They reached the front door and Mma Potokwane shouted out, “Ko! Ko!” When there was no reply, she shouted the greeting out again, and this time edged the front door a bit further open. This brought a reaction from within—the aunt suddenly appeared. She was wearing a pink housecoat and had a cloth, a doek, wound round the top of her head. She eyed her visitors suspiciously, an expression of outrage spreading slowly across her face.

“Yes?” she said. “What is this?”

“I am Mma Potokwane,” came the announcement. “You know these ladies. We are here to see Mr. Radiphuti.”

“Impossible,” said the aunt. “He is sleeping. You must go away. All of you.”

Mma Potokwane seemed to inflate before their eyes. “I am not asking you, Mma,” she said to the aunt. “I am telling you. Mma Makutsi is here to see her husband.”

The aunt glared at Mma Makutsi. “She is not his wife. He is not her husband. She is … she is nothing, Mma. So you must all go now. You. The nothing. This other woman. All go.”

Mma Potokwane moved forward slowly. It was not really like a person moving, thought Mma Ramotswe; it was more a geological movement, the movement of boulders falling slowly down a slope—unstoppable, remorseless, obeying only the rules of gravity and no other. In the face of this, the aunt could do nothing; there was no physical contact, and Mma Potokwane moved past her into the house unimpeded. Unerringly, as if on entirely familiar territory, she made her way into a corridor, followed by Mma Makutsi and Mma Ramotswe. The first door she pushed open led into a pantry, the second into a bedroom. And there, sitting in a wheelchair by the end of the bed, was Phuti Radiphuti.

He looked up. For a few seconds his expression was one of puzzlement, but this was quickly replaced by something that Mma Ramotswe recognised as unambiguous joy. He held out a hand to Mma Makutsi, who took it and then leaned forward to embrace him.

“You have come to see me,” he said. “This is very good.”

“I tried to come before,” she said.

“But your aunt would not allow it,” said Mma Potokwane. “And so we have come to ask you whether you would like to be looked after by me and Mma Makutsi, out at my place.”

At first, Phuti seemed confused, and transferred his gaze from Mma Makutsi to Mma Ramotswe and then back again. But then he looked directly at Mma Potokwane and said, “I should like that very much, Mma. It is a very good idea.” He hesitated, and then added, “When? Tomorrow?”

Mma Potokwane looked around the room in a businesslike manner. “Today,” she said. “You do not seem to have many things here, Rra. But I see you have a bag, and we can put your clothes in that. And those medicines on the table—we must not forget those.”