Malcolm stands up again and starts to sing. The very thought of you. His voice is deep and gravelly. Slightly off key. It doesn’t match the words. He sounds like the football fans who used to fill the streets near ours after matches. I should stop him really. I should try to bring things back in line. But Albert seems happy for the first time today. He starts to hum, murmurs the words along with Malcolm and then takes over.

‘I’m living in a kind of daydream. I’m happy as can be, and, foolish as it may seem, to me that’s everything…’

He sings the whole verse and chorus while Malcolm conducts with the pen. His voice is all 1940s. Smooth and rich. Like Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire. And May has stopped rocking now, finally. Her hands aren’t clenched. She stares up at the newly painted ceiling. For just a minute her face is full of peace. Everything is suspended. And I can’t help thinking of Mum ironing in the living room on a Saturday afternoon. We’d watch musicals and old films. Just me and her. Amina out with a friend or upstairs reading romance novels smuggled in from the library. I’d dance and try to do handstands against the armchair. Once at mosque, someone had claimed that music was haram except in prayer. Except for voices raised in du’a. Amina had nudged me and rolled her eyes but she didn’t say anything. I wanted to ask Baba about it but I was too scared. I practised the argument in my head, the one I never had the courage to speak out loud. Surely even the Prophet (peace be upon him) liked to dance every now and then? I wanted a lilac dress like Debbie Reynolds in Singin’ in the Rain. Standing on a stepladder in the empty sound stage while Gene Kelly turns on all the lights and the smoke and the wind, so that the billowy bits of her dress blow back. He sings into her face. I wanted to stand on the back of the sofa and balance and let it roll over onto its side while singing and smiling as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

‘What’s your name, hen?’ Malcolm says quietly.

‘Afsana.’

‘I used to have a dress with blue buttons,’ May says, ‘I wore it at the field day to serve the tea.’

‘Do you fancy a dance, Afsana?’ Malcolm puts on a posh voice, ‘will you do me the honour of taking a turn about the room?’