Years ago, Chanel had breast-reduction surgery. She was still at The Other Corporation at the time. Business was entering a downturn, but Chanel’s hard-headed advice was being ignored. She announced losses and the need to cut costs, while her breasts suggested nurturing and fullness – they were costing her the respect of executives. Chanel’s investment in herself paid excellent dividends. Six months into her C-cups, the Corporation’s headhunter called.

While we spoke about Bram’s message, Chanel widened her eyes so that I could see all around the irises. It made her look sceptical, but she had to keep her eyes like that until they watered. ‘I knew I’d have to face this loss one day,’ I said. ‘But when Ivy goes, I’ll be an orphan. I’ll feel so … exposed.’ Tears started running down Chanel’s cheeks. She pursed her lips and blew me a kiss. That, too, was part of her face-yoga routine – but I felt supported and comforted even so.

I came home from work earlier than usual the next day to find that Fanta had done Ivy’s hair, coiling it behind her head. She’d begun coming to the house, cancelling any pre-existing appointments when Ivy called. In preparation for Bram’s visit, she’d also done Ivy’s makeup and nails.

I once saw Ivy hold out a fan of playing cards and invite Fanta to select one. ‘The five of diamonds – that’s a change for the better,’ said Ivy. Fanta’s face crumpled with joy. What could a change for the better mean for Fanta? She’s a former Muslim from one of those unlucky countries you see on the news that seem to be made of dirt. Even the skyscrapers are only rubble-in-waiting. Fanta can never escape her homeland – she’s a person with a suitcase superglued to her hand. Not that she goes back there. What is there to go back to? An orphanage where rubbish blows along corridors, rapists patrol the dormitories and weeds fountain in the broken concrete yard.

Fanta’s hair is a galleon, but her shoulders put you in mind of a horse. All her clothes look like sleepwear. She taught herself English from YouTube clips. She says, ‘You look totally sick!’ and ‘How good is Australia!’ and ‘Goodbye, it’s been so lovely meeting you.’ On the day of Bram’s visit she’d brought Ivy a cyclamen. Her gifts litter Ivy’s room – a scented candle, chocolates shaped like shells. A glass jar contains a powdery herbal tea from Fanta’s homeland that she swears protects against everything. It looks like dirt.