He heard the azan; the first time in his life to hear it outdoors. It was not as spectacular as he had thought it would be, not as sudden. It seemed to blend with the sound of the birds and the changing sky. He started to figure out the direction of Mecca using the setting sun as his guide. Straight east or even a little to the north-east it would be now, not south-east like from Scotland. He located the east and when he went back into the room, understood the purpose of the arrow that was painted on the ceiling. The arrow was to show the hotel guests which way to face Mecca. After he prayed he went downstairs and looked for the swimming pool. He swam in water that was warm and pungent with chlorine. Twilight was swift. In no time the sky turned a dark purple with sharp little stars. It was the first time he had swam under a night sky.

Her house was larger than he had imagined, shabbier. It was full of people – she had five brothers and sisters, several nephews and nieces, an uncle who resembled an older, smaller version of Morgan Freeman and an aunt who was asleep on a string bed in the corner of the room. The television blared. Her mother smiled at him and offered him sweets. Her father talked to him in careful, broken English. Everyone stared at him, curious, pleased. Only the brother looked bored, stretched out on another string bed staring at the ceiling.

So now you’ve seen my family, she said, naming her sisters, her nieces and nephews. The names swam in his head. He smiled and smiled until he strained the muscles in his face.

Now you’ve seen where I grew up, she said, as if they had cleared a hurdle. He realised for the first time, the things she’d never had: a desk of her own, a room of her own, her own cupboard, her own dressing table, her own mug, her own packet of biscuits. She had always lived as part of a group, part of her family. What was that like? He didn’t know. He did not know her well enough. He had yet to see her hair, he had yet to know what she looked like when she cried and what she looked like when she woke up in the morning.

She spoke after they had finished dinner. My uncle knows an English song. She was laughing again, sitting on the arm of the sofa. He wants to sing it for you.

Morgan Freeman’s look-alike sat up straight in his armchair and sang, Cricket, lovely cricket at Lords where I saw it. Cricket, lovely cricket at Lords where I saw it.

Everyone laughed. After singing, the uncle was out of breath.