She was searching for drinking water and coffee, but she found something else. On the door it said Monks’ Refectory. She pushed open the door. A big wide space, wood panelling along all the walls, red paint all the way up to the high ceiling, stained-glass windows. When the door closed behind her, she saw a sign with information about the room. Here was where the monks had their meals. This had been their dining room. A pulpit protruded from one end of the room. There, during mealtimes, one of the monks would stand and read from the Holy Scripture. The room was now a comfortable lounge, furnished in tartan with a billiards table and armchairs. There was no one using it, but Salma felt a thickening in the air. It almost had a colour and a visibility. It almost had a hum. It was as if the monk standing at the pulpit and reading had left an imprint. As if the words spoken over the blessing of food had magnified in power. A moment of true sincerity had done this. Maybe the young monk had been hungry, smelling food he could not eat, at least not yet. But he believed what he was doing was necessary, to bless the food, to give thanks. And now, long after the monks had gone and their lifestyle with them, this spirituality lingered and refreshed. A thickening, that’s how she would describe it. Like normal air turning to smoke, like when you’re making sauce, stirring the spoon easily through liquid waiting for a change and then it comes, almost imperceptible, that first hint of heaviness. This heaviness was here, in this room, she felt it.

When she went back to the cottage, she joined Moni in the garden. She sat on the grass and finished the bottle of water she had eventually managed to buy.

Moni started talking about the boy she had seen earlier but soon found herself running out of words. She couldn’t describe why he had made such a big impression on her. Besides, Salma was asking her about Iman. ‘She found coloured pencils on the shelf, next to the board games, and she’s been drawing birds ever since.’

‘That’s good,’ said Salma. There was always a tenderness in her voice when she spoke about Iman. Salma switched to talking about Lady Evelyn. She had noticed the book on the table next to Moni. ‘Are you reading it from cover to cover?’

‘Of course, how else?’

‘I keep dipping into it, bits and pieces, but it stays with me. I liked how her granddaughter said she was frail but physically tough. When she went out hunting, her tweed riding suit would get soaked because she dragged herself over the wet heather, then she would come home, have a hot bath and the next morning put it on wet again!’

Moni made a face. ‘I didn’t get to that part yet.’

Salma launched into the benefits of physical exercise. ‘You know, sitting is the new smoking,’ she said. ‘It’s just as bad for you.’