Every morsel she put in her mouth, every piece of clothing, was provided for her by Ibrahim. The rent, the gas, the internet. She did not have to beg, borrow or steal. She did not need to get up at the crack of dawn, take orders from a line manager or clean up other people’s homes. Instead, she was as pampered as a racehorse and as busy as a geisha.

To what extent is marriage religiously sanctioned prostitution? Iman sometimes pondered this question. She had even discussed it with Salma on more than one occasion – as much as she was capable of discussion. Salma of course had been adamant that the two were completely different. Iman wasn’t sure, and the arguments Salma used didn’t fully convince her. Prostitution and marriage. Man pays and woman serves. He houses, clothes and feeds her to get something in return. So what was the difference between the two?

Iman’s phone rang. It was Ibrahim, insistent that they turn around so that he could speak to her. ‘Give me Salma,’ he said.

‘She’s driving. She can’t speak to you.’

Salma turned to look at Iman. ‘What does he want?’

Iman moved the phone away from her face. ‘He wants you to stop somewhere so he can catch up with us. He says he needs to give me something and it’s urgent.’

‘I’ve already left Dundee,’ Ibrahim was now shouting through the phone. ‘I’m making my way towards you. Stay at Finavon. Just stay there and wait for me.’

Iman brought the phone back to her face. ‘We’ve already left.’

‘Let me speak to Salma.’

‘I told you she’s driving.’

‘Put me on speaker mode.’

His voice was now in the car with them. ‘Salma, turn back,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll meet you at the service coffee shop.’

Salma made a face.

‘Just ignore him,’ Iman whispered.

Salma shook her head. ‘Ibrahim, not Finavon. I’ll turn into Stonehaven and we’ll wait for you at the castle.’

‘Are you sure?’ The relief was obvious in Iman’s voice.

‘Yes.’ Salma was made generous by the sense of holiday. They had time, so why not dawdle a little. ‘It’s beautiful there. We’ll enjoy it especially now that it’s stopped raining.’ Getting away from it all. Away from responsibility, away from authority, bodies set free from routines, perspectives altered, distances distracting. Every holiday was a test. Every holiday was a risk.

Chapter Three

The visitors’ car park was separated from the castle by a narrow winding footpath. The three had to walk in single file. Salma and Iman walked faster than Moni. Moni dragged her heels. She was not interested in seeing any castles. But Salma had refused to let her wait in the car.

The path sloped downward, which made the walk pleasant for Salma and Iman but only made Moni worry about the upward return. She began to perspire. She took off her coat, draped it across her arm and walked on with the belt dragging on the ground. There were now steps and a railing she could hold on to, but still she struggled. The distance between her and the other two grew until it became too large for any meaningful conversation. She would have to shout if she wanted them to hear her. It was as if they were trying to shrug her off. Moni stopped making an effort to catch up and slowed down further. She could make out Iman’s figure ahead and, beneath her on the slope, Salma’s wide bouncy strides. Then the track flattened again, and she lost sight of them.