‘How long can you stay, Acca?’ Dhara asked.

‘As long as you want,’ she replied.

‘That’s not true.’

‘I’ll stay for a few months, until the baby comes. Siva will go back to Australia without me. I’d like to be here. I’m sorry, Dhara,’ she said, bending carefully over her.

‘For what, Acca?’

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you—with you. I mean—I’m sorry you were alone.’

‘I’m not. I’m glad you weren’t there.’

‘Come back with me. Come to Sydney. It’s warm like Colombo and the people are relaxed, not like in London. More Tamils are moving there. Australia wants professionals—doctors like us. Australia wants us.’ She had imagined that life with her sister in perfect, complete detail.

When Dhara said nothing, she tried again. ‘It’s safe there—we can be safe and together.’

Dhara shook her head. There was no explanation she could offer for wanting to stay now.

•

Nala spat three times. Nandan looked so handsome, like a prince, and Shiranthi, in her fuchsia sari and bridal jewellery, was a beautiful and convincing Hindu bride. She and her family had been open to all of the rituals of the ceremony. They didn’t balk when Shiranthi was asked to sit on the wedding dais with the Hindu priest. They stood with her, and when instructed by the priest, they symbolically handed her over to Rajan and Nala, who accepted her as their own daughter.

At the Sinhalese wedding, a procession of dancers and drummers started the ceremony, heralding the arrival of the couple. Shiranthi, dressed in a white sari with a veil over her head, walked in with Nandan. They stood on a beautiful wooden platform framed by a canopy of garlands. It was very similar to the manaivarai used by the Hindus. The bride’s father handed Shiranthi to Nandan who tied a gold necklace around her neck, simpler than the heavy wedding chain she received from him at the Hindu ceremony. It suited her understated beauty. They blushed when they had to feed each other from a plate of milk rice. Women in the congregation chanted the joyful blessing for the couple, and it was over.

The Sinhalese wedding took an hour, several hours shorter than the Hindu ceremony. Short and sweet, Rajan called it. Nala left the wedding feeling happy and energised; the Hindu ceremony was so long and complicated that, after it was over, she needed a nap.

•

A few days later, Nala asked the servant boy to buy fifteen copies of the newspaper. She sat among the clippings, putting the article into her notebook, Ayah’s notebook, a photo album, a frame, and several envelopes to be sent across the world.