She paused, trying to remember something in the background to this narrative. Something she was ashamed of, the degree of shame small enough that she could bury it. A little thing. It nagged her now, but she went on. ‘When we first moved to Scotland, the tables turned. I suddenly didn’t know anything. I couldn’t even understand what people around me were saying. All the skills I had – haggling to bring the price down, crossing a busy street, finding an ingenious way to solve a problem – were useless. The prices were fixed, there were traffic lights and there was usually only one way to solve a problem. David would go to work and I would sit at home. I became dependent on him and I didn’t like it. I finished my training and started to work. And here I am.’

‘Successful, mashallah,’ said Moni. ‘We all look up to you.’

Salma smiled. She accepted the compliment. Hers was a story of accomplishments and it pleased others to hear it. She must put Amir out of her mind. There was no point in continuing to text him. What use would it do? And yes, it could be possibly harmful. But she would like to see him. For old times’ sake. To apologise. She owed him an apology. She had treated him shabbily. Her parents had treated him shabbily. He was scarred by what she did. It took him ages to get over it. He had never lied or dragged his heels voluntarily. It was true that, at the time, his mother was having a mastectomy and his father was indeed taking his cousin to court to sell their ancestral piece of land. It was true because of the evidence she had seen. That was it! The large envelope addressed to her. Inside it were some official papers. This was the detail she had not mentioned. The bit in the story she was ashamed about.

A large envelope had been delivered to her flat on the day she came back from her wedding-dress fitting. She had walked in still dreamy from seeing her bridal self in the dressmaker’s mirror, the waves of white taffeta, the tulle sleeves and the floor-length silken veil. She had picked up the envelope and seen her name in Amir’s handwriting. She scowled, irritated. What does he want? She was ablaze with the preparations, almost feverish as every one of her wishes for the wedding was granted. What right did he have to intrude? In the envelope was a copy of the medical record of Amir’s mother and a copy of the court case his father was pursuing. Bastard, she had thought, trying to bully me back to him, wanting to ruin my happiness, they’re all probably forged. She had glared at the claims of weakness, before tearing them up. But the documents had been authentic. She and her parents had done him an injustice. How poignant that Amir desperately needed her to believe him. How young of him.