Omar shrugged, covering up his careless mistake. ‘Oh, right then. You know me, always behind on the news.’

‘Well, here’s some up-to-the-minute news for you,’ Shona said. ‘I’m going to see your Nanu in Bangladesh after we break up for the summer, around the fifteenth.’ She asked entreatingly, although without much hope, ‘I don’t suppose you might like to come with me? Just for a couple of weeks? I’ll get your ticket, it wouldn’t cost you anything.’

Omar paused for a moment. He had a few weeks to kill before August, when Jim would be back from his family holiday. He had thought he would just lounge about in Tooting and catch up with friends, but he had lots of time to do that before the fifteenth. And once his mum was away it would be pretty dull at home, what with his dad working, and Sharif doubtless spending every spare moment with Candida, when he wasn’t gigging or pretending to work. ‘Sure,’ he said eventually. ‘Why not? I’ve not seen Nanu and old Ammie for ages.’

Shona hugged Omar from across the table. ‘That’s wonderful, darling. We’ll have so much fun.’ She breathed with relief that she wouldn’t have to face her mother on her own. She would have her clever son as her protection; her mother was much more likely to behave herself if her Oxonian undergraduate grandson was there. Perhaps then she might choose to play the role of gracious matriarch rather than wicked, scheming witch.

The Dhaka Tea Party

TYPICALLY, WHEN SHONA and Omar arrived at the Dhaka townhouse, sweaty and tired after the long flight and the hectic drive, there was no one there to greet them. ‘Your Amma must be out visiting,’ said the young chauffeur, far more louche and familiar than the respectable, elderly driver of past years. They settled themselves in their usual guest quarters, and while Omar fell asleep, Shona sat in the dining room and waited for her mother. A sweet-faced village girl, whom Henna must have taken on since her last visit, brought Shona a glass of cold lemon sherbet with just a bit too much sugar. ‘Has school finished already today?’ Shona asked kindly, just to make conversation. The girl looked very young, barely older than ten, and giggled, delighted at such a funny question.

‘School is finished. Now I am twelve, I work instead,’ she said proudly, adding unnecessarily, ‘I work here.’ She went back into the kitchen with a light, cheerful step.

Shona frowned. Of course her mother would not have seen the value in sending the girl back to school; her own claims to have almost avoided school by a prepubescent marriage were well documented.