Contrary to our expectations, Cousin Juli welcomed us with great warmth. She was wearing a purple dress tailored to hug the curves of her body. There were strands of greying hair at her temples. She was as beautiful as ever. Dishes were served buffet style on a long table. Some aunts were clustered in fixed spots, sitting in chairs or cross-legged on mats, doing their best to avoid conversation with the hostess. The prevailing attitude among them seemed to be: let the old ladies deal with her; we’re only rookies. But Cousin Juli came over to each of us by turn. The house became a chessboard that pitted the guests against Cousin Juli. My aunts had to search for things to talk about, to deftly thrust and parry.

‘Maybe this is the last time we’ll see each other,’ said Cousin Juli when she approached our group: Mother, Aunt Romlah, Cousin Rina, and me. I noticed the selection on her plate. Rice, coconut chicken, beef liver in sambal.

Talk died down, and I saw Mother and Aunt Romlah exchange sidelong glances. For a while, nobody mentioned the divorce. Finally, Aunt Romlah spoke up: ‘Don’t let the ties between us be broken, Jul. We’ll always be family.’

Cousin Juli’s lips curled into a smile, and those endearing wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes.

The conversation moved on from the cousin who had given birth to the plans the mothers had for their children’s schooling. No one raised the issue of the divorce or Cousin Juli’s infidelity. Then two maids brought out dessert. Each guest was given a small plate containing a red apple and a sharpened knife. Something odd was going on.

Cousin Juli apologised for the inelegant dessert. She had wanted to make a chocolate cream pie but her cholesterol was becoming a concern. Doctor’s orders.

‘Surely not. You aren’t the least bit fat,’ said Cousin Rina. ‘Anyway, apples are fine.’

‘Apples truly are tasty,’ Cousin Juli murmured, fondling one. She picked up a knife and began to peel.

The women around her exchanged glances but out of respect for their hostess they also took up their knives and sliced into their own apples. As the youngest in the room, I waited for my elders until I realised I had no desire for fresh fruit. I noticed Cousin Juli whisper something to her maid. The young girl nodded and left the room.

I studied the apple in Cousin Juli’s hands. The section turned towards me, yet to be peeled, was red, round and ripe. The sharp blade was so shiny I could see a reflection. Was that my face? No, it was hers. Something crept into the gleaming corners of her eyes and loomed in the furrows that appeared in her forehead when she smiled. That smile highlighted her sweet, ageing lines and revealed her uneven teeth. Her childlike teeth, the canines too long.