Sausage and mash, roast chicken, lasagne. Of course Mum hated it, she would sit there eating some grey meat replacement she got imported while Cynthia topped up Kiama’s plate and delivered a lecture about how unhealthy it was to raise a child without meat.

‘She used to make a greatest beef Wellington ever.’

The girls exchange a look.

‘So why are we being subjected to this crap every night?’ Delia says, looking down at her plate.

‘Maybe because you’re on a charity project,’ Yvonne says, ‘I can’t imagine there’s lots of money floating around to serve the volunteers a leg of lamb.’

She’s being kind of rude to the girls, but then it’s been such a weird day, a long one too, and now they’re here, in the middle of nowhere and completely off plan.

‘These girls,’ Yvonne says through gritted teeth as they clear the table with Sarah, the house girl. ‘They’re completely vapid.’

‘You’re mean,’ he says, because while he doesn’t quite understand the word, he’s sure it’s something bad.

After dinner Sarah beckons them up the stairs to their room for the night. The room is large with three sets of bunk beds, stripped bare, a rolled-up duvet and pile of sheets at the end of each one. There are two small windows, covered in blue bars.

When she leaves, Kiama throws one of the sheets on the bed and roughly tucks it in.

Yvonne nudges him out of the way and takes over, ‘Used to fitted sheets, are you?’

He shrugs, not about to expose himself as someone who let his nana make his bed. Ever since she died he’s simply slept with the sheets hanging down. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ She pulls out the huge toiletries bag she drags about and heads to the bathroom while he lies back on the bed and looks for something to watch on his laptop. The tiredness is there, but not yet overwhelming enough to knock him out.

Even though they had both complained of jet lag last night, they ended up staying up late again, eating room service pizza in Yvonne’s room and watching local TV. He can’t believe he fell asleep on her bed again, for the second night in a row. He doesn’t even remember drifting off, just waking up and crawling back to his own room.

Yvonne comes out, ‘The water’s freezing here,’ she moans, ‘I’ve run out of face wipes and had to wash my face with a bar of soap. I’m going to look five years older when I wake up. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to sleep here.’