Aunt Zaina doesn’t answer, so we wait for a bit before trying again. I make us a second tea, while Lady keeps bringing toys to me, one after the other, like she knows I’m nervous and she’s trying to make me feel better. It’s because that’s the sort of thing that cheers her up. I wish I was a dog sometimes. Lady’s biggest stress is the fact that our neighbour’s cat keeps pooping in our garden.

The phone rings, and Dad, Lady and I all jump.

‘Hello?’ A high-pitched voice answers in Arabic, blaring out of Dad’s speaker on his phone. But the voice is older than I expected. I suppose Aunt Zaina would sound different now that she’s not a child.

‘Hi . . .’ Dad says nervously, glancing at me. ‘I have Safiya here with me.’ He pauses, and I awkwardly say hello.

‘Hi, James. Hello, Safiya, habibti,’ my aunt says. She pronounces my name the proper Arabic way, stressing the letter ‘s’ so it comes out all throaty. ‘How’s Ami doing?’ she asks, getting straight to the point and saving me from talking right away.

‘Well . . .’ Dad begins, and then he tells her exactly what I told the girls the other day. That Mum’s getting better.

When he’s done Aunt Zaina says she’s looking at flights to come and visit Mum as soon as she’s out of the hospital.

‘And you’ll come see us too, Safiya? In the summer?’ Aunt Zaina asks. She’s a lot calmer than her ten-year-old self, and it stops me in my tracks a little.

‘Of course!’ I say, excited at the prospect of seeing where Mum grew up. We could even go together, Mum and I, and visit Rawan too. That’s when I ask about her, and it feels as if my heart stops while I wait for Aunt Zaina’s response.

‘Rawan?’ she says as if the name is unfamiliar. For a horrible moment I think she’s forgotten her and I won’t get my answers. Then: ‘Of course I remember her . . .’

My heart leaps.

‘Do you remember the play Mum and Rawan acted in?’ I ask excitedly.

Aunt Zaina laughs. ‘Yes! Your mother would sneak off to rehearse. I was always so jealous of the way she was with Rawan. You have to understand, Safiya . . . Your mother was my best friend when I was young . . .’

My heart soars as she tells her story.

‘Anyway, one day I decided to get revenge. I knew our mother would be angry if she found out Aminah was acting in a play without telling her. She would think it was a waste of time, you see. So I took photos of your mum sneaking off with our family camera. It was a game I played. I created an investigation around your mum, like she was some sort of criminal. And the photos were evidence I compiled.’