They lived in a terraced house on a south-west London street lined with cherry trees. It was a quiet neighbourhood, full of ‘French Grey’ doors and Guardian readers. The kind of place that was home to people Time Out referred to as ‘intelligentsia’. As idyllic as it seemed, this middle-class existence wasn’t without its problems, and the absence of brown people had troubled Elyas.

At the back of his mind, flowed a steady stream of concerns. Some were the sort that all parents have about their children, things like falling in with the wrong crowd, dabbling in illicit substances – and Ahad had given him reason to be worried. But there were other, more niche concerns, to do with raising a brown son, and one who was Muslim. He worried about Ahad’s self-esteem and how he saw himself. He hoped that being around youngsters of similar racial background would help him make sense of his place in the world.

In a couple of months Ahad would be starting sixth form at one of the best colleges in Yorkshire. Ahad was bright – bright enough to have been bumped up a school year at the age of thirteen – one of those kids who gave the impression he avoided learning all year but always came out with excellent grades. Elyas had never been that kind of student. Elyas had had to work hard for everything in life.

The early years of raising a child alone had been particularly challenging, but once Ahad started school Elyas discovered that, under the surface of the world of paid work, there was a network of fellow parents, people who raised you up on tired days, picked your child up when meetings overran and offered understanding words when you felt yourself failing at every step. He could hardly believe his son was now a teenager: in a few years Ahad would swap their home for university digs. That time would fly fast on the wings of A levels and campus visits, application forms and interviews. The empty nest was approaching.

The spectre of reflection hovered close by, and Elyas knew it would result in the raising of the dead. He was acutely aware of the baggage he had stuffed away. He hadn’t made peace with ghosts of the past and he hadn’t sorted and sifted through old memories to categorise and make sense of them. No, he had compartmentalised his life, he had held on to his son, and together they had survived.

But this last year, Ahad’s migraines had become more and more frequent, as had his questions. The consultant had said that stress was a possible trigger and suggested it was exam pressure, but deep down, Elyas knew the truth. He’d been running from it long enough. And when the exams were over and the migraines persisted, that confirmed it. Ahad needed to see Jia and place his unanswered questions before her.