Iman was pleased with herself. She had resolved the issue and stopped the other two from arguing. She congratulated herself on not being passive, on doing something for a change. There will be a new Iman when we leave the loch, she mused as she walked upstairs to her room. Someone who is stronger, who knows what she wants. She still had to attain that last bit. To know what she wanted. It used to be a baby, that was all she ever wanted, but she could want other things, even though she was not yet sure what exactly. Choosing had never been easy for her. A skill she had not practised because, in a world of little or no choices, it had not been necessary. No more. She was in Britain now and there were choices. More choices than watching daytime TV or children’s movies. She could do this or that, be this or that. To know, to set herself on the right track, to strive, to achieve. One step at a time.

Salma grabbed her phone and stormed out of the cottage. She almost collided with Mullin who was riding a bicycle. He lost his balance and had to stop. ‘Whore,’ he muttered under his breath. Salma did not stop walking. She could not believe that he had just said that. Impossible. She must have heard wrong. He must have said, ‘Whoa!’ That’s what he said, because she nearly knocked him off his bicycle. She wasn’t looking where she was going. The next conversation with Amir would be laced with Moni’s perfume and, by extension, Moni’s disapproval. She did not need this reminder. She did not need pricks on her conscience. It was not that she didn’t feel any guilt at all talking to him, it was that the other things she felt were far stronger.

Overlooking the loch, she took her phone out. It did smell. It did smell.

She bent down and dunked it in the water. Would it get damaged beyond repair? It was unlike her not to care. But she did not want Moni’s perfume on her phone. And the other smell. It made her ashamed.