Elyas had hoped to introduce his son to his mother in better circumstances, but choice was something that life rarely offered him. He watched them walk towards him. Jia covered in the residue of the day, Ahad subdued, they wore each other’s faces. He wondered now if he’d done the right thing by bringing Ahad, and what was to come of it.

CHAPTER 29

It was relatively quiet when Jia arrived at Pukhtun House. Most of the mourners had left. Those who were still there were having dinner in the marquee. It would probably remain this way until the next morning, close family trickling in and out until Fajr prayer, when the floodgates would open once again and prayer books, hats and the soft hum of Arabic verse would return.

Sanam Khan’s warm embrace when Jia came in was just what she needed after the wet cemetery.

‘How’s Benyamin?’ asked Jia.

‘He went out to see some friends, although I don’t know what kind of friends don’t come to the funeral.’

Jia wondered when she would find time to sit down for a chat with her little brother. The chaos of circumstances, the responsibilities upon her, and Benyamin being triggered by almost everything she said, made even simple conversations difficult. She worried about him.

‘You must be hungry. Let me get you something to eat,’ Sanam Khan said, ushering her towards the kitchen.

‘Wait, Mama, I have some guests with me.’

Sanam Khan squinted past her daughter, her eyes falling on Elyas, standing in the doorway. His hair was grey, unlike the first time he’d crossed the threshold of Pukhtun House, and by his side stood a teenage boy.

‘Who is that with Elyas?’ she asked. Then she stopped, a quiet realisation spreading through her. ‘Ya Allah, forgive us,’ she murmured, clasping her hand over her mouth, as if trying to push the words back in. She squeezed her daughter’s hand and whispered, ‘He looks like Zan.’ Unready to meet her grandson, overcome by affection but overwhelmed by the things she knew and had seen, she moved at speed, reaching the kitchen door as he stepped into the house. It was trite, but true, that she loved him more than her own children; it was that way with grandchildren. It was why she had sent him away with Akbar Khan: she wanted him safe. She would live with the shame of that secret her entire life.

‘Where’s the bathroom?’ Ahad asked.

Jia gestured to a room across the hall. ‘We’ll be in the study. It’s the second door on the right,’ she said.