Christianne has found another photo. This time, it’s more intimate. I recognize both Christianne and McFaul. They’re sitting at a plain wooden table and Christianne is wearing one of those joke hats you get from crackers. I glance up. In the intervening years, she’s put on a great deal of weight.

‘Andy mentioned Christmas.’ Christianne is smiling. ‘We had good times, too. It wasn’t all bad.’

I nod. The power of the camera’s flash has bleached out the faces at the table but even so I’m looking at a very handsome couple. Christianne is wearing an MSF T-shirt that does nothing to hide her figure, while McFaul is sporting a red bandana. His hair is longer than now and a sprig of something green is tucked inside the bandana.

‘It was the closest we could get.’ McFaul has at last lifted the casserole from the oven. ‘The Angolans don’t do holly.’

‘It was lovely. Look.’ Christianne has found yet another shot. The lighting, this time, is kinder. It’s the same setting but this time I’m looking at four people, posed beside the remains of a huge meal. Christianne and McFaul each have an arm around another couple. The woman is dark, plump, winsome. The man beside her, a huge grin on his face, has a lighter skin tone and a mouth full of crooked teeth. A baby nestles in the crook of his arm and he, too, has laid hands on a hat from a cracker. In the background, his eyes red from the flash, lurks an enormous dog.

‘Celestina and Domingos,’ McFaul says. ‘We were at their place that night. Carols round the barbie and goodwill to all men. That dog was a monster but even he behaved himself. Great evening. The little man excelled himself.’

‘You’re telling me he did the cooking?’ I’m looking at what’s left of the food in the photo.

‘Absolutely not. Men in Africa aren’t built that way. No, but he laid hands on three bottles of Scotch. I couldn’t believe it. Black Label? In the middle of a fucking war? How did he ever make that happen?’ He shakes his head at the memory and turns back to the casserole, making room for three bowls amid the chaos of the work surface.

‘He and Andy worked together in the minefields.’ Christianne’s voice is low, like she’s sharing a secret with me. ‘Andy ran Terra Sancta in Luena and took him on. He was a lovely, lovely man. Three kids. Wonderful wife. I’ve never met anyone so cheerful.’

‘Yeah, and sharp as a blade.’ McFaul is giving the dhal a stir. ‘I trained him up, taught him the basics, then got on to the important stuff. With that little guy you only had to say something once. You could hear his brain working. Literally. Tick-tock, tick-tock. He was brave, too. Never ducked a challenge.’