Moni and Salma became friends after that day, with Moni feeling a little beholden. She often brought Salma gifts, or cooked falafel for her. Salma adored the way Moni cooked falafel. There were variations to the recipe across the Arab world and Salma acquired a taste for Moni’s version with crisp chickpeas and dill. It gratified Moni that she could please Salma. Her admiration of her friend was so great that she elevated her to a special status. Salma belonged to the healthcare establishment on which Adam was dependent, and she was trained as a doctor. She was someone Moni could consult on every large and small detail.

Moni’s self-conscious appreciation of Salma was coloured by her own privileged upbringing. One in which women were gracious and men lauded for their largesse. One in which useful connections were cultivated and favours reciprocated. Compared to Salma and Iman, but not too blatantly, Moni was the one most financially secure. Wealthy parents, Murtada’s salary and her own prudent savings had resulted in this enviable position. Yet it hardly showed on her. She was unkempt and repetitive in her choice of shoes and handbags. An expensive piece of jewellery looked odd against the sunglasses she picked up from Primark.

To Iman, all this reeked of miserliness. Iman had known a wide spectrum of poverty, from scrambling for the next meal to ultra-careful rationing to tremendous efforts to keep up appearances, all glued together by insecurity. So it made no sense to her at all that someone as loaded as Moni could see beauty through a shop window and pass it by. To Iman’s dismay, Moni’s spacious flat was sparsely furnished, with Adam’s paraphernalia taking centre stage. When Iman brought this to Salma’s attention, she was surprised at how staunchly Salma had defended Moni, pointing out the generous gifts she had given her and how she spared no expense on Adam’s treatment. Iman was unconvinced but her own lack of confidence made it difficult for her to argue with Salma. Growing up in a family in which her opinion never mattered, she found that her thoughts only developed up to a certain point before the argument aborted or disintegrated. She sensed without having proof; she saw in Moni a supressed meanness and a deep-set strictness.

‘Iman, sing for us,’ said Salma, still in a good mood despite not being able to drive as she wanted to because of roadworks blocking one side of the motorway. Iman started to sing. There was a yearning in her voice for a home that would be more than a physical space, carried in the ancient words and melodies all the way from the Euphrates. Usually this familiar song brought tears to Salma’s eyes but today she was carefree, heedless of the words, distracted by the other cars on the road.

It was Moni who suddenly felt choked. The longing in the song was spiritual but it manifested itself to her as a drowning person’s gasp for air. A necessity, a grab for freedom from pain. It reminded her of the times she had prayed for a miracle. The kind of miracle that would have Adam standing up on his feet. His illness was a test of her faith, but sometimes she indulged in fantasies. Fantasies of him doing well in school, opening a gift she had wrapped up for him, laughing out loud while watching cartoons or stomping off in a huff when she rebuked him. ‘Stop it,’ she snapped at Iman. ‘Stop singing.’