Iman was down in the cove when Ibrahim found her. She had spread out her coat on the sand and was lying on it. Above her, the jutting stone was like a ceiling. She thought Ibrahim would lie down next to her. She wanted him to, but he was flustered, obviously upset. She sat up and crossed her legs. He refused to sit down and instead paced to and fro, kicking pebbles out of his way.

‘My father is here,’ he said. ‘He is here with my mother and older brother . . .’

She knew about this. It was why Ibrahim had changed his mind at the last minute and allowed her to go on this trip with Salma. At first, he had said no, three women travelling on their own was not a good idea. Normally, he was possessive about her, wanting her with him, near him, at home when he came back from university, always within reach. Not this time, though. As soon as he had heard that his parents were coming, he said she could, after all, with his full approval, join Salma and Moni. He had wanted her out of the way when his family came. They didn’t know about their marriage. And he had wanted to keep it that way.

‘They found out about us,’ he said. ‘They heard about it. I don’t know how. Don’t know who told them. But that’s why they’re here. That’s why they came.’

Iman’s first thought was that he had come to fetch her, to take her back so that she could meet them. No need to hide. No need to be tucked away at the loch with Salma and Moni.

‘My father is furious,’ Ibrahim said.

She was taken aback but still hopeful. ‘He’ll come round. Give him time. If he meets me—’

‘No, you don’t know him. He won’t give you a chance. He’s going to cut me off.’

‘But you have a scholarship,’ she said. ‘The government pays for your studies.’

‘They were, but when I failed and had to repeat the year, they stopped the grant and my father started paying—’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She hadn’t even guessed. He had been as generous as ever.

‘I was ashamed to tell you.’

‘But I tell you everything.’

‘The point is my father is now saying he’ll cut me off. I have no choice. I have to divorce you.’

‘You can’t . . .’

‘My father is ordering me to do so. I have no choice. Don’t cry. Please.’

‘You don’t mean it,’ she shouted. ‘He can’t force you. You don’t have to listen to him.’

‘I will send you money. As soon as he’s back giving me my allowance. I’ll put money in your account.’

But for how long? Until she remarries? Would it always be like this, from one husband to another? She stood up and grabbed him by the shoulders. His arms dangled by his side. Helpless and furtive, he didn’t want to meet her eyes. ‘You can’t do this. It’s wrong.’ She shook him and struggled for the right words. The argument that would convince him, pull the brakes before everything crashed.