‘I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m not devoid of feeling. Emotions run deep in my family, in many ways deeper than in others. We have learnt to control our emotions to stop them controlling us.’

Experience had taught Jia hard and long-lasting lessons, and she’d survived by cleaning the slate of whys and regrets and the left-behinds of life. But now they were reappearing, one by one, and demanding to be heard. ‘You’re taking my choice not to feel as a reflection of my not caring, when in fact the truth is precisely the opposite. Do you understand?’ she said.

He did understand; he understood better than most. She looked across at the mourners. ‘We’re not like them,’ she said. ‘My father used to say that every herd has a master. I never really knew what he meant until now.’ Jia had stopped explaining herself years ago, but something about him encouraged her to keep talking. ‘I wasn’t always like this. There’s a story about Hazrat Ali that my father used to tell us often when we were children. During the height of one of the battles Muslims fought for their freedom, the caliph found himself standing above an enemy soldier, ready to take his life. But the man spat in his face, and so he let him go. You know why he did that?’

Ahad shook his head.

‘He said that the anger that had risen up in him had clouded his judgement, and if he had killed the man he wouldn’t have known whether it was for revenge or for the universal rights of mankind. It takes great strength to control one’s emotions. Killing someone else is easy; killing your own ego, that’s hard.’

From a distance, Elyas sat in his car and watched the two of them talking.

He still didn’t know what had happened all those years ago to make her leave, and why she had decided to sever all ties with her son, or indeed if she had thought him dead for some of that time. In the days and weeks that followed Ahad’s arrival, Elyas had tried to contact her again, but to no avail. Not knowing the background to the situation, and understanding Akbar Khan’s manner that night to be a warning, he didn’t discuss Ahad in his letters. Not that it would have mattered if he had: they were all returned unopened and his calls were unanswered.

Years later, when Ahad was older and had begun asking questions, Elyas considered contacting Jia again, but he decided against it. Something told him it wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest. Things had changed since then. Ahad had changed.