I recognised Maud’s handwriting at once. The note was short:

The baby’s coming. Please get here as soon as you can.

‘Did someone bring this?’ I asked the porter.

‘He waiting outside in car.’

‘Tell him I’ll be right down.’

I closed the door, threw on a jumper and trousers and took the stairs two at a time.

Abdullah was waiting behind the wheel in the darkness outside. His eyes seemed whiter and rounder than usual.

‘How is she?’ I asked.

‘She was crying when I left,’ he said, his voice cracking.

‘She needs a doctor.’

‘She says no doctor.’

‘I know someone. Take us to the Muthaiga first.’

Gregory’s lights were still on when we pulled up. I ran up the garden path and pounded on the door. He came to it with his shirt half-unbuttoned and a toothbrush in his mouth, and looked at me warily.

‘You’re needed in Naivasha,’ I said. ‘Please can you come with me?’

He removed the toothbrush. ‘I’ve been sitting with a patient for almost twelve hours—’

‘It has to be you.’ I took hold of his elbow. ‘You can sleep in the car.’

He sighed. ‘Let me get my coat and bag.’

He disappeared for what seemed like hours, then reappeared looking more presentable, if no more awake.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, as I led him back to the car.

‘My sister’s having a baby.’

‘I see.’

Abdullah opened the doors for us and we climbed into the back. He got into the front seat and started the engine. His shoulders were high and I could see the muscles at the back of his neck straining. Gregory looked at Abdullah as the car jolted forwards, then at me and quickly away again.

‘I know we can count on your discretion,’ I said.

After a while, Gregory bundled up his coat to use as a pillow, and fell asleep. I stared out of the window feeling sick. Abdullah was driving faster than I knew was possible. The trees were a blur and I could hear pebbles clattering into their trunks. A ditch ran alongside the road – once or twice we veered close to it and I felt my stomach drop and pressed my back against the seat.

The sky was lightening by the time we reached Kiboko. Abdullah braked sharply outside the house and Gregory opened his eyes.

‘We’re here, then?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Show me the patient.’

Inside, the house felt still, the air thick. African women moved quietly in and out of the rooms with bowls of water, some of them stained red. The smell reminded me of that night in Freddie’s bungalow, and I paused on the threshold, my feet suddenly heavy.

‘Is she in the back?’ Gregory asked.

I nodded.

‘You stay out here. You won’t want to see this.’ He stopped one of the women. ‘You, come with me. Everyone else out.’