Ruvanee Pietersz Vilhauer


David tripped on Sonia Aunty’s verandah steps and hit his face on our third day in Colombo. I worried that his bloody nose would affect his reception at the party that evening. I had persuaded Sonia Aunty to invite all the relatives, even the Matara crowd that had been blackballed for missing my grandmother’s funeral five years ago. Persuading Sonia Aunty that the party would not offend my parents was harder, but I had managed that too.

“It’s been months,” I reminded Sonia Aunty. “Old news now. No one is going to be shocked.”

The blood t