‘You’re hallucinating, my dear. I’m sorry to tell you this. The smell is all in your imagination.’

‘Iman smelt it too.’

‘By suggestion. From you.’

Moni turned to Iman for a defence. Iman said nothing. Emboldened, Salma said, ‘I will take my phone all the way to the monastery where the signal is strongest. A bit of rain won’t hurt me.’

‘I know why you’re so attached to your phone these days,’ said Moni. ‘Iman told me everything.’

Salma stopped and turned to glare at Iman. Her friend refused to meet her eye. Iman had told Moni about Amir when she had specifically told her not to. And here it was now, the predictable telling-off from Moni.

‘It’s wrong,’ said Moni. ‘You need to stop this, Salma. It’s beneath your dignity. It’s playing with fire. You’ll ruin your life and all that you’ve worked hard to build.’

‘Oh, the drama,’ said Salma, sitting down again. ‘It’s only texts and a few phone calls. Hardly enough to get me stoned to death.’

Iman said, ‘In your heart and thoughts you’re cheating on David. That’s just as bad.’

‘I thought you understood me, Iman,’ said Salma. She could take all this from Moni, but not Iman.

‘Stop contacting him,’ said Moni. ‘Stop it now before it gets out of hand. Can’t you see what’s going to happen? You will get so caught up with him, you won’t be able to be with your husband any more. Your relationship with him will become strained. He has rights on you and so do your children.’

‘Ah, the expert on marital bliss is talking. What do you know about successful marriages? You’ve put your son’s needs above your own husband’s. Above your own needs. How is that fair?’

‘She’s right,’ Iman said. ‘You’re not a good wife, Moni.’

Moni’s face flushed. She opened her mouth to speak, but Salma interrupted her. ‘Don’t give me lectures on a wife’s duty, Moni, when you lock your husband out of your bedroom at night.’

Iman raised her eyebrows.

Moni wished she had never told Salma that particular detail. She had been so keen to demonstrate what a devoted mother she was, sharing her bed with Adam, keeping her husband out. One night, when Murtada had come whispering her name so as not to wake his sleeping son, she had raised her head from the pillow and hissed, ‘What do you want?’ in a way designed to make him shrivel. The next time he travelled away and came back, he found that she had installed a lock. Moni drew in a breath. ‘I might not be a good wife, but I have my virtue, thank you very much. I’m not two steps away from adultery.’

‘Up to your neck in disobedience instead.’