Realising that skipping requires way more skill than he has he gets out of the next round and walks over to Yvonne, falling down a metre away from her, hoping the long grass will obscure him from the kids and give him a break.

‘Is skipping a good hangover cure then?’ she asks.

He huffs. ‘I literally can’t jump anymore.’ He sits up and faces the same way as her, towards the view of the fields. He’s hardly taken any photos the last few days, too conscious each time he gets out his phone of her making some snarky comment about his supposed addiction to it. But why does he care so much what she thinks? He needs to stop placing so much weight on her opinions.

He takes his phone out.

‘What are you doing?’ she asks.

‘Sorry, but I can’t miss this opportunity. This background is amazing.’

‘Yes, I can see it right here,’ she says, ‘in real life.’

‘But after I put a filter on it and, oh wait, I think I just took your new profile pic.’ It’s the perfect shot, he leans over to show her, but she recoils like she hates it.

‘Please delete that.’

He looks again. ‘Why? It’s a great photo.’

‘It would be if I had on some make-up.’

‘You look nice.’

She laughs. ‘I guess no one likes the way they look in photos.’

‘I do.’

‘Yeah, I bet. Boys your age are so vain. My nephews are always primping and pruning.’

He wonders if she gives them a hard time too, if they feel forever judged by her. ‘Do you spend a lot of time with them?’

‘Do you spend a lot of time with your aunties?’

‘I only have uncles, remember.’

Jenga stumbles over through the grass and sits on Kiama’s lap. He’s pretty much the cutest kid Kiama’s ever seen.

‘You’re getting attached,’ she says.

Jenga yawns and leans back against Kiama’s chest, he’s like a little puppy. ‘I want to put him in my rucksack and take him home. What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Don’t you wish you could take him home?’

‘You wouldn’t believe how many of my colleagues warned me to not come back with a baby.’

‘You wouldn’t be the first white woman to do it.’

‘That’s offensive.’

He laughs then stops, hoping he hasn’t really offended her. You never know with some women, it might be a sensitive subject.

‘Spit it out,’ she says.

‘What?’

‘I’m a single forty-year-old woman. I’m, unfortunately, very used to being asked.’

There’s probably no right way out of this one. He sighs, ‘Well, why didn’t you have kids?’

‘Because I never wanted them.’

‘But you liked spending time with me. You said it yourself earlier.’ Adored him is what she said.