Yvonne takes the passports and checks in while he sits in a big armchair yawning and feeling confident that he’ll be able to fall asleep once in the room, that he won’t lay wide awake with his mind running for hours. This last part of the journey has felt so long, so drawn-out.

He takes out his phone; he’s had five messages from Dad in the last hour, all of them questions he doesn’t have the energy to answer, so instead types back.

In hotel. Yvonne splashed out on 5 stars.

The replies shoot back.

Did you get my other messages?

How are you feeling?

Did you guys talk much on the journey over?

Yvonne walks towards him, key cards in hand.

‘Come on,’ she says handing back his passport. ‘You look absolutely shattered.’

He stays silent in the lift and as they walk along the plush carpets of the hall. ‘I’m only next door if you need anything,’ she says.

‘Cool.’ He nods towards the key, still in her hand.

‘Really? You don’t seem cool. Your shoulders are up by your ears.’

Does he really need this? Now? He makes a conscious effort to shake out his shoulders and slump. ‘I’m tired. That’s all. Tired.’

‘Okay,’ she hands him the key. ‘Goodnight then.’

He goes into the room and they both shut their doors at the same time. The lights are all ablaze and again the heat is up too high. He turns it off and lies on the bed, knocking over the towel twisted into an elephant. He should shower and change, but can’t gather enough energy to get up now he’s down. This is good though, this is what he needs. Eyes closing. Silence. But without the drone of the heating system everything sounds so loud, the traffic on the street outside, the squeak of a room service trolley going past, doors opening and closing.

Warm milk, that’s what Nana would suggest; even up until last year when he was far too old for it, she’d still make him a mug and bring it up to his room. What he would give for that kind of pampering right now. He sends Dad a message.

Do you think room service will judge me if I order warm milk?

But he’s probably fallen asleep now he knows Kiama is safely at the hotel.

Kiama checks the minibar for familiar Kenyan snacks, but it’s all American stuff and sugar will only perk him back up. He pops open the packet of complimentary slippers and tries on the fluffy white robe but the arms are too short and it looks ridiculous.

‘Now what?’

He can’t sleep. He just can’t sleep. Yvonne’s door opens and there’s talk outside, before it closes again. She’s up. Maybe she’s gone out. But where? He takes his key and gently taps on her door.

‘Kiama?’