I cry when Salwa tells me about Khalid’s engagement. We are sitting in the kitchen with the tea tray between us, the smells of coriander and garlic. She tries to break the news to me softly, saying that nothing is formalised yet. But I know it is final and I am already broken with disappointment. She puts her arms around me close trying to calm me down, ‘Nadia will marry better than him, wait, be patient; they are not meant for each other. The age gap between them is too big for these modern times.’

‘Didn’t we always speak about their betrothal, didn’t you promise me?’

She sighs, ‘I was wrong. Things have changed and young people make their own choices nowadays. Khalid and Reem are in love and want to be together. How can I stand in his way? And Nadia is still so young! Why are you in a hurry?’

I am alone in my sorrow. Salwa can’t understand the fears that haunt a Muslim woman bringing up children in the West. Did her daughter’s school friends ever speak of ‘dad’s girlfriend’ in a matter-of-fact way? Did she ever go into shops where naked breasts and backs glared down from magazine racks, above the heads of small children buying sweets? Did she pass people who kissed and touched in parks and bus stops without shame? If you stare at them, they will look back with vacant, uncomprehending eyes, a weird kind of innocence. When people wed in the West, I tell Salwa, they would have tried each other out first, the way a worker is given employment on a trial basis!

I talk to Salwa but how can she imagine the long continuous silence, where no one speaks out and says this is wrong and forbidden? I have to bring Nadia up and keep her protected and warm like a plant in a glass house, seeing the grey world outside through the transparent panes without being thrashed by hail and cut by frost. Growing up untouched by sin and chaos, but not hidden from it. Understanding its danger and keeping herself apart.

‘Yes, I want her to marry young,’ I say. ‘Because there is protection in marriage. And Khalid is my first choice.’

‘I wish that you and Hamdy had stayed in Egypt,’ Salwa hands me a tissue. She pours me a glass of tea. ‘By going away you have become more old-fashioned. Things here are not as conventional and innocent as in our youth. Parents no longer control their children or even know what they are up to! Lateefa habibti, you are lagging behind. It is as if, by being away, time stood still for you!’