I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find the words. What do I tell him about the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen? I know the answer. Nothing. I can’t. Not ever. Not one thing. He’d have me shipped off to an asylum. And that gets me thinking about Vidhan. It hits me like a punch to the gut. He’s gone.

“Ana?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You’re staring.”

“Am I?”

“Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Yeah. Course I’m OK.”

“You look frazzled.”

“I’m not frazzled.” I glance at Malik, feeling exactly that—frazzled. Dizzy and wide-eyed, dazed by all this sudden family intimacy.

“And?” the Old Man says. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Find what I was looking for? How does he—

“You said you needed a book…Equus, right?”

Right. The book!

I haul out a folded sepia handbook from my back pocket. Wave it in the air. “All sorted,” I say, quickly shoving The Book of Seven back in place.

“Looks beaten up,” the Old Man says doubtfully, glancing at Malik.

“It’s second-hand,” I say.

“And Malik is…?”

“A school friend,” Malik interrupts. “We met each other at the bookshop. I was looking for research material…for my art class.” I flash him a look.

“Oh?” the Old Man says, his interest piqued.

I’ll say this for Malik. He knows how to read people.

I step in regardless “Dad, listen…I forgot my phone at Frankie’s. Is it OK if I go over and get it and come back in time for dinner? I won’t be long.”

The Old Man shakes his head. “First the book, now the phone?” He smiles at Malik. “Some people might say you were distracted.”

“Back in thirty?” I say, flustered.

“Don’t be late,” he says. “Gad’s making his signature dish.”

“Couscous with merguez?” I ask, amazed at how easily I’m slipping into normal after so long. Real things. Back-chat. Evening meals.

“Malik?” the Old Man says. “Care to join us?”

Malik looks at me. “No…I mean…I’d love to, but I really should be—”

“Nonsense,” the Old Man says. “Of course you’re joining us. It’s done.” He looks at me and winks, and I beg him with my eyes not to say anything else.

“Ana!” he says, calling me back as we turn to go.

“What?”

“Do you know what you did?”

“Uh…no?”

“You called me Dad.”

“No. I don’t think I did that.”

“You did. You did do that.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Dad!” he says. He smiles and mouths something like My god, he’s lovely.

That’s it, I’m outta here. I grab Malik by the arm and shove him out the door.

—