Her voice even, her tone gentle, she looked at Jaanan Khan. ‘You benefit from the business of women. If women stopped buying from and selling to men, then where would you be?’ she said. The room fell to a hush. ‘We have not buried my father yet, and I have still to weep my share of tears, Lala.’ She moved forward and placed her hand on the old man’s arm, knowing that calling him uncle had softened him a little. ‘I was your Khan’s favourite child and this is how you repay him. Does his death and a woman’s pain and honour mean so little to you?’

He had expected her to light the fuse, not pour sand on his vitriol. A look of shame flashed across his face and in that moment Jia knew she had him.

She glanced around the room at the other men. She had watched them grow old, from fathers to grandfathers, and she understood that they were withering away and clinging to their views in the hope of remaining relevant.

‘Do not be offended, Daughter,’ said Bazigh Khan. ‘We want in no way to dishonour your father’s memory or to take from you this time of grief. It is justice we seek. These are our ways, and so it has been for centuries.’

‘These ways of which you speak have killed my father and endangered my brother’s life,’ said Jia.

One of the men, a little younger than the others, nodded at her words, leaning forward as he spoke, his Pashto not as clear as the others: ‘If we do not impress upon the perpetrators the error of their ways, how will they learn? Jia jaan, it is as a mercy to them that we must act.’

Afzal Khan was the first member of the Jirga to have been born in England. Seated at the far end of the room, he had inherited the family business only a year ago, after his father passed away. His factory was crucial to the Khan’s economy and was one of the major links in the drug import chain. His blood ran hot, but his loyalty to the Khan was unmatched.

‘Your father was a respected man, a great man,’ he went on. ‘He kept the peace in our streets for decades. But the young men have been getting restless for some time. The Brotherhood is feeding them lies and we need to show them the truth of justice. You can decide which law you follow, that of your British courts and your education, or that of your ancestors, and if you choose to leave us, that too is your right. Know that any one of us is willing to step up and take the responsibility of your father’s place. Indeed, I would name myself if my uncles here would accept?’ Afzal Khan’s forthright words impressed and shocked the gathering in equal measure, and sent murmurs running through the room.