‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I meant more like, well, I was thinking about my brothers and my dad. How much they look up to him, crave his attention even now. I’m thinking about you more, how it must be hard for you to—’

‘To be both mum and dad, yeah it’s hard but I think I’m doing an okay job.’

Yvonne’s glad Kiama is out of earshot, listening to the nut guy talk while eating his ice cream as fast as he can.

‘Besides, look around,’ Emma waves her free hand about. ‘Kenya is full of inspiring, strong men for Kiama to look up to.’

Yvonne turns her attention to looking for these men. The security guards in light green shirts eating sweetcorn from Styrofoam cups, their guns hung casually by their sides; the skinny teenager in a fast food chain uniform, chatting up a pair of tall Nordic-looking girls; the men in white shirts having a loud debate in Swahili.

‘The men here outweigh Dickhead by a mile. It’s a cultural thing.’ She lowers her voice as Kiama walks back over, crunching at the wafer cone.

‘Mum, do you have any more money?’

‘No,’ she answers sharply and zips her bag up.

‘What do you want?’ Yvonne knows she will answer yes to whatever he is about to ask.

He scratches at his plaits. Emma’s always prided herself on being able to cane row afro hair but it looks messy and fluffy. It’s one of Lewis’s main complaints whenever he’s sent photos of Kiama, his unkempt hair and how he appears constantly sunburnt. ‘I’m cold now,’ he says. ‘I think I need a hot chocolate.’

‘You should have brought a jumper; you know what the air-con is like in this place. And no, we’re not stopping for hot chocolate.’

Yvonne shrugs apologetically at him. He throws his head back and huffs, before walking off again, his flip-flops slapping the orange tiles as he goes. She finds herself looking for evidence that he’s happier here than in London, something tangible to report back to Lewis, to reassure him that it’s okay his only child is growing up in another part of the world.

‘Does he miss him?’ Yvonne asks.

‘Of course he does. But they speak on the phone. And without having a kid to care for Dickhead can finally fuck around in peace, can’t he?’

Yvonne bristles. ‘You always make him out to be such a womaniser. But, say if he changed? Met someone? Settled down? Would that make a difference?’

Emma’s eyes harden, ‘Make a difference to what? And he’s always meeting someone. But we both know what the problem is with him, don’t we?’

‘What?’