‘Why are we here?’ Yvonne asks. ‘It’s so formal. Surely, this isn’t where you usually drink?’

Over the last six months there have been phone calls and emails, but Yvonne still feels like she knows so little about Emma’s new life here in Nairobi.

‘I usually drink in my bedroom alone at night.’

‘What happened to the dream of live-in babysitters?’

Emma sighs. ‘When I first got here my parents were so happy for me to go out, every night they were like “go and make friends”, “enjoy your life”, “we’ll watch Kiama”, but now when I propose a night off, my mum looks at me like I’ve suggested she be my surrogate or something. And my dad, well, you’ve seen what he’s like, a fucking tyrant.’

Yvonne’s been in Kenya for less than twenty-four hours but has already witnessed three arguments between Emma and her dad. The last one just after breakfast, when he claimed Emma had put a scratch on his new Land Rover. He had even gotten Yvonne involved asking her if she remembers Emma ‘driving carelessly’ on the way back from the airport the night before. Yvonne wished then that she had booked that hotel after all. But it was Emma who convinced her to stay with them.

‘I’m surprised you’re still living with them,’ Yvonne says. ‘I never thought the plan was for you to stay there so long. In their house. Surrounded by all their hoary shit from England.’

Emma laughs. ‘I know. But until I sort my visa out I can’t legally work. Plus, it’s great not having to worry about bills for once.’

Two Kenyan businessmen with shirts stretched over wide bellies call the barman.

‘I thought this place was the place,’ Emma says. Her face scrunches as she takes note of the bar’s clientele, mostly rum-and-Coke businessmen. ‘I don’t really do the expat scene here. I don’t know where everyone hangs out. Ah, I can see another grey. I think it’s the light in here.’ She leans towards Yvonne’s head then pulls back as the drinks are placed down. ‘Why don’t you go with it? I can imagine it would really suit you and that you’d pull off grey as well as everything else.’

Yvonne pulls a few strands in front of her face. ‘I’m not even thirty, I don’t want to be grey.’

Emma narrows her eyes.

‘What?’

‘You’re looking good, babe. But that’s what money does, right?’

‘I’ve been taking care of myself. Eating properly, doing Pilates. But you look good too.’ It’s true, Emma’s changed in the time she’s been living in Kenya, she’s tanned and slightly more filled out, in a way that does suit her. ‘You look happy here. Happier than when you were in London.’