SHONA AND PARVEZ had been married for some time, and were perplexed as to why all their frequent and enjoyable lovemaking had not yet succeeded in bearing fruit. For the first few months, they had been philosophical, thinking perhaps they simply needed to be patient. The few months after that, while Parvez remained genial and relaxed, Shona became paranoid and tetchy. She had intended to put off continuing her studies for motherhood, and yet motherhood was stubbornly eluding her.

Convinced that it was their fault for being too naive and easy-going about the whole thing, she adopted a more businesslike approach to the matter of conception. She stood on her head after making love, and read voraciously on the best diets for them to follow. Parvez found the loving inedible messes that Shona used to produce in her attempts at home-cooking were replaced with unsalted, barely heated green leafy vegetables and steamed fish. His usual morning tea was switched for unappealing herbal alternatives, and his whisky bottle inexplicably banished. But Shona’s enthusiastic efforts out of the bedroom were unfortunately not much more effective than their joint efforts within it. Every time her irregular menstruation began, she locked herself in the bathroom and cried secretly.

On one such occasion, Parvez had returned to the flat unexpectedly in the middle of the day to surprise Shona with some flowers, and heard muffled sobs through the bathroom door. He tried the door, but it was locked. ‘Goldie, are you in there?’ he asked unnecessarily, before asking the more pertinent question, ‘Are you OK?’

He heard Shona blow her nose noisily, and answer in a tremulous voice that was intended to be stern, ‘I’m fine. I’m just going to the loo. What are you doing back here?’

’I brought you a present, come out and see.’

‘Just leave it somewhere, I’m going to be here a while. It’s a woman thing.’

Parvez, nonplussed by this odd behaviour, stayed at the door. ‘Are you sure you’re OK - you don’t sound it.’

‘I said I’m fine - can’t I get some damn privacy in my own bathroom?’

‘I’m not leaving until I see that you’re OK for myself. I’ll be waiting in the living room.’ Parvez tossed his flowers on the well-scrubbed kitchen table, annoyed that his gallant gesture had been circumvented, and, stalking to the sofa in the living room, sat down heavily.

Shona remained stubbornly in the bathroom and Parvez, watching the seconds and minutes tick by, eventually gave up. He went back to the bathroom, which opened off the back of the kitchen and, sighing, leaned his forehead against the door, the palm of his hand touching it. ‘Goldie, I need to get back to work. Will you be all right?’