‘Sorry. Things have been a bit…’ He doesn’t really know what his excuse is. He knew where the reception spots were around Kikuyu, he should have made the effort to go to one. But it felt kind of freeing, to be away from Dad’s interrogations for a while, at least while his head was spinning with everything about the money and Yvonne.

‘I assumed you were still out drinking actually? Or with one of those Irish girls you were talking about.’

Kiama snorts, but he didn’t call for this kind of conversation, he needs to really talk. ‘Dad? We’re going there today.’

‘Today?’ He’s got his attention now.

‘Yeah. And I’m scared.’

‘I understand. Of course you are. It’s okay that you’re scared.’

Kiama opens the bedside drawer and pulls out a copy of the bible. It looks completely untouched, the spine isn’t even cracked. ‘What happens if I don’t feel anything? Or if I feel too much and freak out?’

‘I wish I was there with you. I shouldn’t have let you do this on your own.’

‘I’m not on my own.’ And it’s true that he doesn’t feel alone in all this. Even though being with Yvonne has turned out to be more difficult than he imagined and Purity’s welcoming of him fell short of expectations. For the first time he doesn’t feel like he’s dealing with this by himself. He could never explain it to Dad though, because Dad’s always been there for him, he just isn’t very good at dealing with anything to do with Mum and her death.

Kiama puts the handset on his shoulder and flicks through the bible before chucking it back in the drawer.

‘Special K?’

‘Yep.’

‘You don’t have to—’

‘It’s what I came here for.’

‘But if it’s going to make you feel a way you don’t want to feel then—’

Kiama laughs, ‘Literally every feeling I’ve had here is something I could have done without. This won’t be any different.’ He sighs. ‘But I feel kind of stupid about laying flowers, like I know I do it at the grave, but do you think it’s okay that I don’t do it here?’

‘Course, son. Do what you feel. When are you going?’

‘Soon.’

Dad is silent.

Kiama studies the blemish on his arm from the hot oil. The skin looks stretched and red. It makes him cringe but a small part of him also wants to take a safety pin and pop it.

‘I think you’re really brave,’ Dad says.

Kiama kicks the towel giraffe off the bed with his foot. ‘I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are. I’m proud of you.’