometimes, she makes notes on a form she pulled out of her drawer when we first walked in.

Mama lays her hand on my head. “This poor child has hardly eaten for days. She blames herself for her father’s death. She suffers from terrible nightmares. I am so afraid for her. She may be damaged forever.”

I see Mrs. Stevens’s eyes flick down towards me so I quickly think of Papa and Momo and my eyes fill with hot tears that start rolling down my face. Although Mrs. Stevens was unmoved by Mama’s tears, she frowns when I start crying. I look at Mama and she smiles approvingly at me. So I cry even more.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’ll be fine. Do you want a biscuit?” she coos in a high voice.

I know she is being kind, but it shocks me that she thinks she can replace Papa and Momo with a biscuit. I’m not hungry, but I nod, because I can see that it is what Mama wants me to do. Mrs. Stevens opens a bottom drawer and takes out a packet of tea biscuits and holds it out to me. I wipe my tears and take a biscuit.

Mama and me spend that night in a bed and breakfast. There are many families like us living there. We see them sitting around talking in the lobby downstairs as we check in. I spy two girls who are my age. One of them waves to me and I wave back shyly.

I make friends with them the next morning at breakfast. Their names are Heather and Sylvia. Heather has a rabbit in her room.

“I thought animals are not allowed,” I whisper.

“That’s right, but I smuggled Harry in. Loads of us do it. Didn’t you bring yours, then?” she whispered back.

“Mama didn’t know we could,” I say sadly.

“Well, get someone to send him to you,” Sylvia suggests.

I decide to write to Monsieur Lemarie and ask him to please bring Momo to us, but when I give Mama my letter she tears it into pieces.

“What a selfish little brat you have become. Is this really where you want Momo to live? In this dump? In France he can run in the fields and go where he wants. Here he will be trapped in this small, stinking room day and night. Sometimes, Chelsea …”

Social Services finally finds a small apartment in the beginning of summer for us. Mama is very happy. On the first night we move in she pulls out her little black dress with the lace sleeves that Papa bought for her, shaves her legs and pulls on her lovely black stockings. Then she paints her mouth with her hot pink lipstick and goes out for a drink with a man she met at the bed and breakfast.

When she came home in the early morning hours, the hot pink lipstick was gone from her lips.