The atmosphere was festive, and the volume of everything – the conversation, the music, the laughter – was too loud for Spokes. He could not hear himself think. He needed to hear himself think.

Not being able to hear completely, not being able to think coherently, not being able to see Bodecia clearly: this put Spokes on edge and made him somewhat uncertain. Perhaps he should have chosen a different day to do what he had come here to do. Bodecia turned to him and smiled that genuine smile of hers, and in that instant Spokes knew he was making a serious mistake. He was trespassing on their moment of happiness. It could all be saved for another day – tomorrow. He stopped in his tracks, and was just about to apologise and head back outside when Silas Mthimkhulu came up to them, smiling a smile that was far from genuine and not necessarily meant for Spokes, but for whoever was watching this moment unfold. The smile said: I am absolutely fine with my wife’s closeness to this man. He was continuing his unctuous performance.

Silas Mthimkhulu, still seeming genial, looked at Spokes with something sharp and potentially dangerous in his eyes before he said, ‘I did not know that the police were allowed to show their support for a political party publicly.’ To demonstrate the good-naturedness of the moment, he patted Spokes on his back and then accepted an ice-cold Castle Lager that a waiter served to him on a tray.

‘I am not here to show my support,’ Spokes said in a voice that struggled to be heard above the din.

Spokes only knew that they had both heard him because he felt Bodecia stiffen beside him and saw the something sharp in Silas Mthimkhulu’s eyes flash.

‘Can we talk somewhere more private and quiet?’ Spokes asked.

It was an outwardly cheerful Silas Mthimkhulu who led all three of them to the caretaker’s storeroom, a small, dark and cramped room that smelled of cleaning supplies. Silas Mthimkhulu flipped the light switch, which was thankfully connected to a working lightbulb, and closed the door behind him. They squeezed in amongst the brooms, mops, feather dusters, buckets, tins of polish and drums of disinfectant. It was obvious to Spokes from the easy way Silas Mthimkhulu had found the switch that it was not his first time in the room, and he could not help but wonder under what circumstances he had come here before. Spokes surveyed the room – all manner of things could happen in such a room, and all of them clandestinely.

By the time Silas Mthimkhulu spoke again, he had recovered enough to ask, with the appropriate amount of concern in his voice, ‘Is this about our neighbours – Sitshengisiwe and Philemon? Of course, if there is anything further that you would like to ask us, we would both be happy to oblige.’