The whole day is spent in the afterglow of the dolphins.

Mallika scolds me when she finds out. ‘Where there are dolphins, there are sharks. What’s wrong with you?’

Lucia and I watch the Attenborough episode about the deep ocean. All those strange sea creatures that lie at the bottom of the sea floor, blind and menacing. The fangtooth, the gulper eel, the hairy angler – grotesque things with out-of-proportion jaws, teeth, bodies. ‘This world might be alien, but it’s not without beauty,’ David is saying, but Lucia is already asleep, cheeks grazed from the swim.

Mallika’s long-dead family is being resurrected. Someone somewhere is dying of something, and suddenly she must be there.

‘My half-sister’s husband’s cousin’s son,’ she says, when I ask why she must go to the hospital.

‘He’s only two,’ she keeps saying. ‘He has fits. I must go.’

The half-sister’s husband’s cousin is the head gardener at the ashram. They have organised an ambulance to take the child into the city, to the best hospital – Apollo. The ashram is bearing all costs. Mallika underlines this last fact as if to say, This is what good employers do: look after you at all costs.

‘Go if you must, but I need you back for the party tomorrow.’

Of course, she does not come back the next day and when I call, her phone has been switched off.

The first guests arrive at twelve, and nine hours later Auntie Kavitha, Praveen and I sit on the balcony smoking while Lucia rocks madly on the floor, wired on Coca-Cola and cake, her tight pink dress in disarray.

‘That went well, I thought,’ Auntie Kavitha says.

‘It was a freak show.’

‘What do you mean, Miss G? It was cool,’ Praveen interjects. ‘Everyone had a banging time. Did you see your sister on the dance floor? What a cat!’

There had been non-stop Tamil pop songs. Teacher had all the girls in a circle clapping. Valluvan’s kids monopolised the show with their film moves. Lenin, being the only boy, was particularly good with his pelvic thrusts. Before the cake-cutting, Teacher played the hokey-cokey. ‘Your mother was the one who taught us how to do this. No matter whose birthday,’ she panted, ‘we always play the hokey-cokey.’

Lucy insisted that everyone join in. By the end of it I am dizzy and sad. I look at Lucia to see whether she feels it too, but she is busy flashing her teeth.

Vik hadn’t come. I say nothing about his absence to anyone, but it feels definitive and I am ready to let it go.

The three of us look into the dark: only the dim lights of trawlers in the distance and a few milky stars.

‘It’s awesome here,’ Praveen says, a magazine in his lap, fingers expertly rolling.

‘I didn’t think it would make me feel so strange to see all those kids in one room. It made me feel somehow exposed. Does that make sense?’

‘It gets easier,’ Auntie Kavitha says. ‘Or maybe that’s not the right word. It gets normal.’