It’s the weekend and we’ve left Mum at home to have a lie-in, and have come out early to enjoy the sun. We stand behind rows of hungry people, and peer at the bagels in the glass cabinets, mulling over the many choices before ordering the same as always. The smell of warm salt beef and pickles wafts through the shop, making my stomach rumble.

‘Here you go.’ Sabbir hands over the money and takes the paper bag, knowing that Jasmina and I will try to snatch ours from him before we’ve left the shop.

Back on the bustling street, we wait for Dad to emerge from the barber’s next door. Over the road, the shopkeeper is arranging the window display at the newsagent’s, and people are queuing at Posner’s to get their shoes mended.

I’ve finished my bagel, and ease myself up onto tiptoes to see into the barber’s. ‘He’s not here.’ I turn to my brother.

‘He’ll be out in a minute.’ Sabbir hands me a thin serviette. ‘Here, wipe your mouth.’

I dab at my face half-heartedly and hand it back to him. Contort myself again to see into the shop. ‘Can’t see him.’

Jasmina’s still eating her bagel. Far more ladylike than me, she savours each mouthful, enjoying the taste of the dough on her tongue.

At the window, my eyes search the build and clothes of each of the customers, my greasy fingers on the pane. A sharp rap on the glass sends me leaping backwards, and when I find my feet and glance up, a man’s face is glowering at me, his finger wagging disapprovingly.

‘Maya. Get away from the glass. It’s just been cleaned.’ Sabbir grabs hold of my hand and yanks me away, waving apologetically at the shopkeeper.

‘Can’t leave you alone for a minute without you causing havoc.’ The familiar, warm voice is behind me.

I spin round. ‘Dad.’ And I fall into his smile.

He waves at the man in the barber’s and mouths ‘sorry’ at him.

I fling my arms round Dad’s waist, drinking in his smell, aware it’s altered slightly.

‘Oh, child. I’ve been gone all of five minutes.’ He ruffles my hair, peels my arms off him and leads us off into the summer sunshine.

As we shuffle along, I scour his features from the side. No signs of a shave or haircut. ‘Where did you go?’

‘Hakim couldn’t fit me in at the barber’s,’ he says, and he’s looking at me in a strange way. For a moment, everything stops and the street goes still. ‘So, I popped to see a friend.’ He ruffles my hair again, knowing full well I hate it and that it will distract me. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’