‘Yeah, she’s a bit sore about my move. Look, I’m going to a funeral tomorrow. It’s for—’

‘Lesedi Motlantshe. I know. It’s partly why I’m here.’

‘For the funeral?’

‘Not exactly. It’s a long story. Shall we try to meet there and then arrange something?’

‘Okay, that sounds good.’

‘I bet I spot you before you spot me.’

‘You’re on. Have you changed a lot?’

‘I certainly hope so. Oh! By the way, I think you should call Maude. None of my business but I promised her I’d ask.’

‘I’m going there now. Do you know where it’s happening and so on?’

‘I’ve sort of hooked up with the BBC and they’re covering it.’

‘I didn’t know you were into journalism now.’ Kagiso sounded surprised.

‘I’m not. Look, all will be revealed tomorrow. See you. Can’t wait.’

Once outside, it took Sharmi less than ten minutes to walk to her car. That was careless, using her Beetle to get to the meeting. She got in, slammed the door and closed her eyes. It was like bringing down the shutters, trying to block the pathways to the place her mind wanted to go. Those few seconds, back there in the room just before she left … she knew she’d missed a chance. There’d been a moment of … of what? A connection, like a couple of synapses brushing up against each other, then drifting apart. A fleeting, yet perceptible, sense that they might have been thinking in the same way, together, at the same time. They hadn’t just been left in the room on their own for a minute or two, they had shared it, occupied it, not as two separate individuals who find themselves near each other, but as two people open to each other. She should have grabbed the opportunity. That was what she was feeling now. But the moment had gone, and as she thought about the next few days, Sharmi knew she might have lost the chance for good.

‘Burn bridges … no mistakes … It’s each to his or her own,’ Kagiso had said. Is this how it would end, being hunted down one by one?