In the bookshop Reem asked her, ‘Have you read Naguib Mahfouz?’ and there were his books translated into English. It was the first time for Nadia to see Arabic Literature translated into clear, familiar English. She picked up a novel by a Lateefa Al-Zayyat. And there were folk tales and fables from all over the Arab world. This was a treasure. This was a level-up. She spent all the money she had with her on books; short stories by Salwa Bakr, The Mountain of Green Tea and The Thief and the Dogs. For the first time her mother’s life and words were there in front of her eyes, in solid black print, the English words evoking a sudden, startling credibility.

In the following mornings until the end of the summer, Nadia would sit in ‘their’ room, Khalid’s room, not with her PlayStation but with the new books and the map of Cairo. The room, with its large brown desk and heavy wooden bed, held many childhood memories. Year after year, it seemed, she would come and find Khalid studying for his secondary school or university exams. He would sit at the same desk she was sitting on now, in his pyjama trousers and vest, his notes and papers spread before him. Although she was told by her Tante Salwa not to disturb him, she would sneak in when she found the door open. She would look at the pictures on his tapes and sometimes he would give her a paper and a pencil to scribble on while she lay on her stomach on the bed. He would ask her ‘Where do you think the exam will come from?’ and she would skim through his notes, pretending to understand and then stab a page at random. And he would say, ‘I hope you’re right, this is the easy bit.’ Once he wrote a note for her to take to Tante Salwa in the kitchen. ‘A student died today from extreme hunger,’ the note said, ‘because his mother forgot to feed him.’ Tante Salwa laughed and made huge omelette sandwiches which Nadia carefully carried. Later when Tante Salwa came to collect the empty plate, Khalid put his arms around her waist, his head against her large stomach and said, ‘Pray for me Mama.’ And while Salwa said a prayer for him, Nadia too put her arms around her aunt and breathed in Salwa’s perfume and kitchen scents.