Jia moved to take his cane, gesturing for him to sit, his smell reawakening her childhood. He looked older, his brows slightly unruly and greyer than she remembered. In another life she would have leaned over and tidied them up, then given him a kiss on his head. His lion-headed walking stick, which had always been about style and not assistance, was now necessary. ‘It’s about your son,’ he’d said.

She’d sat back in her chair. ‘I don’t have a son.’

‘Jia jaan.’ His voice was gentle, reminding her of all the times throughout her girlhood when she’d played him for toys and books and money and he’d let her. She felt herself filling up with the sadness that she’d long tried to suppress.

The years had passed quickly but the days were often endless. Seeing families picnicking in Hyde Park, friends’ holiday snaps on Facebook and tourists wandering around London together, was beginning to leave her hungry for connection with her own. It would be good to find a way forward. She had resolved to tell him that, to lay her cards on the table. She was ready to make amends, but fate had other plans.

‘He is alive,’ said Akbar Khan. ‘He is with Elyas. I took him there.’ He paused and looked at his daughter, waiting for a reaction. None came. ‘You weren’t well. And I thought it would be best for you and for the family.’ He watched as she began rifling through papers. He’d anticipated annoyance, anger, a visceral reaction, but none came. Instead, she picked up the file she’d been searching for and walked across the room with it. Opening the door, she stepped into the walkway where her PA was working. Akbar Khan watched, knowing this to be the height of disrespect in his world, but equally aware that her anger was justified. He was afraid it was too late, that her pride would convince her to make the wrong decision. They had both lost sons, but hers, he could return. That’s why he was here.

He heard her now, a little louder than before. ‘Could you bring some tea?’ she said to the PA. ‘From across the road. That place that does chai, and something to go with it, please.’ She returned to her office and closed the door.

‘Forgive me,’ she said to her father. ‘I forgot my manners.’

The path between the said and unsaid had fallen away that day, leaving Jia unable to find her way back to her father. For her, it was the final disappointment. She would not allow it to happen again.

‘Didn’t you care about me at all?’ Ahad said, breaking into Jia’s thoughts.

‘I did care. I still do,’ she said.

‘You don’t seem to care,’ Ahad said, his frustration at her coldness growing.