‘Oh God, I look a right mess don’t I? I promise you I wasn’t as drunk as I look there. You should’ve come. It was a laugh.’

‘Maybe next time.’

‘You don’t have to drink, you know, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘No – it was just – I had something else on that night.’

‘I’ll let you know when we’re next going out. You have to come. I’ll order you a shot of lime cordial.’

I laugh. There’s no arguing. She’s convinced it’s a religious thing. But it’s not just the alcohol. Ewan would’ve insisted on tagging along. I couldn’t face him being the only partner there, his hand on my arm all night, the introductions and looks. The never-ending questions.

I stand in front of the mirror and smooth the hair down around my face. The plait is messy from the journey but I can’t be bothered to re-do it. I could just cut it all off. One snip of the scissors, that’s all it would take. The lightness. Amina would say I don’t have the bone structure for something so drastic. But I could do it. And if it didn’t look good I could always start wearing the hijab again. Ewan would just love that.

Sometimes, bits of the prayers come back to me, and the surahs they drummed into us at mosque after school. Guide us, oh Lord on the straight path and not the path of those who have gone astray or who have earned thy wrath. They took the translations away after a while. Look to the true source, Sana. Have faith in the holy words. But all the words merged into one, in the air and on paper. Close my eyes and I can hear the music. I can see the black curves, the half-moons and dashes and tiny little diamonds. Speech marks that aren’t speech marks. Sixty-six and ninety-nine. The words just wouldn’t speak to me. Baba would test us sometimes before bed. We recited together. He never seemed to notice I was always a split second behind Amina.

I knock on the door of May’s room and go in. The curtains are still drawn. She sits on the bed in her nightdress, hunched forward. Rubbing her hands together. I sit down next to her. There’s a sour smell. Her hair is lank. She doesn’t look up but puts her hand on my leg and breathes out as if she’s been waiting.

‘He’s coming,’ she says.

‘Who?’

‘The boy.’

‘That’s good. I’m going to turn the shower on. I’ll make the water nice and warm for you.’

‘You have to be careful with the water. Even a little bit. At his age, even a little bit can be dangerous …’

‘There’s no need to worry about the water, May.’