When he again wrote ‘Adam’, she felt the anger rise in her, the protectiveness. ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this.’ She took the phone away from him and lay back on the grass again. She closed her eyes and kept them closed until she heard him standing up. ‘Where are you going?’ She scrambled up on to her knees, but he was already walking away. ‘There is no need for you to be upset,’ she called out as he broke into a trot.

Later, at the kitchen table, she told Iman what had happened. They had drawn closer since coming here. Moni cooked, and Iman appreciated her efforts. Salma on the other hand acted as if Moni was deliberately sabotaging her diet attempts. She avoided the kitchen and all the rituals of cooking that interested the other two.

Iman said, ‘Maybe his name is Adam. It could be. It’s a name anyone could have whatever their nationality or religion.’

Moni was still sceptical. ‘Perhaps.’

‘There is no other explanation,’ said Iman. She was dressed up in an outfit that was so ordinary and respectable that it didn’t even look like an outfit. Moni had gotten used to her in one outrageous costume or another but now found her different somehow, reliable and smudged round the edges. What was she dressed up as now? Receptionist? Bank teller?

‘You’re right. I should have at least taken him for his word, pretended to believe him.’ Now she may never see him again. She stood up and turned to the sink. Iman did not wash a single mug or dish. Salma and Moni did all the housework. Occasionally, Salma went up to Iman’s room to make the bed, empty the bin and bring down dirty bowls and cutlery.

‘Actually,’ said Iman. ‘Why don’t you look for his parents? At the very least you would meet them and then find out what his real name is.’

The idea had already crossed Moni’s mind. That day he had given her the umbrella, she had assumed he lived close by. However, on inspection she had found no cottages or lodges there. The cottages were scattered further in the grounds of the monastery. Approaching them, she would feel like an intruder. She could ask Mullin. He was often around doing one thing or the other. But she was convinced that Mullin didn’t like her.

‘Iman,’ she said, her fingers in the warm water. ‘Would you do a favour for me? Would you ask Mullin about the boy’s family?’

It was always a mistake to ask Iman to do anything. ‘Why me?’ She tossed her hair back. ‘Do it yourself. Or ask Salma.’

Salma was busy either with her phone or her fitness. She had found a gym in the monastery.

‘Please, Iman.’

‘No. Do it yourself.’