‘I can’t understand. But he’s nice. He’s kind. He likes me.’

‘Ah. That’s lovely,’ Dapo said, eyes wandering until they found the seed. It looked even smaller where it had been placed on his son’s chest of drawers, hardly noticeable among the CDs, half-built Lego improvisations and curled Mr Men books. ‘Now I think it’s time to sleep.’

‘OK, Dad. Goodnight.’

‘Night, Iye. I love you.’

He was about to leave when he paused. His son lay on his side, facing the window, asleep. The light from his window bathed the room in a soft white glow. He pulled the blinds cautiously, although it would make no difference: Iye was snoring, it had happened in moments. Dapo watched him breathe. The seed was placed beside the headboard, the inward curve turned towards his son. He hadn’t done that; it must have been Iye. Not knowing why, he walked to the chest of drawers and picked it up, holding it to his ear like a seashell, cupped in his hand, close enough to touch his lobe. He squinted his right eye, unsure of what he might achieve.

There was a tiny rasping sound, something he couldn’t quite place, not quite a voice, it couldn’t be, but a sound small and actual, furtive as skittering mouse claws. It was guttural, quick, making him gasp and drop the seed from his startled fingers onto the carpet. He stared at the bright purple against faint brown, still and accusatory as a dead man’s eye. He felt as if he could hear the tiny voice from where he stood, and only resisted the urge to lift his foot and bring his heel down because somewhere inside, somewhere irrational he admitted, he questioned the morality of such an action; worse still, and even more stupid, he was scared. That was it, he was scared. Tons of them, Tasmin had said. Besides, he might wake his son.

He picked up the seed, held it before him, pinched between his fingers, and took it downstairs. Opened the French doors and threw it into his garden. He breathed in the night before he remembered the others, one in his pocket and Misra’s too. He retrieved both seeds and threw them into the darkness. He did not tell his wife.

4

After he dropped Iye at nursery, Dapo returned home with a grande latte to share. He wanted to find Misra, instead unlocking the French doors, going into the garden. He’d been trying not to think about the plants. Even though he told himself he’d managed not to, consumed with thoughts of infinite possibilities, his gut churned with the lie.