All the same, Inaya continued to sneak off to tape-ball practice before school. She had told her grandparents about it, but Irfan had been given to believe that she was going to school for extra lessons—and he was delighted with the interest she was showing in her studies.

This morning as always, she nipped into the kitchen at the crack of dawn to get herself something to eat before she left. As she reached for the light switch, her heart skipped a beat; she sensed the presence of someone else in the kitchen. It couldn’t be anyone from her family. Inaya knew the clockwork-like routines of every single person in the house. Her grandparents came downstairs at six and her father came half an hour after that to get the newspaper.

She slowly inched back towards the telephone in the hall to dial the police emergency number. Then she heard a cough that sounded familiar. Gathering her courage, Inaya peeped into the kitchen again.

Silhouetted in the dim glow of the streetlight was her grandfather, seated at the kitchen table. He seemed to be writing something. She switched on the light. Her grandfather looked up, but there wasn’t even the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes.

‘Daada?’ said Inaya, approaching him tentatively.

He took no notice of her and went back to scribbling away on a piece of paper. Inaya felt utterly spooked by Daada’s strange behaviour. Saba had been telling her about this book she was reading in which a young boy gets possessed by an evil djinn. Had Daada been possessed by a djinn? Why wasn’t he speaking?

Inaya heard soft footsteps behind her and heaved a huge sigh of relief upon seeing her grandmother walk in.

‘Daadi, something’s wrong with Daada! He’s behaving really odd.’

Humaira didn’t seem too perturbed. ‘It’s okay, Inaya. He sleepwalks sometimes,’ she said soothingly. ‘And he draws in his sleep too, occasionally.’

‘What?’ said Inaya, aghast that she had no idea about this. ‘Daada sleepwalks? And sleep-sketches as well?’

Her grandmother nodded. ‘It’s nothing to be worried about, my kishmish,’ she said. ‘When he wakes up, he’ll take his medication—and he’ll be just fine. Last night, he fell asleep watching the news and forgot to take his pill. You carry on for practice—he’s fine.’

Inaya didn’t think Daada looked fine, but one look at the clock told her that she needed to quickly eat and head out.

‘I’ll spend some time with Daada when I’m back from school,’ she promised, popping two slices of bread into the toaster.

‘Don’t mention anything to him about this morning, Inaya—he feels embarrassed about it.’

‘But why should he be embarrassed, Daadi? It’s not his fault that he sleepwalks. It’s just a condition . . . like being seasick or something.’

‘We’ll talk some more when you’re back. Go now, my kishmish, before your father wakes up.’

Later that evening, Inaya sat curled in the armchair beside her grandfather, as he watched the news on the television. ‘Watched’ was perhaps the wrong word, as he nodded off every so often, his head drooping to one side. Inaya looked at him, wondering whether he would start sleepwalking again. She hoped not. It was unsettling enough having to deal with it this morning. And even though Daadi had said it was all fine, she had used ‘that voice’. The voice that she used when she spoke about things that disturbed her, but she didn’t want to admit they did. Such as the fact that Inaya’s mother, Benaifer, was not Muslim but Parsi.