‘Go well, Missus Ginie,’ said Mary, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I am so happy to have known you. I think God sent you to us.’

‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Ginie answered warmly. ‘And anyhow, this isn’t goodbye. I’m going to come again.’ She ached to hug Mary, but it wasn’t permitted. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I’m allowed,’ she repeated.

Mark was waiting for Ginie outside. He had one look at her face and took her in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. If he hadn’t been there, she thought she might have toppled right over. She could feel his heart crashing against his ribs and knew he wanted to kiss her again, but all she could think about was Mary.

After a few moments, she pulled away. Mark signed them out and they walked to his truck without speaking. Mark helped her in, then went around to the driver’s side and started the engine. Soon, they had left the high-fenced prison behind. Ginie gazed unseeingly out of the window. The pain of what was happening to Mary was too raw, too agonising, it blocked out everything else.

There had been so many losses, Ginie thought, each one piled on top of the last; her grief always deepening.

‘Are you alright?’ Mark asked. ‘You’re very quiet. I’m sure the visit wasn’t easy.’

‘Mary’s ill,’ said Ginie. ‘She should be in hospital.’ The stench of prison lingered on her clothes.

‘Did she tell you anything that could be useful to us?’

Ginie stared at him, amazed by his callousness. He looked older, his face seeming to sag on its bones. She felt a confusing stab of pity.

‘Don’t think me unfeeling,’ he added, ‘I know you’re fond of her. But she’s dangerous – she has all sorts of undesirable connections.’

‘Political or criminal?’

‘I’m not allowed to tell you.’

The truck began to climb a hill. Below them were the houses of Sakubva laid out in rows, like hundreds of cardboard boxes.

‘It was you who reported Mary to the police, wasn’t it?’

The truck swerved into the middle of the road, but Mark righted it just in time to avoid an oncoming car crammed with people. The driver hooted and shook his fist, yelling something they couldn’t hear.

‘Yes. I saw her talking to one of the prisoners while we were walking at La Rochelle. There was that scrap of his uniform on the thorn bush.’

Ginie was in a fog of anger and despondency. ‘I suppose you saw me try and hide it. I didn’t think you had noticed.’

‘Well, I am trained to be observant. But I kept quiet about you obstructing the course of justice.’

‘I suppose I should thank you.’