‘I neglect my prayers for the sake of Adam. You don’t think I would neglect Murtada?’

‘Oh, the martyr,’ said Salma. ‘It’s all about motherhood for you.’

‘I can’t help it if my son is disabled.’ There it was, the pride in her position. ‘You’re the one who should be ashamed, Salma. Not me. Is it any wonder that your phone stinks, with all that disloyalty passing through it day and night? Have some self-respect.’

Iman spoke up, ‘We want what’s best for you, Salma. David is such a good husband. You say that yourself. How can you do this to him? He’s done you no wrong.’

‘I’m not doing anything to him. This is separate from him.’

‘How can it be nothing to do with him?’ said Moni. ‘How would you feel if he was having some virtual relationship with someone else?’

She would be hurt, of course, her self-esteem dropping to zero. It would matter who this other woman was, what kind of rival. It would make a difference if she was a younger version of herself. It would make a difference if she was white, or prettier, or with a better job. She would never forgive him.

‘Think of the children,’ Iman said. ‘Is that how you want them to know you? You’re their role model.’

‘No, I’m not,’ snapped Salma. ‘They’re ashamed of me. Ashamed of my accent, my background, my opinions. I’m losing them. Day by day, they get older and more British and sometimes I hardly know them any more.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ said Iman. ‘They love you. I know that.’

‘You’re the foundation of their life,’ said Moni. ‘They take you for granted. They probably take their father for granted too. But both of you, and the strong relationship between you, that’s what’s holding the family together. Don’t break that.’

Salma wished for tears of remorse, welling from a sense of shame. Instead she felt anger grow inside her. Moni couldn’t understand. Iman, who had more sympathy and imagination, was being obtuse. She had told her explicitly not to tell Moni about Amir. She turned to her now.

‘What happened to you, Iman? I trusted you. What got into you?’

Iman shrugged. When the other two stared at her, wanting her to explain, she started choosing each word with care. ‘I’ve been thinking about myself and my future, wondering what I really want. For a long time, all I wanted was a baby of my own, all I could imagine for myself was to be a mother. But that didn’t happen and it’s not likely to happen soon. It might not happen at all. No, don’t start to interrupt and insist that I must hope. It’s not about optimism or despair. And it’s not all about you, Salma, or how you treat me.’