‘Yep, that’s it. Well I never, how magical to meet you, Chandri, after all this time,’ Tina exclaimed.

Suddenly Daisy called out, ‘Mumma, look!’ And they all laughed as Daisy walked very carefully towards them with a plump, pink, wriggling piglet in her arms.

‘Quick, photo op,’ Grace laughed as Tina pulled out her phone.

By the time they’d had milky sweets and kopi susu, Balinese-style coffee, pressed on them, Steve and Henry had taken lots of photos with Chandri and her husband and all the family, and it was time to leave.

Daisy asked for some extra sweets, and as Grace was about to say no, already a little worried about tummy upsets, Daisy whispered, ‘They’re for Putu, Mumma.’

Putu had been sitting in the shade, smoking and chatting to Gede’s two brothers, and he scrambled to his feet, putting out his cigarette.

‘I will bring the car.’

Daisy handed him the sticky sweets and he smiled, giving her a pat on the head.

There was a lot of chatter about favourite haunts and food as they drove back.

‘What a gift Chandri turned out to be. Mother and son. Great stuff,’ said Grace.

‘From humble beginnings, eh? All very visual too, in that beautiful compound,’ said Steve.

Daisy scrolled through the photos on Tina’s phone and announced, ‘Nana, can we get a pig when we go home? For Sparkle to play with.’

‘That little piggy will grow into a big fat sow. We’d have to move out of our house.’

As they headed away from Ubud, a tourist bus sped past, honking its horn, forcing Putu to take evasive action. Grace checked that Daisy had her seatbelt on, as no one seemed to bother in Bali.

‘Do you mind dropping me off in the main Kuta drag, Putu? I have to meet a supplier there,’ said Andy.

As they drove down Jalan Pantai three large motorbikes driven by bare-chested young men wearing board shorts, thongs and back-to-front baseball hats, with girls in bikini tops behind them waving their arms, careened past, taking selfies as they rode, screeching with hilarity. Putu swerved to avoid them when the bikes weaved alongside. He only narrowly missed hitting one of the women on the bikes and several cars.

‘Drunken hoons,’ exclaimed Andy. ‘They wouldn’t do that back in Australia.’

‘Drunk as skunks. No helmets, no shoes, no brains,’ said Grace.

‘It’s the thing the Balinese dislike most about tourists, especially off-their-head Aussies, and who can blame them?’ Andy said. ‘There’s a couple of people killed or injured every fortnight up here. At least. And if there’s a sniff of alcohol involved, their travel insurer walks away. It can cost them a bucket of money – if they survive. Listen, Putu, pull in near the shopping complex. I’ll take a short cut through the mall. Thanks.’