It picked out specks of dust on the dark green leaves of a mango tree, which swayed as a weight pressed down on its branches. Leaves rustled with movement. Joshua’s father approached, dragging behind him large palm leaves that left tracks in the earth. His shadow was only just ahead of his toes at this midday hour. ‘Where are you?’ he called. ‘Here,’ Joshua shouted from his perch high above. ‘Picking mangoes.’ His father let go of the palm leaves. ‘Pass them to me,’ he said, ‘then come down. I want you to go to the Gola Hotel. Tell Oliver I can take another pig tomorrow if he’s got one for me. Can you do that?’ ‘All right,’ Joshua said confidently. ‘I’d go, only I want to get on with the roof.’ The palm leaves were for the thatch. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you can manage on your own. Comb your hair first.’ Joshua didn’t bother with his hair, and his father didn’t check. He set off down the road that ran along the sea, past the sugar cane and the rubbish tip.
