‘Anu. He did not fight with Hamza. It was an argument.’

‘That’s what I said: an argument. And then we went to the park.’

‘Is that what happened? Did you go to the park, darling?’

Misra was kneeling beside him. He’d tuned them out and was making thrumming engine noises, the adult world a faint buzz.

‘Idiot …’

‘Yes, we took him to the park. It was amazing. There were these strange seed pods everywhere …’

‘Really?’ Misra got to her feet. ‘What did they look like?’

They’d gained Iye’s attention. He stood with his mother, tugging her from below, a free hand digging into his pocket.

‘Mummy, Mummy, look at the seed pod I found!’

‘They are amazing … So odd-looking, but so pretty,’ Tasmin said.

‘That’s weird.’ Dapo walked to the kitchen table, standing over his son. ‘We’ve got them in the garden too.’

‘You have?’ Tasmin swivelled to see him.

‘Oh, they’re everywhere,’ Anu said. ‘We couldn’t even walk across the grass, there were so many. It was too difficult. Bad for your feet. We had to stick to the path.’

‘Mummy, Mummy, look!’

‘OK, baby.’ Misra took Iye’s seed. She studied it closer than hers, frowning, holding it beneath her nose.

‘They’re all over the streets and pavements, everywhere. There’s lots on our road.’

Dapo hovered over Misra, waiting. When she finished, he took Iye’s seed. This one was smaller, though no less purple or beautiful. The whorls were finer, sporadic, leaving traces of bare dark skin that shone in the light. It weighed almost nothing, and was scuffed, as though it had been dropped or kicked.

‘So they didn’t come from a specific tree?’ Dapo asked.

‘No, they don’t seem to. They’re everywhere.’

‘Weirdest thing,’ Misra said to Dapo. They avoided each other’s eyes.

‘There’s got to be an explanation. I’ll google it.’

‘Yes,’ Tasmin said, distracted by her grandson, who was playing underfoot. Dapo let the conversation go. He’d grown used to their whims.

His in-laws drank their tea and left in a flurry of hand waves and hugs. There was CBeebies bedtime hour, a harried dinner, the brushing of teeth and, lastly, two stories for Iye. Dapo took the job, lying on the bed with their heads touching, reading a selection of his son’s favourite books while the boy clutched his blanket close to his chin. When he finished Iye’s nose was twitching, his eyes tinged red, half-closed. Dapo rose, each movement cautious, hands splayed, arms stiff, as if that would help. He was creeping towards the door when he heard a tiny voice.

‘Daddy?’

Gritting his teeth, turning.

‘Yes, Iye?’

‘Seed pod is my friend, Daddy. He helps me sleep.’

‘Yes, it does. You’ll sleep well.’

‘He whispers nice things in my ear.’

‘That’s good. What does it say?’