They collect Kiama from school and walk to one of the shopping centres in the expat distract near Emma’s home. It’s a more casual crowd than the hotel bar, mostly young couples and families. Yvonne insists they visit the top-floor car park where there’s a Maasai market taking place.

‘You do know most of this shit is made in Taiwan,’ Emma says as she holds up a wooden bowl painted with zebra stripes. ‘Such a tourist trap.’

‘Great, because I am a tourist.’

Kiama sits on the ground next to one of the stall holders and slams around on a selection of djembes.

‘Don’t even look at me like that,’ Emma warns him. ‘There’s no way I’m buying you a drum.’

‘I’ll buy it for you before I leave,’ Yvonne says as she counts the number of beaded bracelets she’s bought. ‘My nieces love stuff like this. They’re so easy to buy for.’

‘How many kids have your brothers got now?’

‘Too many.’

‘Kiama, come on, let’s head downstairs.’

He gives the stall holder a high five and trails behind them as they walk down the orange staircase back into the air-conditioned comfort of the centre.

‘Last chance for the toilet?’ Emma says as they pass through the second floor.

‘Mum. I don’t need the toilet every minute, okay.’

‘You’ve had about two litres of Coke. Don’t ask me to stop on the way home.’

‘Maybe you need the toilet,’ he says. ‘You smell like beer.’

She grabs his face and kisses it, to which he squirms away.

They head down the next flight and walk into the food court on the first floor, now filling up with families for an early dinner. Kiama runs off to get an ice cream from a place he declares ‘the world’s best’.

Emma massages her temples and pulls a bottle of water from her bag.

‘See,’ Yvonne says, ‘afternoon drinking is always a bad idea.’

Emma finishes the bottle and shakes her head. ‘I feel fine. But I need to eat something. Are you okay to head back soon or did you want to buy more African stuff?’

‘African stuff?’ Yvonne laughs. ‘No, let’s go. I’m tired. Where’s Kiama?’ She turns around and notices him standing by a Dixie cart filled with rolled down bags of nuts and dried fruit, he’s chatting and laughing with the owner. ‘Who’s that man he’s talking to?’

‘Oh, that’s the nut guy he likes,’ Emma says casually.

‘Oh yeah, the nut guy, him.’

‘You know what Kiama’s like, he makes a friend wherever he goes.’

‘Yeah, I’ve noticed. And is it always men? Do you think it’s something to do with missing his dad?’

Emma flicks her head up. ‘I can’t believe you just psychoanalysed him like that. He’s only chatting.’