Going downstairs I heard Nana saying, ‘God doesn’t think less of these children for the lovely tan. There’s nothing wrong with them.’ I froze on the stair, seeing the chocolate stains on the white gloves and feeling sad I couldn’t say my prayers.

Mr Ajani came out the downstairs kitchen along by the stairs and went into his room. He was closing the door, holding a saucepan, and saw me. My dad burst out, ‘No, I did not say that!’

Are you listening?’ Mr Ajani said.

I shook my head and felt dizzy.

‘Your sister is in the backyard, go and play.’ He gave me a smile that was wicked and kind at the same time and closed his door.

Busola was playing hopscotch on her own with a piece of chalk. I sat on the upturned metal mop bucket and watched as she stooped on one leg to snatch up the chalk on her way past.

‘Can I play?’ I said.

She looked at me, jumped two squares and one again on one leg and said, ‘No, you have to grow up on your own.’

She got her balance, jumped and span round on to two feet facing away from me.

I didn’t know what to do, so I kicked the bucket with the back heel of my sandal to say I was still there, but she ignored me.

‘Mummy thinks there’s something wrong with us,’ I said.

She let out a laugh and launched back along the squares to the beginning and span round again. She was getting her chalk ready for the next square.

‘You can laugh,’ I said. ‘That’s why she takes you to church.’

She looked up at me, frowned, then threw her chalk and got it on the next square. ‘Jealous,’ she said, like that’s what she expected.

‘No I’m not. Daddy takes me to Saturday morning pictures.’

‘I’m not your mum,’ she said, ‘I don’t care,’ and she skipped up to the chalk square.

‘What they making you do?’ I said.

She stooped to pick her chalk up. ‘You know, you were there.’

‘Are you a nun?’

She stood up straight, lifting on one leg into the air, ‘No.’

‘Then why you doing it?’

‘Helping Mum.’

I thought about it as Busola skipped to the end and span round. I could smell the bacon still bubbling in the pot upstairs.

‘You peed on the carpet,’ I said. ‘There is something wrong with you.’

She turned her head and looked at me over her shoulder. It was a smile like Mr Ajani’s – but it wasn’t kind, it was pity. ‘I couldn’t hold it in,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

She skipped fast all the way back and span round to face me. ‘If it’s all right for Manus, it’s all right for me.’