“We mustn’t talk about Grace too much,” he said. “She is a good wife to me and I am very happy. That is what I want you to know, Auntie: I am very happy.”

The aunt sniffed. “I’m glad to hear that. But if you ever are unhappy, you know where to come. That is all I will say for the time being.” She sniffed again. “And why are your eyes closed, Phuti? Did you not sleep enough last night?”

Phuti opened his eyes. “I slept well, Auntie. But now I’m hungry, and the thought of your delicious cooking is making my stomach jump up and down.”

The aunt smiled coquettishly. “You’re right to remind me, Phuti. I have some very good stew that I am going to give you.” There was a pause—the slightest pause. Then: “Far better than anything you get at your place, I think, but let’s not talk too much about that …”

The stew, when it was served, proved to be every bit as good as the aunt had claimed. Over the dinner table, watching Phuti tackle his second helping, she seemed to mellow, and the conversation moved on to less controversial subjects. The aunt had been to Lobatse to visit a relative who had been ill; she had found a new pair of shoes in a shop and had bought them because they had been reduced in price by sixty per cent. She had received a telephone call that morning from somebody who had got the wrong number; her neighbour had been bitten by a dog and had been obliged to have anti-rabies injections—“just in case”—but knowing the neighbour as she did, it was almost certainly the neighbour’s fault rather than the dog’s. “They should give that dog a course of injections, if you ask me, Phuti. You know what that woman is like—I’ve told you, haven’t I?” And then, “Have you had any injections recently, Phuti? I must go to the doctor myself some day and get an injection.”

They finished the meal and the aunt made a pot of tea. She served this on the verandah, where it was cooler, and from where they had a good view of the neighbour’s house, now a dark shape in the night. “You never know what you’re going to see going on in there,” said the aunt. “Sometimes they leave a light on and forget that it is on. I have seen some things that I cannot speak about, you know. Even if you ask me, I cannot speak about them.”

There was an expectant silence, as if she was waiting for Phuti to ask her. But he did not, and the conversation moved on to the new house.