Salma was moved by Iman’s anxiety, the dip in Iman’s head, the darkening of her eyes. At the same time, a side of her could not help but admire the aesthetics. Sadness on Iman was like dark eyeshadow, like good mascara or smudged kohl. There was a cosmetic veneer about it that rendered Iman photogenic. Iman now took out an emery board from her handbag and started filing her nails. Only then did Salma stop talking.

Salma removed her SIM card from her old phone and put it in the new one. She called David and, when he didn’t pick up, left him a voice message, saying she was speaking from her beautiful new phone, laughing through her thanks and goodbyes. She checked for new messages. It was now lunchtime in Egypt and Amir would have had time to answer her text. But there was nothing new. ‘Remember,’ she said to Iman, speaking as if she had to choose every word with care, ‘some time back I told you about an old colleague from university who contacted me via social media?’

‘The one you were engaged to?’

‘We never did get officially engaged. But yes, him. You told me not to accept his friend request.’

‘Of course. Most people are desperate to unfriend, block and avoid seeing news of their exes, let alone adding them as friends. Don’t tell me you did?’

Salma made a face.

Iman laughed. ‘Well, I warned you, didn’t I? What happened?’

‘Nothing.’ What could possibly happen when they were in totally different countries, when they were both happily married – at least she was, she wasn’t sure about him. They were both tied down by children and jobs, continents apart. It was this sense of safety that allowed her to correspond with him. A confidence in herself. Now in the car, she said to Iman, ‘Strange thoughts and dreams of a parallel life I could have had, if I hadn’t left him.’

‘It wouldn’t have been a better life,’ said Iman. Her tone was careless, like tossing back her hair or flopping onto a sofa. ‘You have a good life, Salma. A lot of people envy you.’

The word ‘envy’ irritated Salma. Roused her anxiety for her children, and for her successful life too. David was a Scottish convert and that meant she was treated better by him than her friends were who were married to Arab, African or Asian men. David gave her all the freedom she wanted. He respected her opinions. He shared all the household tasks. She had nothing, not a grievance small or large, unless you counted the latest quarrel, to complain about. Only perhaps the occasional feeling of greed, of wanting more, more of David’s time and touch. More of his undivided attention. But surely that didn’t count. Perhaps she should have listened to Iman, who had more experience with discarded partners. A mixture of curiosity and feigned innocence had made her accept that friend request.

Salma said, wanting to be clear, wanting to justify herself, ‘Maybe not a better life. But completely different.’