They were in the street, it seemed – Michael peered, trying to work out what he was looking at, but everything moved too fast. They were holding a phone, presumably, or a tablet, and it spun as they walked and turned, allowing him a glimpse of what might have been a barber’s shop. Someone was reclining in a red chair, but that flashed past and there were people moving around some kind of tricycle, with an old man on the saddle. There was a din of traffic and the blasting of horns – over that, more language that he couldn’t understand.

Maria was saying, ‘Wait. Wait!’

‘Are you okay?’ said the voice.

Maria was talking fast, and the words sounded to Michael like a kind of birdsong, interspersed with her usual laughter – the street was suddenly full of tables, and he saw bottles of beer. A taxi was parked behind or in front, but they were moving into a shack of some kind, and it was immediately darker. All at once, the picture settled, and they were in a bedroom or a lounge – he could see a mattress, but then a table and a stove with saucepans. A lamp illuminated an old woman’s face, and within seconds three children had gathered, shoulder to shoulder.

The language bubbled, and the phone was passed or grabbed. At last it was still again, and now there were no children at all, but only the sister.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine!’ cried Maria.

The children returned.

There were four of them this time, and still the strange syllables looped and danced, peppered with cries and laughter. He recognised Max, but then her head was pushed aside by the little boy with long hair – it was eight-year-old Nikko, alive and jumping at the screen. What did he have to say that was so urgent? And what could be so funny?

‘Okay, no,’ said Maria. ‘Okay – stop. You speak in English, please. Max!’

Somehow, she organised them – she couldn’t silence them, but there was some semblance of order, and Michael gazed at faces that gazed back at him. He hid behind Maria, and the giggling continued mixed with shouts from somewhere and more car horns. Maria was adjusting the volume, and spoke in her own language still. Max and Lucas and Nikko. The other was a boy, but Michael couldn’t remember his name – and he looked sleepy, his big eyes blinking.

‘Say hello,’ said Maria – but she was saying it to her children. ‘Say hello, please. This is my friend, so we speak English.’

‘Hello, uncle!’ shouted one of them – it was Lucas, whose head was almost shaved.