We never went to the park to work. Not even when it was hot and full of students lying on their bellies, falling asleep into their textbooks. Sometimes we could hear children shouting through the window. He must’ve known it was a risk for me to come over on the train every weekend but he never mentioned it. We both pretended it was normal. He never asked me what lies I had to tell. There was always a chance of bumping into a friend of a friend of a wife of a second cousin once removed. Sometimes between the train station and the flat I saw girls with patterned headscarves, jeans under dresses, fitted jackets and lipstick. I had to stop and make sure it wasn’t Amina. I had to catch my breath. That summer her favourite hijab was dark grey threaded with silver. She didn’t argue when Dadi laid the law down. She was too practical for that. She embraced it as another styling opportunity.

I walk down the crumbling steps and across to the old tram bridge. Soon Ewan will be home from work. The flat will be dark. Nothing cooking. No note to say where I am. It’s getting to be a habit. The river winding out of sight on either side. The sun going down on the water and the fields. It doesn’t feel like you’re within spitting distance of the town centre. It feels like you could just keep walking into the country and never come back.

There’s a woman coming across the bridge with a pram and a toddler in tow. The little boy’s carrying a big stick. He hangs back, looking through the metal bars at the water and the little pockets of ice, and the ducks making noise and flapping at each other. Threatening to fly. She’s way ahead of him now, passing me and onto the path and round the corner. I wonder how long until she notices he’s not following. He leans into the railings, sits down on the tarmac. His feet and hands slip through the bars and his puffy coat is all flattened in places, like a belt pulled too tight, or an elastic band snapped tight over fat rolls. He swings his legs from side to side in the air above the river. His scarf is loose and dangling. It could easily fall off. It would fall, like a ribbon into the water. I look back towards the park. She’s stopped, finally. She turns around to look for him.

‘Oi! Get ’ere now!’ Her voice echoes. It sends the ducks into a frenzy. ‘Don’t make me come over there,’ she says. ‘Here. Now.’