Lucas said something in his own language, and Max pinched him. He writhed and squealed, and Maria had to shush them again. Whoever was holding the phone dropped it and picked it up, and Michael felt drunk. He felt as if he were reeling.

‘When are you going to bed?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘When is your bedtime? Sleeping.’

‘No sleeping,’ said Nikko.

‘You have school tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘No school!’

‘No?’

‘Yes.’

‘When?’

‘What? Yes!’

They nodded, and Max found a school book from somewhere and showed him a piece of writing. Again, the phone seemed to spin and he caught glimpses of a barred window with a crimson curtain. There was the table and the chair. The children’s English fractured back into the local tongue, and all the time there was the same excited, teasing laughter. At last it was still, and the children’s faces filled the screen.

‘This our house,’ said Max.

‘It looks lovely.’

‘You see Roselle? Here…’

The picture slipped away, and Michael found he was looking at a baby in someone’s arms. She was fast asleep – in fact, she appeared to be concentrating hard on not waking up or opening her eyes. He heard the blast of an extra-loud car horn, and still she slept. Then Maria was talking in her own language, and the phone closed in on the baby, and turned around to reveal who was holding it: bald Lucas reappeared, grinning happily, and he was joined by Nikko who stuck his head up between his brother’s outstretched arms, and filled the screen with his own wild, shining face.

‘You come here, uncle,’ said Nikko.

‘Where?’ said Michael.

‘You. Come here, Philippines.’

‘Come to the Philippines? To visit, you mean?’

He laughed.

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

The little boy put his nose closer, and Michael found he was looking into a pair of huge, dark eyes again, behind a sheet of hair. Fingers lifted the hair away, and the eyes were too much – they were Maria’s eyes and her husband’s eyes. Eyes you could look into all day, for in a dazzling moment he realised how a child’s eyes could nourish you. These were the eyes of one you would protect with your life – with your sword and shield, as the clouds unfolded and Jerusalem rose up out of the rock. Never would you be separated, unless some terrible cruelty tore you apart and put you on the other side of the world. For a moment all Michael wanted was to help protect this boy – his brothers and sisters too – and keep them safe. He didn’t know them, and they had nothing to do with him: but that was all he wanted.

He needed a sword and shield, and Maria was holding him.

‘You come Philippines,’ said Max gravely. ‘We wait you here.’

‘No,’ said Michael. ‘Not easy for me.’

‘Yes! Very easy.’

‘You come,’ said Lucas.

‘You come here,’ said Nikko. ‘Promise, uncle? Promise!’