Shona ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘It’s enough to be clever, darling. You don’t have to be modest, too.’ The phone rang, and they both jumped. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Shona quickly; Dermot was uncharacteristically early. But Omar was too quick for her. ‘Hello, Karim residence,’ he said. ‘Oh, all right, mate!’ he answered in delight on recognizing the voice. ‘Thought it might be you. Hold on, I’m taking it in the other room.’

‘Is it Sharif?’ asked Shona, as he put the phone down and headed to Rashid’s office.

‘Nope, Jim from college. Calling from Portugal,’ Omar answered briefly over his shoulder.

Shona sighed. While they were gossiping about girls and suchlike, Dermot would call and not get through. Oh well, she’d text him and arrange another time. Glancing at Omar’s notes, she thought about what he’d said. Perhaps she had never learned to dissemble, to pretend, to play-act, as she knew she did so effectively; perhaps it had always been with her, part of her heritage from her duplicitous mother and bigamous father, and she had just needed to be exposed to the right stimuli to discover it for herself. She couldn’t claim to have been taught to behave this way; it was the way she had always been. Or was deception just another language she’d been taught, along with Urdu, Bangla and English? Was it something that could be unlearned, or was it part of her? Maybe I could learn something new, to replace it, thought Shona; I’m a language teacher, so why can’t I teach Amma, and Papa, and me to learn a new language, a new way of speaking, of behaving. She sighed again; how vain she was, as though she believed she really could intellectualize away adultery; it was one of the oldest sins, and one that they were all three guilty of, and it was what had caused this convoluted turn of events. And yet, she was still trying to keep her secret hidden. Because it would be better for the boys, she told herself. Her throat suddenly felt very dry.