When I walk into the room I do the same thing I’ve always done. I unscrew the perfume and place three drops on Mum. I watch them sink, sink, sink and, with the box in my arms, so do I.

The house is more broken-down than ever, the stairs barely standing. But I just about manage to make it to Mum’s room.

The door is there, standing tall. And then I say the words I know will open it.

‘I’m ready.’ My voice shakes as I speak. ‘I’m ready to say goodbye.’

Chapter 39

The door swings open, and a strong wind swoops past, as if the house is letting out its last breath. It’s almost like it’s sighing in relief, like it’s been waiting for this moment for days, even weeks. And all at once the house is restored. That’s how I know I’m in a memory again.

Mum’s bedroom is so different to mine. Mine’s much tidier, and I don’t have many things. In Mum’s room piles and piles of objects line the walls. Books, jewellery, boxes; photos and posters fill every gap.

The moon shines through the window, and the light falls on Mum’s face, illuminating her. Her hair fans out around her, just like it does where she lies on the hospital bed. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and her face looks peaceful. I rush over to her, just as I have done countless times over the weeks.

‘Mum?’ I call tentatively, brushing the hair from her face.

She doesn’t respond. I think back to all the fairy tales I’ve ever read and watched. I lean down and kiss her forehead, but she still doesn’t wake.

I try something a little different. I take the perfume from my pocket. My perfume this time. I place a drop on Mum’s forehead, two by each ear, and one on her neck.

The droplets sink into her skin, and the smell floats upwards, engulfing me. Wood. Rose. Orange.

All my memories with Mum and all her memories float above me like birds swooping around the room. They’re as powerful as the sandstorm I walked through before. I close my eyes and remember it all.

When I next open them Mum is looking up at me, smiling. And seeing her look at me with all the love in the world makes me crumble.

‘Safiya, habibti,’ she says, pulling me in for a hug. ‘Safiya, what’s wrong?’

I let myself fall on top of Mum like I’m little again and we’re tucked up in bed watching cartoons on a Sunday morning. I pull back, our hair intertwined so tightly it’s not clear whose is whose, our tears blending together.