Mma Ramotswe’s tiny white van was a case in point. He had spent a great deal of time on that van and felt that he knew it quite well now. Its engine was not a difficult one to deal with, as all the essential parts could be got at without too much trouble, but it could not be kept going forever and he was not sure whether Mma Ramotswe understood that. He had the same problem with Mma Potokwane and the old minibus that she used to transport the orphans. It was a miracle that that vehicle was still going—or rather it was down to the constant nursing by Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. Sooner or later, though, one had to face reality with an old vehicle and accept that it had come to the end of its life. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni understood the attachment that people developed to a car or a truck, but sentiment had got to be kept in its place. If we are prepared to throw away old clothes, then why not throw away old vehicles once they had had their day? He had noted that Mma Ramotswe had been ready to throw out his clothes, and it was only after a spirited defence on his part that he had succeeded in keeping some of the jackets and trousers which had served him well and which—in his opinion at least—still had a great deal to offer. But his opposition had not prevented her from getting rid of several pairs of trousers (which still had a lot of wear in them and which had only one or two patches), a favourite pair of old brown veldschoens, and a jacket which he had bought at OK Bazaars over the border in Mafikeng with his first pay cheque as a qualified mechanic. He had wanted to ask her how she would feel if he had gone through her wardrobe and thrown out some of her dresses, but he had refrained from doing so. It was an entirely hypothetical question anyway; it would never have occurred to him to do such a thing. And he readily admitted that he knew nothing about women’s clothing, as most men would have to admit; and yet women always claimed to know what clothes were right for a man. There was some injustice here, thought Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, although he was not quite sure how one might pursue the point.

Standing beside Mma Ramotswe, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni took a lungful of the early morning air.

“And how did it go?” he asked, as he breathed out. “Did you find him?”

“He was not there,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But I spoke to his mother and that was useful. I learned something important.”

“And what was this important thing?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply again.