Elyas sat down, overwhelmed by the reality of the journey he was about to take his son on. Much had happened since he was last in the hills and valleys of Yorkshire. The boy who once greeted him in the mirror was now a man with flecks of grey scattered through his black hair. That boy had wanted to see the world and make it his. This man wanted to unsee it. The monsters he now knew lived inside people, those who shunned their ordinary lives to run amok, making those around them question everything they held dear – he wanted to purge them from his mind and start over.

He picked up the handwritten letter that had arrived a few weeks ago. The flourish of real ink on Conqueror paper, a rare sight in today’s digital world, was his father-in-law’s penmanship, unmistakeable and impeccable. The man had not learnt to read until his twenties, and pride had driven him to overcome and surpass the challenge.

It came with a wedding invitation, and was brief.

Elyas jaan,

You must come and see me.

Bring my grandson. It is time.

Regards,

Akbar Khan

Elyas stared at his father-in-law’s succinct words. As he turned the paper over in his hand, he wondered if the timing of the letter was a coincidence. Akbar Khan knew of Ahad’s troubled mind and the migraines that came as a result. Since leaving his grandson in Elyas’s care, he had corresponded regularly with Elyas. Was he responsible for the job offer that was taking them back to the city where it all began? He had always been well connected, of course. Elyas wondered how far those connections now extended. Was it paranoia to suspect a link between the timing of the job and the letter, or was it journalistic instinct? Hard news had made him cynical. It had taught him that even the most democratic of countries, and the whitest of white establishments, called on the criminal fraternity occasionally. And vice versa.

The knot in his stomach tightened as he thought of Jia. He knew it wasn’t the wisest decision to accept his father-in-law’s invitation, he knew nothing good would come of it, but he had never been able to resist temptation when it came to her. He was curious. What was she like now? What kind of woman had she become? Did she ever think of him?

Then he put these thoughts aside and considered the other, more likely option: the two events were unconnected and the timing was merely coincidental. He had landed the job on merit. And Akbar Khan had finally decided it was time to meet his grandson. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to sew up old wounds.

CHAPTER 6