Faye was dumbfounded. What was he talking about? Clare? She hadn’t mentioned Clare. She’d said, “the girls,” meaning Clare, Alice and Linda. She stared at him. Her mouth was dry, her head whirring. Derek glared at her for a moment and left the room.

Now she tipped the shallots into the pot where they sizzled in the butter. “Yes, that was a birthday best forgotten,” she said, without looking at Clare.

“I’m sure every family has them,” said the girl.

When the pasta was ready, Faye produced a half bottle of red wine.

“We didn’t finish this last night,” she said, taking a corkscrew to the stopper that had been pushed back into the neck. “I think a full-bodied cabernet will go well with our dish, though don’t quote me on that. Derek’s the wine fundi in the family.”

She gathered two mugs.

“Will you have some?”

Clare was quick to respond. “No thanks.”

Faye poured some wine into one of the mugs.

“Actually, yes, please. Just a little,” said the girl.

Faye placed the pot of pasta in the middle of the table. Clare handed her a plate. They sat as close to the fire as possible. The older woman spooned pasta onto her plate and then, as if having forgotten to do so earlier, jumped up to add wood to the fire. When she sat down again, she ignored the small helping of food on Clare’s plate and raised her mug.

“Cheers! Here’s to the rain petering out soon and us being rescued tomorrow.” The stainless steel mugs touched with a solid clunk.

“Though I hardly feel deserted here,” said Faye.

Clare looked around the lapa, where the flames flickered orange and yellow against the stone walls and the paraffin lamp on the table alongside them pattered quietly, as if in tune with the rain.

“No, it’s not too bad at all.”

Faye, chewing, nodded.

“In fact, we’re not alone. Look. We have dining companions.”

Clare’s head was tipped up towards the roof. Faye followed her line of sight to the rafters where she saw what looked like, at first glance, a gathering of grey-brown rats hanging by their tails, their eyes glinting in the light of the fire and lamp. Then she saw their wings.

She swallowed with a small shudder. “Eew. Bats.”

“Yes.” Faye heard the smile in Clare’s voice.

“I hope they stay in their section of the restaurant,” she said.

“They will. Or they’ll fly off into the night. Perhaps they’re put off by the rain. They’re probably usually hunting by this time, which is why we didn’t see them last night.”

Faye took a long sip of wine. “Can’t say I missed them.”

“They won’t come near you. Poor things have such a bad reputation. Except in China, where they’re honoured and symbols of good luck and happiness.”