‘Did it work out?’ he asked, and she took a deep breath. There wasn’t a trace of colour on her face. She looked sick.

‘I guess it did,’ she said slowly. ‘But there was a cost. My mother died just after I got back. She had cancer. She’d known for two years but she hadn’t told me because she hadn’t wanted to interrupt my studies.’

‘Oh, Lily…’

‘You see, when I found I was pregnant I was just as shocked as you would have been. We were so careful but, then, our lecturers used to say the only sure-fire contraception is a brick wall. We’re proof of that. So what could I do? You’d made it clear you never wanted a family. I couldn’t burden you with one, against your wishes.’ She steadied then, forcing her voice to sound neutral. ‘I had to come home. As it is, I’ve made a life for both of us here. Every islander loves Benjy. Every islander is his uncle or his aunt or his cousin, by traditional ties if not by blood.’

‘And he has Jacques?’

‘He has Jacques,’ she agreed, though it took her time to respond. Her voice was uncertain now, as if he’d touched a nerve.

‘They don’t get on?’

‘Why would you ask me that?’

‘It is my business if he’s my son.’

‘He’s not your son. I won’t burden you with him. He’s-’

‘Lily, I want him to be my son.’ The words surprised them both. They stopped, and a wave, higher than usual, washed in over their feet. Lily’s sandalled toes were washed clean. Ben was wearing tough army boots. The water receded and they hardly looked damp.

It was dumb to be looking at boots, Ben thought. The whole thing was dumb. Maybe Lily was right. Maybe he should back off right now.

But he had a son. By Lily.

And she looked distraught.

He reached out and touched her face. There was a fine coat of dust over everything, courtesy of setting up the field hospital on land where the grass had withered during the dry season. Dust was on Lily’s face, streaked now by tears, and he tracked a tear with his finger.