Moni was sniffling into a tissue when she and Salma walked out of the nursing home. Iman took up her place in the front passenger seat and pretended not to notice. She didn’t want to embarrass Moni. It was a shame, but what was the right thing to say in such a situation? It was obvious that Salma had pulled off a miracle in persuading Moni to leave Adam. Iman admired Salma’s perseverance, her confidence in doing the right thing. This was why she felt safe with Salma. Someone who knew all the answers, who filled in the gaps for older cousins and young aunties left behind. Last year, when Iman married Ibrahim, Salma had helped her with all the preparations, hosting the henna party at her house and even sugaring Iman’s legs for her.

Salma led Moni into the back seat behind Iman. She buckled up the belt for her. Moni started saying the travel prayer even before Salma got into the driver’s seat, ‘. . . we are returning . . .’ Spread out in the back, she could see Salma skirting the bonnet of the car, the definitive bounce in her step, the way she sat up straight and punched in the destination on the GPS.

Iman answered a text from her husband. All her husbands, one after the other, were possessive. Even Salma was a possessive friend. Iman, surrounded by this tight grip of adulation and comfort, didn’t long to escape; like a pet, she neither bristled nor rebelled. She did, though, see herself growing up, becoming more independent. She was not sure how this independence would come about. It would not take the shape of aloneness, she was sure. Always, Iman was surrounded by others. She was sought after because she was decorative and enhancing. If she felt hemmed in, it was because she was popular and in high demand. Everything has a cost. Whenever she turned, there would be someone to guide her, adopt and sponsor her. In return, they owned her one way or the other. She tolerated all this for the time being. She took it for granted. It was bearable and not altogether unpleasant. Deep down she knew that when the right time came to exit, she could slip out and no one would be able to hold her back.

Moni prayed that she would return safely to her son. She prayed that he would be all right while she was away. Through her tears, she saw the familiar orange sign of Sainsbury’s. It had been a long time since she was in a supermarket. She ordered everything online and had it delivered. Weeks passed in which all she did was take Adam back and forth to the doctor, to the district nurse and to Salma, his massage therapist. It got harder, not easier. And she needed every cell in her brain and every ounce of energy to look after him.

Salma drove fast, out of the city. She had chosen to take the longer route because it afforded the better road. The speed made her aggressive. ‘The loch is a great place, Moni. Beautiful scenery. There are forest trails where we can go for walks. We can go on a boat. You’ll love it. And then, inshallah, we will accomplish our goal and read Fatiha at Lady Evelyn’s grave. There’ll be a selfie of us stuck online showing everyone that, yes, we’ve done it!’