The morning heat had turned sultry. Sweat had accumulated at the base of his throat, the back of his shirt already drenched. There were days when he longed for the cool London air, the ability to walk out of a building and not immediately feel like getting under an ice-cold shower. He was not in the mood for pleasantries and all he wanted was to get back into the air-conditioning of his car, go home and try not to wring Del’s neck.

He was reminded of the time his mother accused his father of having an affair and of the shouting that went on in their house for days. He was averse to shouting now. His mother’s fury had left him scornful of confrontations, and he was tired of tears, emotional blackmail, drama. He liked to end things quickly, with little or no provocation.

He braced himself for what Del was going to say to him. And of what he would say to her.

The wall tiles were green. The brown slime on them seemed recent, it wasn’t caked. Her mouth felt awful and her make-up was probably smudged. The azan told her it was dawn.

Marina remembered running down the beach with her dad. They had just come back from a fishing trip and they had caught huge prawns, which her mother would later cook with onions, garlic, curry leaves and fresh chillies from the garden. The dawn had just broken and the first sliver of the sun broke through the purple sky and the sea turned azure. Then, piercing though the winds in the coconut trees, the crackling sound of the mike came on. The imam was at the mosque ready to sing the call to prayer.

Allahu Akhbar, Allahu Akhbar, Allahu Akhbar, Allahu Akhbar.

That dawn prayer in the morning. That morning so perfect, she realised that a god that could create such beauty was a god of compassion, of mercy and love. She realised that god loved her for who she was—a girl trapped in the body of a boy. But now, she was trapped in the filthy belly of a police station. It stank of rotten food in clogged drains, and she remembered the owner of Al-Tandoor back home. Of having to suck him off in return for food. Of the filthy toilet she had to kneel in. Of the scent of curry on his fingers. She sighed and looked up. The call to prayer was over and the weekend loomed.

The loud cop had singled her out at the club.

Male or female? The one question she had never been able to answer.

“Tengok IC.”

Marina handed over her identification card.

The loud cop took one look. “Rashid bin Husin. Dari Lahad Datu, Sabah. You are a man and yet you are dressed like a woman. You know this is a crime, yes?”

Marina kept quiet. So many eyes were on her. She took a deep breath and walked calmly towards the stairs. “Sure, arrest me.”