‘If she’s going to stay over, she needs to start staying over properly and not leaving before dawn like some teenager. This has been going on for a stupid amount of time. Did you really think I hadn’t noticed?’

Elyas laughed, nervousness covering his embarrassment. ‘OK, you’re right and I’m sorry. We’ve talked about it. We’re working through it. She’s just…you know. Your mother, she’s been through a lot. She’s just scared.’

‘Dad, you must be the only person on the planet who would describe that woman as scared.’ The hum of musicians filtering on to the stage and tuning their instruments interrupted their conversation. The sound of sitar and tabla mingled with the hum of the audience speaking to each other in Mirpuri, Urdu, Gujarati, Hindi, Hinko and English. They quietened down as an old Punjabi folk singer seated himself centre stage, his waistcoat matching the velvet bolsters he reclined on. To his right stood a beautiful young woman. Her jeans clung to her curves, oversized headphones covering her thick black hair. She moved slowly to the melody of the songs, adding her voice to them, softening their sharpness with modern tones. They were nearly an hour into the show when Jia arrived. The couple in the neighbouring seats stood up to let her pass, and she whispered an apology to them in Pashto, which the man acknowledged with a nod.

‘Where were you?’ whispered Elyas. ‘You’ve missed most of it.’

‘Meeting the police,’ said Jia, her eyes on the stage. He wanted to ask what the police wanted with her, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him, and even if she did she’d swear him to secrecy, and that would be excruciating for the journalist in him.

As soon as the interval arrived, Elyas made his way to the men’s room to give Ahad and Jia some space. He was washing his hands when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round to find an old friend from school grinning at him.

‘Elyas!’ he said. ‘How long has it been? I keep seeing you on those documentaries, man! You have done well!’

‘Thanks! How are you? Still playing footie?’

‘Only on Sunday mornings now, I’m afraid. I’m in the police force. Keeps me busy. What brings you to this neck of the woods?’

‘I’m taking some time out of TV to work at the local paper. You must hear some things in your line of work?’

‘I used to. I’m working as a community liaison officer these days, visiting mosques, speaking with the imams.’

‘How’s that? I guessed with things getting better on the job front, tensions might have eased.’