Mama smiles. ‘But we never have any clouds,’ she says simply. ‘Isn’t it interesting how we never see the same thing? Your brain connects different dots to mine. It’s all about the way we see the world.’

Aminah nods. ‘That’s true.’

‘Tiger and heart.’

‘Tigerheart.’ Aminah grins. ‘Sounds good, doesn’t it?’

‘Maybe you can name your theatre company that.’ Mama turns to her and, with that, something in the conversation shifts.

Aminah looks at her mother in surprise. ‘You’re going to let me act in the play?’

Mama says nothing, only smiles, and it’s like a hundred stars shining all at once.

‘Mama, I –’

‘Darling I –’ Mama says at the same time.

Silence descends.

Mama speaks again. ‘I want to tell you a story . . . A long time ago, when I was your age, I wanted to go to America. I never asked my parents, of course, but they knew of my obsession. I wanted to be a singer, like Ella Fitzgerald. She was a bit before my time but I loved her music. I still do. Anyway, one day my parents called me down. They had an announcement for me. I thought they were going to tell me we were going to America, or maybe they were going to send me to singing lessons . . .’

Mama falls silent, playing with the gold bangles wrapped round her wrist.

‘What happened?’ Aminah eventually asks, inching closer to her mother.

Mama smiles, looking at Aminah. ‘You’ll find out one day soon, though I’m afraid the story doesn’t have a happy ending.’ Aminah frowns. ‘But I am telling you this because I want you to do whatever it is you want with your life, even if that means moving away.’

Mama says nothing more. Instead she takes Aminah’s hand and leads her back through the Eid celebrations. She leads her up the stairs and to her room, all the while holding her hand. Aminah’s other hand hangs loosely by her side, the bracelet round her wrist, and I pretend to hold on to it too.

When they get to Mama’s room she lets go of Aminah’s hand and reaches for her dressing table. She pulls out a purple bottle made of glass cut into the shape of a diamond, a golden heart-shaped stopper at the top. Just like the one in my pocket.

‘What’s this?’ Aminah asks.

‘Perfume, of course,’ Mama says. ‘But not just any perfume; this one is special. With each year that passes the smell of the perfume will grow stronger, more fragrant. Try to save it for as long as you can. It will age with you. And knowing you, it will get better with each year.’

That’s when I understand Mama’s words. You’ll find out one day soon. She means through her memories . . . Has this all happened before?