She continued to talk to her as she walked back to the car, got in and fastened her seat belt. Slowly, she drove out of the car park, sliding into the road, then turning on to the dual carriageway, picking up speed. Glory be to Him who has given us control over this . . .

‘Sorry, sweetie, there’s no room and you have to keep your seat belt on,’ Salma said when Iman said she wanted to stretch out in the back. Iman did not want to sleep but she was finding it an effort to hold herself upright. Plastic bags containing her belongings were on the seat next to her and on the floor. This was what Ibrahim had used to pack up her life and wipe all trace of her from his rented flat. She rummaged through the bags and felt a sense of surprise as if she were seeing her possessions for the first time. They were all hers. Some of them were presents from Ibrahim, like the skimpy nightdress with the matching fluffy slippers, the purple headphones and the Hello Kitty calendar. She loved calendars. The act of matching dates with the day of the week enchanted her. She was delighted the day she found out, online, that she had been born on a Thursday. Her mother had told her she was born on a Wednesday, but her mother must have got muddled up because of all the children she’d had. Iman flipped open the Hello Kitty calendar. She had marked the days of her period and the possible days of ovulation. Looking back now, she wondered whether Ibrahim had ever been sincere in wanting to have a baby.

Iman opened her mouth to stifle a sob. A funny sound came out of her in between a hiccup and a croak.

‘Are you all right?’ Moni turned to look at her.

Iman nodded and closed her eyes. She did not want to talk about Ibrahim any more. Enough for now.

Moni, upgraded to the front next to Salma, felt that she was in a position of strength. She turned and chided Iman while addressing Salma, ‘She ran off down that slope as if she was chasing something. And I saw him come down after her. He didn’t say hello, but he knew very well who I was. I never thought well of him!’

When Salma didn’t reply, Moni felt she could not go on. She checked her watch and saw that it was teatime now at the nursing home. That’s what they called dinner. Adam would be eating food that she hadn’t cooked. She felt guilty, but she also felt restless and empty-handed. Iman’s predicament had been a distraction. It had taken her away from herself.

Iman heard a sound and sat up. It could not be the sea because they were no longer near the sea. It could be a song or a chant. A movement caught her eyes; it was as if something was skidding or flying alongside the car, like a shadow or a reflection. Perhaps it was only the car’s silhouette on the moss-covered cliffs. But the shadow did have wings and at times it slithered nearer, then seemingly lost the connection, disappeared, then became visible again as if it was a struggle for it to catch up. Iman felt comforted by the shape and the sound it was making: soothing, not exactly urgent but with a forward lift. She opened her window and the sound became clearer, lilting and twittering. Opposite to the cliffs were fields and trees of rough beauty. Iman wished she was not cooped up in the car. She pictured herself a Disney princess, in one of the many films she had watched with Salma’s children, walking between the rowan trees, surrounded by small creatures whose role was to protect her from harm and keep her company.