Kagiso heard footsteps. Then a crack of light fanned out across the room as Mama Khethiwe held open the door. ‘Your friend is here,’ she said. ‘Why you sitting in the dark?’

She reached in and pressed a switch by the doorframe. A dim, naked light came on. They were in a storeroom. There were sacks of mealie-meal and rice on the floor, and one wall was lined with the café’s other raw materials – bags of sugar, tubs of jam and a drum of cooking oil.

‘I’m coming to talk to you when the customers have gone,’ she said.

Lindi walked in and waited for the door to close behind her. The rucksack sat high on her shoulders, making her seem smaller than she was, as if a gentle push might topple her.

‘Let me help you with that.’

‘I can manage it.’ Lindi swung the bag into the corner of the room, by the door.

‘You’re angry.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m absolutely thrilled. It’s not every day you get to abandon all your plans and traipse all over town without knowing why you’re doing it.’

Kagiso looked bemused. The British proclivity to deploy sarcasm like an attack dog in a verbal skirmish was largely lost on African ears.

‘I’ve left a trail of people with questions about where I’ve gone and suspicions about what I’m up to. That, Kagiso, is not why I came to South Africa and you’d better have a really good reason for why I’m standing here now.’

‘You didn’t have to come.’

‘You didn’t give me a bloody choice!’

‘It’s not too late. You could leave now.’

‘Oh! Please!’

‘You’re the one who said you wanted to meet again.’

‘That’s cheap, Kagiso. That’s beneath you.’

Lindi turned her back on him and went to where she had dumped her luggage. She pulled out her water bottle and took a big swig. When she turned, he was slumped against the far wall, where the sacks of mealie-meal and rice were stacked. He looked up at her. He’d taken his spectacles off and his eyes glistened, catching the light.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, just a whisper. ‘I’m in trouble, Lindi. I’m exhausted and now I have dragged you into this mess.’

‘You need to tell me what’s going on,’ she said.

‘I’m not sure where to start.’

‘Like they say, you could start at the beginning. But before that I really do need to use the loo.’

‘The what?’

‘The loo, the toilet. I’ll be back in a jiffy. Then you’d better tell me how much trouble I’m getting myself into.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about. You may not like what you hear.’

‘We’ll see. Is it through the café?’

‘Yeah. It’s round the back. Just ask Khethiwe. She’ll give you a key.’