Salma went for a walk. She wanted to see where the phone signal was strongest. Despite what Mullin had said, it was weak in the cottage. She walked towards the water, finding the air warmer the further she went along the path. It was smooth at first and then became twisted and unclear, and she kept looking behind her every once in a while to memorise the route so that she could find her way back. It felt good to walk after sitting in the car for so long. Her body, inherently athletic, needed movement. She used to play tennis with Amir, making sure that she never beat him but at the same time keeping him challenged so that he would not be bored. At times she wondered if he suspected that she was deliberately missing shots, slowing down in her reflexes, not running towards the net fast enough. His ego always needed massaging and she must have been good at massage, even then. Now it was her bread and butter.

She smiled to herself and walked faster, enjoying how her body warmed up. Tomorrow she would wear her trainers and go for a run. It would be great to thrash through these trees, to smell the earth and her own sweat. Normally, she would now be bustling back in the cottage, putting away all the groceries in the kitchen, deciding whether the meat they had been carrying had defrosted or not and to what extent. Let Moni deal with it. Besides, she needed a decent phone signal to send a message to David, reassuring him of their safe arrival.

Moni changed into a comfortable green jellabiya and set about organising the kitchen. Finding out where everything was, teaching herself how to use the cooker, absorbed her; each simple task a challenge she could overcome and feel proud that she had overcome. The meat they had been ­carry­ing – portions covered in aluminium foil – was impossible to tell apart. Was this chicken or beef cubes or mince? She chose the softest packet, which turned out to be the mince. It had defrosted quicker than the others. She started to make kofta, seasoning the meat and then rolling it into balls, which she coated with eggs and flour. She looked up in surprise when Iman came in dressed in costume. ‘That turquoise belt is something,’ she said.

‘Cleopatra,’ said Iman. She stretched up her neck, balancing an imaginary crown.

‘What?’

Iman explained about the costumes in the cupboard. ‘There is a matching wig too,’ she said and complimented Moni on her jellabiya.

Moni was surprised and flattered. She sliced tomatoes to make a sauce for the kofta, searched for the black pepper. She knew why she was beginning to relax. It was because the phone signal was poor. Murtada could not call her now. All he did was put pressure on her. Send me a scan of your passport. Pack up and take your son to his father, that’s where you belong.