The badger took several steps across the grass. The animal wasn’t afraid, but she was cautious, pausing to consider her next move. Would she, Clare Basson, ever be as bold again, she wondered? Would she ever feel like old Clare did and walk into a room full of people without imagining what they thought about her? What they were saying? How they pitied her or judged her as weak? How they deliberated about what had happened to her and made her want to disappear? Would she ever be able to think about anything other than her shame?

The animal inched forward. Clare knew about the tenacity of the honey badger. The species was, said some, a “souped-up version of a weasel,” which would take on an elephant or buffalo if cornered. But surely this one wouldn’t approach her, would she?

Turning towards the lapa, the honey badger sniffed again and, with a decisive lurch, trotted forward. She smelt food. Clare breathed out as, tail now erect, the badger broke into a canter and disappeared into the shadows of the lapa.

“Are you asleep?”

“Oh, my God!”

There was a rattle of pots and the sound of claws on concrete as the honey badger fled.

“What was that?”

It was her father.

“Dad! Man! You scared me. What are doing? Creeping up on me like that?”

His eyes glistened in the dark. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“It was a ratel. I was watching her. She went into the kitchen.”

“Cheeky creature.” He gave in and laughed. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“She wouldn’t harm me, would she?”

“A sweet little ratel . . . honey badger?”

Clare didn’t reply. He chuckled again.

“Do you want to come inside?” he asked.

“No.”

“Shall I get my stuff? Sleep out here, too?”

“If you’d like to.”

He nodded and walked towards the hut.

Clare remembered his snoring and wondered if she would get any sleep.

Two

Two

Faye watched her husband stroll across the lawn towards her. For years, she had thought of him as tall but these days he seemed shorter, perhaps more so now with the mountain peaks looming high behind him. Was he slouching or were his vertebrae already flattening with age? She pushed her shoulders back and made a mental note to watch her posture. They were, as Zach had pointed out the last time he’d visited, middle-aged. It had somehow come as a surprise to Faye.

“What? Yes. I guess you’re right. That’s depressing. Thanks, Zach.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Derek, failing to notice her joking tone. “He’s teasing. Must your hackles rise to everything?”

She’d winked at Zach and left the room, thinking about something she’d read recently. “Being a woman means being too young for everything until suddenly you are too old for everything, with at least ten years in between when you are simultaneously too young and too old.”