‘What does he do?’

‘He is a construction worker, driver. Cleaner.’

‘Where?’

‘Right now? This minute, he is in UAE, United Arab Emirates. He’s like me, he is part of an agency. But no work in the UK, so he earns money over there.’

‘Good money?’

‘Not bad. For us, it’s good money.’

Another photograph flipped up.

‘That’s his mum, you see? And that’s his dad. That’s him again. And the money’s okay – you can live very cheaply. Like me – I live very cheaply, and all the money goes home. We have a house now. You want to see our house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say no.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you say no, I won’t show you my house—’

‘I want to see your house, Maria,’ said Michael. ‘More than anything else in the world. Let me see it, please.’

‘Okay.’

She opened another folder and pulled up more pictures. He saw a team of Filipino men, setting blocks out on a patch of mud. In the next, the walls rose up on foundations, and window frames appeared. Children watched, then disappeared: now the roof was on, and the children were inside. It was a bungalow beside a tree. He saw the other side: there was a door and they shifted to the back to a pig-pen. They moved up the hill, and he realised he was looking down, at a village, and the bungalows were surrounded by emerald green.

‘That’s where you live? Is that Manila?’

‘That’s where my mother lives. We build the house for my mother – this is outside the city, maybe a four-hour drive. One day, we go and live there too.’

‘It’s so beautiful.’

‘You think so? We have the title now, so it’s registered.’

‘And the children? How many do you have? You said six.’

‘Six, yes. No condoms, you see.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a Catholic country, Michael. The Pope says no condoms, so my husband agrees with him. I said to him, “Two is enough,” and he agreed. Then suddenly, it’s three. Four. Look at this one… wait one minute. Give me one more whisky, just… very small.’

Her fingers closed the photos that he’d seen, and another folder opened. This time a girl seemed to spring out at them both. She had white flowers in her hair, and you could almost hear her laughter. Maria clicked again, and she was calm, smiling a smile that brought tears to Michael’s eyes. She clicked again, and the child was fast asleep in her father’s lap. They were on a bus, and her long, dark hair fell over her face, but she was still smiling – pretending to sleep, perhaps.

‘Her name is Max,’ said Maria.

‘Max?’

‘Max.’

She took the cup and sipped.