And then the explanations came, in English; he liked the girlfriend very much but she wasn’t suitable for marrying, not the right match at all, it had to be a girl from his culture; so many expectations to get married and become the family man, to continue the family name and the business, and all. He is an educated man, and Mariam and he share a country and a religion. How clever Mariam was – how important to the business; how quickly she had adapted to the selling side; how good she was at it. He was lost without her. He came home to find the girlfriend – very cross former girlfriend – where he had been expecting a loving wife. Since they were living in London – where their marital home was – he had hoped for some modern marriage set-up, some go-ahead wife, not a harried daughter-in-law being bossed around by his mother. Amjad and Mariam’s chances were all the better because Amjad’s mother, God rest her soul, was dead, and his aunt was far away in Bradford. His mother had not been a restful woman! Just one visit to his aunt in Manningham was enough to remind him that. Of course, both his mother and his wife were very good cooks. His life got so much better after Mariam came to England. It was a big shock finding she had gone.

‘She thinks your business is irreligious,’ Eva said.

Amjad protested at this insult. Of course, most of the alarm clocks and prayer mats and so on were made in China, which wasn’t completely Islamic, but that was the nature of the modern world. Mariam had a very active imagination; too many Indian films in her childhood—

‘You gave her syphilis,’ Eva said.

There was silence for a moment behind the door. When Amjad spoke again, he sounded sorrowful and bitter, though about what, Eva wasn’t sure. ‘How can I explain. Such pressure in my culture, to conform. And of course I wanted to, very much, marry somebody who would understand me and all ...’ He sighed. ‘Karen is better off without me, really. She’s starting college soon.’ He sighed again. ‘Mariam is so far from home. It is right that she should be with people of her own kind.’ Another pause. ‘I am sorry,’ Amjad Maher said. And indeed, he did manage to sound genuinely remorseful. A little more chipper, after a moment: ‘It happens sometimes like that, na? But things can get better.’

‘Can they?’ said Eva.

He laughed again, possibly apologetically. And then he said, unexpectedly, ‘Ai, I really love her’; and despite herself, Eva heard, in his voice, something she had not allowed herself to hear for a long time – the tenderness that can also exist in a man. Something blossomed in her briefly. She saw flowers in a wood, anemones, bluebells.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

‘To see my Mariam again,’ he answered. ‘Where is she?’

‘You tell me,’ Eva said.