An old lady, strengthened and fattened by desi ghee, pushed him back into his seat. ‘Tu bai ja,’ she said, telling him to sit in the way only Punjabi grandmothers can, before adding ‘ulloo da patha!’ for good measure.

He’d been called worse than a ‘son of an owl’ before, but the insult, like the push, came with a force that shocked him. He sat back down, rage and embarrassment burning up his cheeks. ‘This in’t our homeland, Mum! We gotta show them what’s what. You should just take me home to Pakistan!’

His mother banged the palm of her hand on her forehead and then raised it up to heaven. ‘Ya khuda! How is my son this stupid? Pakistan is not your homeland! This is your home. Your homeland is where I am! You listen to me, you! You lived in me before you lived anywhere else! I am your mother and your homeland! And I was born right here on Morley Street. You think I’m going to let you ruin your life for this? You are going home with me. And all your other friends are going to do the same!’ She turned to the boy’s grandmother. ‘If it wasn’t for Jia Khan, who knows what would have happened,’ she said, shaking her head. At the sound of Jia’s name, the colour drained from the boy’s face.

The message had come through the grapevine: the women were to gather at the Pakistani Community Centre on White Abbey Road. They waited, eager to hear why Akbar Khan’s daughter had called them, voices of dissent rife among them. Rumours about her had been perpetrated and perpetuated in these circles for years. Was that why she had called them together? Despite misgivings, they came to listen, some out of loyalty, some out of curiosity, but mostly they came for the gup shup, chai and chaat.

Jia stood before them, dressed in a chador much like their own. Her words were strong but her manner mild and what she said made sense. She told them rumours had reached her about men travelling from other cities to cause trouble, as they had once before. That time the community had done nothing. But this time they were being called to arms.

‘You must keep your boys safe,’ Jia said. ‘The menfolk will not do it. You and I know that while they talk a lot, it is us women who actually do the work.’ She would give them practical help, she said. And she offered them vehicles to do the task, and her voice gave them the courage and permission to do what needed to be done. And most of all she promised to stand by them in a way that no one had done before.