—Bhittai, which Father had bought her at the bookshop in Hyderabad, after she had seen for herself the ecstatic dancing at the urs, and her own Notes on English Cities. She wanted to take her auntie’s quilt, each little square of cloth of which told a piece of her history. They told of her mother, who had died when Mariam was small: the pink one with yellow flowers was a suit she wore before she got married, the green paisley lawn was a present from her father, the blue swirls were cut from a bolt of suit material brought back from his posting in Pindi. Those sewn-together pieces of her mother’s headscarves and shirts were all Mariam’s memories of the woman who bore her. But she had left the quilt in the van, and her husband had parked the van with an acquaintance, and its location was unknown to her.

TRANSLATOR: I think—No—[Shakes head]

JUDGE: What has happened?

SOLICITOR: I’m not sure. [To Translator] Mr Khan, are you feeling unwell?

Before Mariam left, she woke the girl, showed her how to use the gas, the immersion heater, and where the clean sheets were kept. She handed over the only set of keys. Right at the end, as she was stepping out through the door, she gave the girl a piece of paper, on which she had written one word: khula.

TRANSLATOR: Unheard of! [Thumps table]

JUDGE: What is going on?

Also, she told her: Go and see a doctor.

It was still early in the morning when Mariam caught the train back to Hampstead. What am I doing, Ma and Ri? she asked them. But the two other parts of her chose not to answer.

Father?

Silence.

Aunt?

Silence.

Aliya?

Nothing.

SOLICITOR: I’ve just been told that [consults colleague], according to Islamqa.info, khula is woman’s divorce.

There was nobody to answer; nobody to offer practical advice.

TRANSLATOR: She is actually walking out. [Waves arms] It is not possible in our culture.

On the path going down from the road to the hospital, as London’s morning broke open all around her, Mariam sat on a bench and waited. When at last she saw the Sheedi lady doctor, she stood up, clutched her father’s book tightly to her heart, and held up the V-stone—

JUDGE: Thank you. That will be all. The inquiry will close early today. I am relieved to report that the replacement translator will be here first thing in the morning.

The three men are definitely brothers. They look the same, for a start. Various categories of curly hair. Taller than the men Cwen was once familiar with. Her father, brothers. The others.

Instinctively, her sinews tighten. She tries to slow her breathing.