For the first few months after she emigrated, Emma used to moan about her parents. About how seemingly uninterested they were in bonding with Kiama, this loud, sensitive child who turned up on their doorstep. This child who struggled to do any of the things they expected a little boy to do, like ride a bike or swim. But he was a city kid plucked from the only life he knew. He wasn’t like Emma either, he hadn’t grown up spending a year here and a year there, he had been nowhere and his experiences of the world didn’t stretch further than London.

‘We don’t have firm plans though,’ Kiama says attempting to fork a piece of cake, but it crumbles and falls off before meeting his mouth. ‘Obviously Yvonne needs to go back for work at the end of the week, but I can change my ticket if…’ He looks up.

Neil and Cynthia pass a look as if knowing they should complete his sentence with an offer to spend time together, but they don’t.

‘So, it’s a holiday?’ Neil asks.

Kiama puts his fork down and takes a breath. ‘No.’

She wants to help him out. But isn’t sure herself what the purpose was of him coming back here. Everyone but Kiama returns to sipping their tea, nibbling at the dry cake and pretending the weight of the atmosphere isn’t suffocating them. Why isn’t there more to say? To catch up on? To ask?

‘More sandwiches, anyone?’ Cynthia says, piling the crustless bread onto everyone’s plate.

‘So,’ Yvonne tries, ‘what made you move from the old place? This is all quite,’ she looks around and gestures the room, ‘different from the house you had before.’

‘We didn’t need all that space,’ Neil says. ‘All those bedrooms. It’s only the two of us.’

‘What about Purity?’ Kiama asks.

‘Purity hasn’t worked for us for a few months now.’

‘You didn’t tell me that,’ Kiama says, loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

‘I’m retired. We don’t need that kind of live-in help anymore. Also, we’re not entitled to a pension out here so we needed to cut unnecessary expenses.’

Kiama sits straighter in his chair. ‘Unnecessary expenses? She’s been with you since Mum was a kid. She’s family.’

‘No, she was an employee and she did a bloody great job, but we no longer need her.’ Neil returns to the cake, squashing the crumbs onto his fork with a finger.

‘So who does she work for now?’ Kiama asks to which Neil shrugs. ‘How can you not know? She lived under your roof for years and then one day you send her packing.’

‘That’s not what happened,’ Neil laughs. ‘She got another job. I just don’t know where.’

‘Well, why not?’ Kiama raises his voice. ‘Why aren’t you bothered about keeping in touch with people?’