He eats too fast, and too messily. A mouthful of rice, a spoonful of soup. Thinly sliced shallots, crisp edges of fried egg, and the syrupy cool of the ice. Food spills down his shirt, but that can go in the machine later. There is an ominous crack, and torrents of rain begin to fall outside. He has a memory from boyhood, walking through this warm, fat tropical rain. If it doesn’t stop soon, perhaps they’ll go out into it; home is only a short distance away. He has another spoonful of dessert, and finds a buried piece of yam, crushing it against the roof of his mouth, sweet and powdery.

•

The funeral takes place in a church. Janet insists that their father accepted Christ just before his death, which Henry does not find very likely, but it seems to make her happy. “We’ll see him again, he’ll be waiting for us,” she tells him, almost gaily, as if that’s not a terrifying prospect. He tries to tell her again that he hasn’t been a believer for a long time, but Janet hears only what she wants to. When an in-law asks Henry which church he attends in London, Janet jumps in with, “Henry hasn’t found a church that suits him yet,” and then “He works too hard. I always tell him he should make the effort to get up early on Sunday, but he’s so lazy.” He lets it go. We must find comfort where we can.

They are in Janet’s church in Queenstown, a large modern building with stark white walls and a lot of tinted glass, although from the train he was startled to see a banner reading “Homosexuals Can Change” unfurled across the roof in bright colours. The whole place hums with air-conditioning and a heavy floral scent. Walking in, the visitor is seized by two greeters who proffer a hymnal and a photocopied order of worship. Other ushers take over to seat people, filling up from the front. It is a well-drilled operation, and scaled to deal with large numbers, with radio mikes and video screens projecting close-ups of the pulpit to all corners.

Janet frets at the low attendance. “I told everyone,” she fusses. “His old colleagues, all the cousins, but so few of them got back to me.” The five occupied rows do look a bit sparse in all that space. She waves, smiling tightly, at each new arrival. Most of these seem to be her friends, middle-aged Chinese men and women with the pale, dutiful look of the professional bureaucrat.

Henry is in the front pew with Janet and her family. He shakes hands firmly with his brother-in-law and admires his nephews—young men now, taller than him, at the age when they’re a little embarrassed to be related to old people. He nods at them and they smile back, perfectly friendly. He is a distant figure to them, while he’s watched them grow up through the pictures Janet sent. He regrets not having reciprocated with more e-mails. Stella comes late and takes a pew at the back, earning a scowl from Janet.