‘No worries. It’s only water! You could’ve got that at Tesco,’ he replied. Then his face turned solemn. ‘We are here for the daughter of Akbar Khan in any way you may need.’ That he knew who she was, didn’t surprise her: she had been recognised as the daughter of Akbar Khan in this city her entire life. That someone like him held her father, a criminal kingpin, in such high esteem always took her aback. But this was a city of contradictions; nothing was black and white and no one’s loyalties were straightforward.

She handed the water and dates to Michael. ‘Here… I’ll take over the driving now. With your medical training you’ll be able to take better care of Ben than I can. Do what you can until we get home. I’ll call Malik when we get there,’ she said, taking the keys from his hand. He did as she asked. Once in the back of the car he put the water bottle to Benyamin’s lips, and the boy gulped fast, almost choking. Pouring some of the holy water on to his scarf, Michael began wiping his wounds.

As she drove through the streets of Hanover Green, Jia caught sight of her brother in the rear-view mirror. He winced in pain and she couldn’t help but blame her father for it. ‘Day in, day out, my father dealt with these people, wallowed in their crap. What the fuck was he thinking?’ she said bitterly. ‘And what the fuck am I doing cleaning up his shit?’

In the time that Michael had been with the Khan, he had seen him for what he was. He couldn’t stay silent. ‘You think your father was a demon, and there are plenty of folk ready to agree with you, but what do they know about struggling and climbing out of the gutter? Akbar Khan kept the devil from the door for a lot of us. Without sinners, there aren’t saints. If you want to help good people, you have to learn to be bad. Because that’s what it takes in this world.’

Her eyes on the road, her hands on the steering wheel, Jia held her tongue until they got to Pukhtun House. Sanam Khan was already at the door, waiting anxiously. She moved aside as Michael carried Benyamin in, then hurried after them with Arabic words, Maria close behind with water and bandages. Placing the patient on the sofa, Michael carefully began cleaning his wounds. The cuts were deep, the bruises thick. He was worried about internal bleeds and concerned he didn’t know enough to prevent further complications. ‘We need to get him to a hospital,’ he said.

‘Jia…’ Benyamin reached out for his sister. She took his hand in hers, kneeling beside him.