‘Emma used to tell me how much her parents wanted a baby, about how they tried for years before getting pregnant with her. I always thought they never deserved her. They don’t deserve you either.’

He tries to smile at her.

‘I know today wasn’t what you were hoping for.’

‘No. But, if I’m honest, it’s exactly what I expected. I should have known from how they were on the phone.’

‘It’s easy to say that now. But look, we don’t have to stay here. Let’s say goodbye and leave.’

He doesn’t budge, except to get another chocolate.

‘Kiama, you can’t sit here eating a six-pack of Wagon Wheels.’

‘Is that a challenge?’ He stops eating and presses his palms into his eyes.

Yvonne pulls a tissue from her bag and hands it to him. ‘Look, fuck them.’

He mock gasps. ‘Did you just say fuck?’

‘I’m annoyed for you.’

‘The fiery redhead is coming out.’

‘I know you wanted to build some sort of relationship with them again, but you don’t need this. You don’t need them. If you want to go back to the hotel now, I’m fine with it.’

‘Thanks,’ he says, ‘yeah, I want to go back.’

The sun is the hottest it’s been since arriving, yet Kiama refuses to put sunblock on while they wait for Joe to drive back to Kilimani. They sit on the kerb for twenty minutes bickering about whether Wagon Wheels are a cake or biscuit, and then see Cynthia running from the block of flats.

‘I’ve been watching from the window,’ she says, her face flushed. ‘I didn’t know if I should come down or not.’ She looks back up at the block, for Neil maybe. ‘I’m sorry about how things have gone today.’

Kiama stands opposite her.

‘This is not how I wanted it to be with you. But here,’ she presses a piece of paper into his hands. ‘I’m sure Purity would love to see you.’ She kisses him on the cheek. ‘Take care. Bye, Kiama.’

Chapter Twelve

Birth

January 2002

Yvonne

The pub is empty and Yvonne spots her straight away, scooping a slice of lemon from her drink to eat.

‘Wow,’ Yvonne says as she gets closer.

‘Dude,’ Emma says as they hug.

‘Wow,’ Yvonne says again, ‘you are so…’

‘Pregnant? No shit, Sherlock. Here, I ordered you a house white. You should have seen the look that bitch barmaid gave me, as if I’m going to drink it.’

Yvonne slides in next to her and continues to stare. ‘It’s weird because from the back you look normal.’

‘I am normal.’ Emma picks up the wine glass and sniffs before handing it over.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so pregnant before. Your boobs are enormous.’