‘We’ve not talked for a while. I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back. About half an hour.’ And then Kagiso added, ‘It’s great to hear from you.’

He turned the phone off and was about to speak. Sharmi interrupted. ‘Who was that?’

‘Just an old friend.’

‘All very furtive,’ she said. ‘Your fault for keeping your phone on, but for your penalty you have to tell us who it is.’

‘It’s no one you know.’

‘Ooh! We getting a bit irritable, are we?’ She looked at the others. ‘I think our little bush-boy from Mpumalanga has got a dirty little secret here in the big city. Planning a bit of a fumble tonight, are we, Kagiso?’

‘Look, it’s late. We need to move. I’m going to Lesedi’s funeral tomorrow, then back to Malelane. Let’s catch up in a few days’ time.’

‘Hang on a minute. What have we decided? Ponte City is on fire, foreigners are being hacked to death and we’re just going to carry on as normal? This is surreal,’ said François.

‘There’s nothing to decide,’ said Kagiso. ‘At least, the decision has been made for us. We have to assume we’re wanted, or I am, anyway. We need to lie low and work out what our next step is. My advice is that you suspend any hits you’ve got in the pipeline. If you’ve got into a routine, stick to it. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t normally do. If you’ve left tracks, get rid of them. If you’ve got any bridges to burn, now is the time to do it.’

‘Should we switch to the back-up phones?’ asked Two-Boy. He was looking at Kagiso.

‘Yes, but remember, we use them only to contact each other and only in an emergency, to warn someone of an imminent threat. If we don’t hear from each other, that’s good. I’ll call when we need to meet next.’

‘Amen,’ said François. ‘All right, let’s go. Two-Boy, you first – through the front. I’ll go next through the shop. Kagiso, you staying or going?’

‘I’ll tidy up and leave last,’ said Kagiso.

‘Okay, that means you’re out the front, Sharmi.’

They had parted like this on many occasions before but this was the first time the precaution actually seemed necessary. They were like soldiers who – faced with the reality of conflict – suddenly realise what all that training was for. When her turn came Sharmi half opened the apartment door and looked back into the front room.

Kagiso was still sitting on the sofa. Apart from the packing case there was hardly any other furniture in the room. He looked marooned.

‘Are you going to be okay?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine. And thanks.’

‘For what?’

‘For asking.’