They laughed and hugged each other. It seemed like an eternity since they had last heard Iman speak, seen Moni standing up, felt Salma’s firm embrace. For a long time they celebrated, touching their own faces and bodies in wonder. Moni raised both arms up in the air, Salma lifted Iman – she could do that – and Iman started to sing the loudest she had ever sung. Salma did jumping jacks, Moni clapped her hands, Iman combed her fingers through her beautiful hair. All three knelt and touched their foreheads to the ground, in gratitude.

They forgot about the Hoopoe and they forgot how urgently they had wanted to return.

When Iman noticed he had gone, she reassured the other two that he would come back. ‘We must wait,’ she said.

‘Can’t you call him?’ said Moni.

‘No,’ said Iman. ‘He will come on his own.’ She told them all the stories the Hoopoe had told her. She told them the one about the bear who killed its master by mistake, the sad tale of the selkie, the story of the young camel and that of the frozen snake. She told them the story about Nathan, who long ago lived at the loch, of the sin he committed and how he tied himself up with chains and threw the key in the river. How he travelled to Jerusalem and how one day he cut open a fish and found the key to his freedom.

Moni and Salma listened to her for hours, captivated by her voice and the tales she was spinning. ‘Iman, you are no longer shy,’ said Salma. The petulance was gone and the studied boredom. The revulsion against being cast as feminine, or even human, all melted away. Iman had grown up. She wore maturity like a cape and it was the best piece of clothing she had ever put on.

‘I love life,’ said Moni. And the other two laughed. This did not sound like the Moni they knew. But here she was, cross-legged on the grass, a flower in her hand. She was beginning to look around her, to see all that was beautiful and fascinating. To step away from herself and her problems. To be more than a mother of a disabled child, more than a full-time carer. It should not be a burden looking after Adam, a sacrifice to be self-righteous about, it should be carried with firmness and ease. With gratitude too, because he was special in his own way, unique. If she let her guard down, she could be more generous, more willing to mother another child, a sister for Adam or a brother. That would be moving on – members of a family, each with their weaknesses and strengths. My children, she would say to others. Show photos of Adam being loved and accepted by another child, someone who would never judge him, someone who would know him in a new way.