When I get to Mum’s flat I let Lady off her lead so she can explore.

There’s a load of post by the door, official-looking envelopes that I put aside for Dad. I add the rest to the existing pile. That’s when I notice the delivery note again, the one I saw on my very first visit. The note says a package has been left with the next-door neighbour.

Curious, I run across the hall and knock. And I can’t help but think how the old Safiya would never be brave enough to do this.

The woman who lives in this flat is much older than Mum. She’s friendly, even though we don’t know her very well.

‘Oh yes! I’ve got it out back,’ she says, when I show her the delivery note. Then she retreats into her flat, the door wide open. She’s wearing a kaftan-style dress and a headband.

I peer over her shoulder to see a burst of colour and patterns. Fabric lines the walls and the faint smell of cat litter lingers, masked by incense.

As if it knows its cue a three-legged fluffy grey cat jogs to the door. It lets out a small sharp miaow. I can’t tell if it’s greeting me or telling me to leave, but soon it rubs its body all over my legs and I know I’m welcome.

The incense wafts towards me and I’m reminded of the monthly ritual Mum performed with her bakhoor, and the bird in the game that led me to Aminah’s bedroom.

‘Sorry about her,’ the woman says, nodding at her cat, as she returns with a package.

I smile. ‘Oh, that’s fine. Thank you.’

When I get back to the flat Lady sniffs at me suspiciously. She looks up at me all upset, and I can read the words in her eyes: traitor, she says.

Eventually she lets out a sound between a snuffle and a snort, and trots back to the foot of the armchair. That was always Mum’s seat; she would settle in it cross-legged, while I lay sprawled on the sofa. I look at it now and imagine Mum there, Lady by her feet, while I open the package.

It’s a small wooden box, with my name carved into it in Arabic. It takes me a moment to recognize the letters, but when I do my heart starts drumming. I trace them with my fingers. I open it, knowing what I’ll find, because I can smell it already.

It’s a perfume bottle, identical to the one Mum had. Purple, glass cut like a diamond, with a heart-shaped stopper. I untwist it and apply a drop of perfume to my skin.