Edie picked up her handbag. She’d recovered from feeling foolish about approaching Pip. Goodness only knows what had come over her, she was far too young to be blaming it on her hormones. Thankfully, he’d taken it in good form and had given her some sound advice into the bargain. Now all she had to do was find out how much her mother had seen. Contrary to expectations, when Edie had seen her she’d grabbed the hand of her anonymous male companion and had scuttled off in the opposite direction. No doubt she’d have something to say on the subject—her mother always did. She gave an inward sigh and wished it was time for Lyssa to come home.

‘Are you ready then?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ Lee said, straightening his jacket.

As Edie headed towards the door, Lee grabbed her arm. He pulled her towards him and kissed her full on the lips. ‘This is a great idea,’ he said.

She didn’t mention that he had another man to thank for her renewed enthusiasm in their relationship.

‘Have I told you lately that you’re a very beautiful woman, Mrs Firth?’ her husband said.

‘No,’ Edie sighed. ‘No, you haven’t.’

‘Then I must remedy that immediately,’ he said. ‘You are a very beautiful woman and I love you very much.’ He kissed her tenderly.

‘I love you too,’ Edie said.

‘You’re just saying that because I’m the father of your incredibly beautiful and intelligent children.’

Edie buried her head in his neck. ‘And what better reason is there than that?’

Chapter fifty-five

Chapter fifty-five

I can’t feel my hangover until I start to lift my head from the pillow and then there are psychedelic colours inside my brain. I wonder if the whole village is similarly indisposed or is it just soft Westerners who can’t handle their booze. Beside me Dean groans to show that he’s awake. I let my head sink slowly down again and enjoy the relief that closing my eyes brings.

‘Did we have a good time?’ Dean asks. He’s flat on his back, staring glassy-eyed at the inside of the thatched roof.

‘We had a great time.’

‘Thought so.’ Dean sounds very fragile. ‘That’s why I can’t remember it.’

‘I think chhang is very evil stuff.’

‘I agree,’ Dean says. ‘But these guys sure know how to throw a party.’

The wooden shutters are closed, so we haven’t yet had to experience the full horror of direct sunlight. Outside, the sound of men working drifts across the fields—the bizarre haw-haw-haw call as they drive the buffalo to thresh the millet, followed by the echoing thwack of a stick on the beasts’ rumps. Hangover or not, they’re out there providing for their families. I guess the cycle of nature doesn’t wait around for a clear head. There’s the chatter of children’s voices in the street.