As his mind focused back into the present, Harry wondered how long he had been standing there with Lindi: he hadn’t even noticed that she’d snuggled her head into his shoulder.

‘I’m proud of you, my girl,’ he said leaning down, kissing the top of her head.

It was a chilly September day, one of those that takes everyone by surprise after the gentleness of a wishy-washy British summer, and there was something rather comforting about an oven stuffed with a joint of beef, potatoes and Yorkshire puddings sitting in sizzling hot trays. Besides, a roast lunch had its special place in the Seaton family story. Years ago, when they were trying to persuade their reluctant children that going to England would be fun, Helen and Harry had drawn up a list of all the wonderful things they could look forward to. As time went by and hardly any of it had come to pass Ralph and Lindi would tease their parents. ‘I wonder when we’re going to get to England,’ they’d say.

The parental list of inducements had included snow on Christmas Day (never); a milkman in a striped apron who brought bottles to your door (not where they lived); double-decker buses with conductors who shouted, ‘Hold on tight now’ (they’d all been made redundant); and Concorde streaking across the sky (taken out of service). The only thing from the list that had survived intact was the Sunday roast – and even that hadn’t turned out to be quite the British staple that Harry and Helen had suggested. The Seatons had adopted the ritual of a Sunday lunch with all the vigour of converts, even if most of the locals had moved on to more varied fare.

‘Listen, you must give Marney a call. He’s retired now but I bet he’s still plugged into what’s going on,’ he said to Lindi, handing her a piece of paper with Marney’s address and phone number on it. She glanced at it and saw that he’d moved down to Knysna, a coastal resort in the south of the country. Even with her second-hand knowledge of South Africa she was aware that Knysna was not exactly the place to be to judge the pulse of a nation. Put your ear to the ground in Knysna and all you’d detect would be the sound of a thousand feet shuffling in and out of fish restaurants and curio shops.

Helen had packed a parcel for Maude. ‘It’s just a few goodies,’ she said, pointing to a package in the corner of the dining room.

‘A few goodies! There won’t be space for me to carry anything but a toothbrush if I take that lot,’ she said.

‘You must check out the old house,’ Ralph said. ‘Hey, Dad, I wonder if our goalposts are still there.’

‘Not that you or Kagiso ever managed to hit the ball between them,’ retorted Harry.