“Congratulations! Your pain is commercially viable.” It’s 1991 and the Gulf War rages three thousand, three hundred and twenty miles away. Darlee is 8 years old, crying behind the wheely book case in Miss Stratford’s classroom. She’s just realised she’s Iraqi. Or half. Maybe both. She saw it on the news last night after Neighbours and fish fingers. Heard the fear slipping through the receiver, saw it oozing from Dad’s eyeballs and into the living room as he tried to phone home.What she can’t process now, she’ll be haunted by later; the spirits hounding her will make sure of that…