‘Late nights, no matter how noble the cause, do not help troubled marriages,’ Silas said now in the ostentatious tone he sometimes lapsed into, especially when he was unsure of his arguments, and hugged Julian again, an exaggerated gesture of appreciation. Kate smiled her indulgent smile.

‘How about me, what about my problems at home?’ she asked, mockingly indignant.

‘God, a lesbian triangle, I can't stand it,’ Silas said.

The subject of Marguerite usually brought out in Silas a caustic, township humour. Marguerite was Kate's former lover who had turned up unexpectedly from Europe, after almost ten years, silently demanding the same hospitality of home and body that she had once offered Kate. A complicated demand, seeing that Kate now lived with Janine. Kate had been on the run when she first met Marguerite. It was just before the unbanning of the liberation movements, and she had fled to Belgium, where Marguerite had taken her in. Marguerite had a wiry body and the kind of hawk's face that Silas said could only be loved ‘as jy daarvan hou om kraaie te naai’ – if you liked fucking crows.

Although the Afrikaans meaning was lost on her, Kate saw the disparaging intent in Silas's bearing, his sudden, twisted smile, in Julian's complicit laughter. This kind of comment always earned Silas the approving smiles of black men in particular. How unkind we South Africans are, when we are on our own turf and not in need of refuge and bodily comfort, Kate thought. Still, having a reason for going home late, when both Marguerite and Janine, former lover and current partner, had retreated to the bitter sanctuaries of their own rooms, was attractive. She suddenly realized that she was having a conversation with herself, that Julian had fallen into a reflective silence, while Silas was going about closing windows and drawing curtains, like someone postponing an unpleasant task.

‘Off you go,’ Kate told him, ushering him towards the door the way one dispatches a reluctant child on an errand.

‘Where is Mikey?’ Lydia asked.

‘He's not feeling well,’ Silas answered. He had complained of a headache, and nausea, something he ate, perhaps. He had gone to bed…

‘He's alone?’ she asked, the alarm in her voice growing.

‘No, Julian and Kate are there, stopped by on their way from work. They'll wait until I get back.’

‘Who's Julian and Kate?’ Gracie asked.

‘Ag, Gracie, you know, the people Silas works with,’ Alec answered on his behalf.

Gracie observed the exchange of looks between Silas and Lydia, saw his pleading eyes: not now, not here, we have no privacy, there are things we need to talk about on our own, not just for a few minutes while they wait outside, this family of yours with their gift for understanding unsaid things.