Mum was looking at Mukwege in open awe, while Dad’s face was closed, apparently in distaste. ‘This evidence of Jack’s,’ Mum said, ‘was it any help?’

Mukwege chose his words carefully, delivering them from on high: ‘It was profoundly influential, yes. I came as much to offer thanks as I did to help.’

‘So,’ said Mum tentatively, ‘the vote went the right way?’

‘It did.’

Mum gasped and took a little step sideways. I put an arm around her shoulders. She looked up at me.

‘By which you mean …?’ said Dad.

His voice molasses, Mukwege replied, ‘There will be a crackdown on mining in the country’s national parks, and a full investigation will be undertaken into the use of child labour in the industry.’

We stood in silence for a moment. A noiseless plane, high above us, drew a pencil line across the fading sky.

At length Amelia, who’d been looking at Mukwege’s limo, said, ‘To Langdon’s then. Any chance of a lift?’

66.

We all climbed into that huge car. Mum and I were pretty squashed by Mr Mukwege, but so what – we were together again. The limo didn’t drive so much as float on the softest suspension imaginable; we drifted through the rush-hour chaos of stuttering buses and meandering motorbikes and laden-down pedestrians as if in a dream. On the way I messaged Xander to take a cab there straight away, but not let himself be seen. The rented apartment was closer than we were, so he was already there when we arrived at Langdon’s compound, skulking behind a whitewashed wall to one side of the entrance gate. As the car came to a gentle stop Mr Mukwege asked if he could be of any more assistance.

‘The lift’s fine,’ said Dad abruptly, adding, ‘Thanks.’

‘Well, you have my details,’ the big man said.

‘Sure,’ said Dad, climbing out slowly. He looked as if he was off to the dentist’s. That was understandable, I suppose. This was his brother we were talking about. What Amelia and I had told him had obviously sunk in. I would have felt more sorry for Dad in that moment if he hadn’t looked so accusingly at me.

He hung back from pressing the intercom. Amelia had no such qualms. She leaned on it for a good long time, rousing a barked, ‘Yes?’ from within.

‘Langdon, it’s me,’ said Dad. ‘Plus the family.’

Langdon’s response was a strange low laugh, before he buzzed us in.

We crossed a bare yard to the front door, Xander’s crutches clicking beside me. ‘Guess who called this morning?’ he murmured to me as we went.

‘Who?’

‘Caleb.’

A lurching sensation, of guilt and pity, swept through me. ‘Is he OK?’

‘In his own words: he’ll live. Langdon’s got him digging in some mine with an actual shovel for the rest of the summer. Can you believe it?’

‘Yes. I can.’