Ignoring her smaller sister’s protests, the tall woman strides forward and holds her throat. She makes a strangled noise and the short one honks in derision, earning her a shove from her neighbour. The first woman tries again and makes the same sound. She snaps her mouth shut, her fleshy cheeks turning crimson. A different woman in the circle grunts, and before long they’re all making the same awful noises. I cover my ears, wondering if I’ve done something wrong, and then I realise. It’s not anger on their faces, but frustration. They want to talk to me, but don’t know how.

I approach the tall one and hold out my hand. ‘Hello.’

To my surprise, she shakes it firmly. ‘Ha-ha crack-ko.’

The others cackle loudly and shake their heads and I realise they’re laughing. The woman glares at them and tries again. ‘Ha-low.’ She sighs with seeming relief then turns to the others and waves her arm dismissively. This time when she tries speaking, her throat convulses and a spasm of syllables comes out, the noise so unnatural it sounds as if she’s about to throw up. Amongst the rough croaky grunts are snatches of words. She keeps on talking and after a while, I catch a distinct phrase.

‘Not speak-ka in a long time.’

I’m so pleased for her that I clutch her arm. ‘Yes! You’ve not spoken for a long time.’

Her face lights up and tears fill her eyes. ‘Moronoe. Sister, my sister.’

I smile awkwardly and she points to her bosom as if I should know her. ‘My na-name is Glitonea. You remember?’ Her face fills with hope, and an image flashes into my mind of her hugging me when I was sad. She’s the motherly one of the group: always there with a kind word and a shoulder to cry on, and cake … she made the most amazing cakes.

I find myself nodding, even though the memory belongs to someone else, and she throws her arms around me. Suddenly they all rush forward, hugging and kissing me. Their long wet hair covers my arms and back, their damp sandy hands stroking my cheeks. Cackles of happiness ring in my ears.

Glitonea pulls away and addresses the others. ‘I speak-ka. I teach.’

I want to ask what she’ll teach me, and if she can help me to heal Tom, but I don’t get the chance. She grabs my hand and studies the crowd as if daring anyone to challenge her. When no one does, she nods decisively and turns to me. ‘We don’t have much time. Come.’

Like Morgan, it seems the more she talks, the easier it becomes. I start to follow her, but the rest of the women have other ideas. They gather around me, stroking my hair and caressing my arms.