Chipepo swipes at the flies that cling to his left eye. He rubs a gnarled knuckle into the eye’s inflamed corner and sighs. He leans back against the tree.
A face pressed against a window. Warm light spills through the parted curtains. Shadows hide the ten-year-old, the half-waving hand – heart ripped out of rhythm and lost.
London gleams in the dark as the seconds tick towards midnight.