She’s reading Are You My Mother?, which makes her both indescribably sad and hopeful at the same time, and she points up at the tree above them when the baby bird in the story tumbles down, down, down from its nest. “This is a tree, Mandla.”

“Tree,” he repeats, and then coughs, phlegm rattling in his chest.

“Yes! Tree.”

She holds her hand to his forehead. He feels hot, but then he’s had a higher-than-normal temperature for a while. Zodwa forgot to give him his medication last night and didn’t bring it to the cottage to give to him this morning. Ruth can do that. Why must Zodwa always be the one forcing Mandla to drink something that he hates?

What she’d like to do is something fun, like taking him to the township barber for a proper haircut. Ruth has no idea how to treat black hair and she washes Mandla’s daily using white people’s shampoo. His hair is dry and brittle as a result and needs proper styling as well as regular treatment with coconut oil. A boy’s first haircut is an important milestone; Zodwa wants to be the one who shares that with Mandla.

She’s about to start reading again when they hear pounding on the door and her name being called. It’s Ruth, finally come to look for him.

“Madam Ruth, we’re here,” Zodwa calls.

They almost crash into each other at the side of the cottage as Ruth rounds the bend. She looks wild, with her hair having dried in disarray and her makeup streaked down her face. Her eyes burn with a crazed fear.

Good, Zodwa thinks. I’m glad she was scared.

“I brought him here to stay with me last night,” Zodwa says, handing Mandla across.

She expects apologies and self-recrimination from Ruth. What she isn’t expecting is for Ruth to slap her. As the palm of Ruth’s hand connects with Zodwa’s cheek, she reels back in surprise.

“Who gave you permission to bring Mandla here?” Ruth seethes. “How dare you?”

Zodwa is so taken aback that she’s rendered speechless. All she can do is clutch the side of her face and stare at Ruth in shock.

“I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I woke up and he wasn’t there. No one was there. You didn’t leave a note or anything.” She’s shouting now and flecks of spittle land on Zodwa’s face. “I thought something terrible had happened.”

Zodwa blinks and steps back from both Ruth’s rage and the stink of stale alcohol. It isn’t just Ruth’s breath. It seeps from her pores and the smell is nauseating.