Knowing that his mother typically filled his lunch box with interesting snacks, Zach didn’t complain. So, muesli it was for Zach, too, until he left his parents’ home and became master of his own meals. Faye, however, turned to toast. Now, as her jaw ground its way through another spoon of rolled oats and rubbery almonds, she thought about how many years that had gone on for; a life measured in solitary mornings of toast and marmalade. It was, she thought, only marginally better than a life measured in endless mouthfuls of muesli.

A bird, dark grey with orange on its breast and outer tail feathers, hopped on the grass on the edge of the yard, stopping occasionally to duck his beak into the ground. A robin, thought Faye, picturing illustrations she’d seen on Christmas cards from her mother’s friend in Britain. Clare would probably know. She watched the bird, noting the white above his eyes, and willed him to call so that she’d have more information to share, but he was quiet.

The clouds had gathered again, dulling the light with their crowding and affirming her earlier hunch that more rain was imminent. With her jaws exercised and bowl empty, Faye left the lapa and followed the track behind the cabin. She wanted to be outdoors for as long as possible and was curious about the state of the road.

With parallel ditches of varying widths and depths, the tracks resembled seasonal riverways rather than a roadway. Boulders had been excavated by the rushing water, creating glistening, smooth-edged obstacles in the earth, which made Faye think of the plump seals she’d seen sunning themselves on the harbour walls in Cape Town. Sections of the road had been washed into deep dongas on the side, leaving wide gashes in the earth. Where the tracks levelled out, the water had deposited patches of silky, squishy mud. It was difficult enough to navigate by foot, let alone in a car.

Faye stopped on the crest of the hill and looked down to where the track swept to the east, disappearing around the corner and reappearing in the valley below. There she saw how the stream, now a river, had flooded the road and the surrounding basin, depositing large piles of debris left and right. It was difficult to gauge the depth of the water, but it didn’t look passable. She would, she thought, probably be obliged to chew her way through another bowl of muesli the next day. Or perhaps Clare would have something more interesting to offer from her and Geoffrey’s boxes of supplies.

She’d hoped to find the girl back at Heuningbos when she returned and, as Faye approached the lapa and heard the clank of a plate and the thud of something falling on the stone floor, she was pleased.

“Hey! You’re back,” she called as she climbed the stairs.