‘Look, I know you think you’re being mad alternative by living off grid, but you’re missing out on so much.’ He takes a photo of the laminated menu on the table and rubs his palms together as the tray arrives. ‘The moment of truth.’

‘Aren’t you scared? Think of what’s in that? What it’s doing to your body.’

‘Delia told me they make this stuff from baboon arse.’

Yvonne laughs.

‘Now you want to try it?’ He takes a bite.

‘No, definitely not. You never stop eating.’

‘What are you talking about? I’ve hardly eaten a thing since getting here. I’m losing weight.’ He recoils to pull the gherkin out. ‘Look,’ he eyes the front door as two old men walk in and sit under the television, ‘more white people.’

‘So?’

‘You’re meant to nod at your own. Acknowledge them. That’s what minorities do.’

‘Oh shut up.’ But then the men look over at her, and one says, ‘Good afternoon.’

Kiama laughs.

‘Why do you say stuff like that? You’re half white.’

‘So is your lover boy Obama, world still sees him as black. Though I’ve been feeling pretty white here.’ He takes another bite and sighs. ‘Well, it’s no Five Guys.’ He itches again. ‘Feel like I’ve got a rash or something.’

Yvonne motions for him to show her the back of his neck. As he lifts his hair she sees a circle of red blemishes. ‘Oh no. It’s because you were carrying the baby on your shoulders.’

‘Why? What is it?’ he panics.

‘You’ve got ringworm. Er.’ She goes in her bag for the bottle of anti-bac hand gel. ‘We’re going to have to find a chemist.’

He tuts, ‘So, it’s not a big deal. Is it? What is ringworm? Can it get in my hair?’

‘It’s a viral infection. The baby must have it on his legs.’ It makes her skin crawl.

‘Jenga? Yeah, he had a rash, I think. We’ll need to get him some medicine too then. Actually, we should stock up on stuff for the orphanage, let me make a list.’ He takes out his phone and starts typing, ‘Soap, plasters, toothbrushes. What else? What’s the name of that pink medicine? Calpol? You think they sell it here?’

‘Why? We’re not going back to the orphanage.’

‘Yvonne,’ he says, ‘the money my granddad was talking about, it’s not only my compensation.’

‘Okay.’

‘It’s also the money Nana put aside for me, so it’s,’ he pauses and looks around, ‘it’s kind of a lot.’

It’s what she’s waited to hear, ever since Neil’s comments, but now Kiama’s come clean, she’s not sure what to say. And what does it have to do with buying plasters and Calpol?