The real nurse came back and explained how Moni in the next few days could phone in to check up on Adam. ‘Anytime is fine, but please avoid calling during mealtimes when the staff are busy with the children.’ The sentence startled Moni. She wasn’t really going to leave him to be fed by strangers, was she? Strangers who might need to answer the phone calls of inconsiderate parents. Adam started to cry and fidget, his right leg jerked. She sat down on the bed and pulled him onto her lap. She gathered the expanse of his limbs, the awkward angles of his body, his spread-out weight and smoothed him to a centre. He fretted while she rocked and soothed him, her chin on his curls, his saliva dripping on her wrist. When contentment settled on him, he became less stiff and she felt settled too. With him was total belonging and peace. She didn’t want to leave, neither to take him back home nor to travel with Salma and Moni. She was happy like this, her lap full of his closeness, his smell, his sounds. She had given him a bath this morning, dressed him in his best clothes so that he would make a good impression. This was a special outing for him. The nursing home was a nice place and the nurses were kind. She would stay with him, why not? Yes, that was the best idea, she would help the nurses by looking after Adam while they concentrated on the other children. It would be a change for her, all the change she needed. Never mind about the trip to the Highlands.

From outside, the nursing home looked like any ordinary bungalow in a residential area, perhaps a little bigger, but it blended with its surroundings. Iman opened her door and undid her seat belt. The weather was pleasant, a late summer that was hitting its stride rather than giving in to the cold winds of autumn. ‘Moni will take for ever. The meat will thaw,’ she said. They were carrying frozen halal chicken and minced beef in the boot, knowing they would not find any in the shops near the loch.

‘No, it won’t,’ said Salma. ‘I wrapped it in aluminium foil.’ She strummed her fingers on the steering wheel, already thinking of how to utilise the time. Nip inside to use the toilet, check her phone for messages or chat to Iman? She reached into her bag and felt something square and hard. She pulled out a gift-wrapped box. There was a note attached to it from her husband, David. Happy Journey, my love.

She tore through the wrapping, tossing it on Iman’s lap, and gasped when she saw the new smartphone.

‘Ooh, you’re lucky,’ said Iman, starting to fold up the paper.

The screen was larger than Salma’s two-year-old one, the whole phone slimmer, its back a pure creamy white. She switched it on straight away, the button only needing the slightest touch, the lights flaring towards her in a swarm of colours.