“I like that. Maybe it means the rain will stop and we can join the others tomorrow.”

Clare turned away from the bats and began eating slowly. Faye scooped two more spoons of pasta onto her plate. The food was delicious, but she didn’t mention it.

“That reminds me; I met some bush pigs today,” she said instead.

“Really? During the day? That was lucky. I recall my grandmother telling me that you generally only spot them at dawn or in the evening. Did the others see them?”

Faye described her encounter with the pigs, not bothering to conceal how afraid she was, and how silly she felt when the animals fled in the opposite direction. Clare’s laughter was loud and whole-hearted.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “But the image of you running out of the trees and pigs disappearing into them is hilarious. I’m sorry.”

She put her hand on her forehead and began laughing again.

“Stop it,” said Faye, giggling and pointing at the bats. “You’re going to scare them.”

Clare looked up, still chortling. “No, no. They’re fine. Not batting an eyelid.”

That set them both off once more.

When they stopped laughing, Faye told Clare about the birds.

“You’re probably right,” said Clare. “They were Knysna loeries. The red you saw when they flew away is to distract predators. Hunters think they’re chasing something green, but suddenly it’s red. It’s confusing and gives the loeries a chance to escape.”

“Really? Fascinating. You know a lot about birds.” Faye glanced up the bats. “And animals.”

“Just what my grandmother told me. I wish I remembered more. Paid more attention. She loved loeries. Did you know that they’re monogamous? Like swans. And the turtle dove and some species of eagles.”

They were cleaning up, laughing again as they tried to avoid getting wet while catching water splashing from the roof, when Faye realised how well Clare had eaten. She’d helped herself to seconds and they’d polished off the rest of the wine. She wondered how the young woman felt about herself. Would she hate herself when she thought about it later? Purge? Michelle said she wasn’t bulimic, but how could one be sure? The illness was all about secrets.

“Thanks for supper,” said Clare, stacking the clean pots and plates on the counter. “I really enjoyed it.”

“Me, too.” Faye kept her eyes down. “I haven’t laughed so much in a long time.”

“I haven’t enjoyed my food so much in a long time.”

“Really?” This time, Faye did look up.

Clare hesitated. Faye wondered if she regretted having spoken about food, but she continued. “It was just so . . . normal. I felt like myself.”

“Oh. That’s good . . . isn’t it?”

Nine

Nine