The name rang a bell. Something to do with Dad telling Jasmina and I about whirling dervishes once in our old flat in Sylhet. My head was thick with thoughts. ‘Who are the other two?’

‘Let me see.’ She put her glasses back on. ‘This one is Ody. That’s what Józef called him. Can’t remember his surname but I’m sure he was from Uganda. The other one is Cyril. He was born in Bow.’

‘I remember them now. They were often at your shop. Can I take a picture of this? Jasmina would love to see it.’

‘Take it. There are lots more somewhere. If only I could find things in this darn pl—’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t take it.’ I snapped a couple of photos on my phone and gave it back to her. ‘This’ll do fine. Thank you.’ And then I realised that I had simply come to say hello and I’d got lost in reverie about my father. ‘I’m so sorry. I hadn’t meant to talk about my family. It was a shock seeing Dad like that.’ I was looking round the room for an anchor. ‘Could I nip to your loo?’

‘Of course, dear. It’s at the end of landing.’

Along the corridor, in the bathroom, I was relieved to feel the cold air on my face and be alone. It had been an odd conversation, and my mind was aflutter with thoughts of Dad. The vivid memories of the night he left, and our abject confusion. The harsh words with Mum in gabbled Sylheti; him telling us to be good for our mother; Mum’s sickening scream once he’d shut the door behind him. And once again I felt the pain of the two questions which had been ghosts for Jasmina, Sabbir and I ever since that day: whether the person who left candles and bagels on the doorstep was Dad, and what Mum knew about him leaving.

*

Ten minutes later, Rosa and Agnieszka were seeing me out when voices caught my attention over at Alchemia, the new Polish bar which was two doors along from the arson site. The building’s slick black fascia and smoky glass stood out amongst the dated decor of the other businesses. The shop door was open, and the lights were on, giving a glimpse of a black bar with chrome stools. In the doorway, a small woman in an apron was cleaning the windows in the dark.

Dan had arrived and was walking over to us. ‘Thought I might find you here.’ He grinned at me. ‘Any sign of Ali?’

I shook my head.

‘That’s the Posners’ old place,’ said Rosa, behind me. ‘Do you remember, Agnieszka?’ Nostalgia had crept over Rosa’s features again and she was watching the woman clean. ‘So, we’ve lost our shoemaker and got another bar.’