Zan, like many others, still believed the justice system was essentially fair; he thought his family and wider community would blame him for what had happened. He blamed himself. He was the Khan’s son, but wasn’t man enough to sort out his own problems. He told himself this was all a mistake, a blip, and it would all go away. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a blip and it didn’t go away.

Things went from bad to worse and on from there. Zan found he couldn’t leave the house without being stopped and searched by the police. He lost weight, dark circles appeared around his eyes, and he became withdrawn, preferring to stay in his room. On days when he did leave, his face was set hard and questions were met with snapped answers and sharp words. It ended only when Jia Khan demanded to know why her father hadn’t stepped in to find out what was going on with Zan.

Akbar knocked on his son’s door, Jia a few steps behind. ‘Not you, beta,’ he said, telling her to wait outside. Akbar Khan came out an hour later, his face dark, his eyes burning with rage.

‘What happened, Baba?’ Jia asked.

‘Nothing for you to concern yourself with,’ he told her. ‘Your baba will fix everything. I will make it right. Get some chai for your brother.’

He’d kissed her and gone to his study to make a phone call. And he had fixed it, in a way. The stop and searches ended after that.

Then the CID arrived, bringing with them the two officers who had terrorised Zan. Seeing them walk in through the front door of his home without permission stripped the boy’s soul.

Those memories of the night they came to take her father and brother hadn’t faded at all. Twenty years on and Jia found that the old monsters hadn’t died, they had simply found new places to hide. The images ran like an 8mm film before her eyes, beginning with the door catching on the rug as Maria pushed it open, unable to speak, the words refusing to leave her mouth. ‘Some men are here…to arrest Baba!’ she’d cried.

Jia had rubbed her eyes, trying to clean them of sleep, and reached for her glasses. Her sister’s frightened face came into focus, signalling the severity of the situation. Jia remembered getting out of bed. It was cold that night, and she had pulled on a hoodie, zipping it high and hiding her hands in the sleeves.

‘It’ll be OK,’ she had said, guiding Maria down the stairs, her arm around her shoulders reassuringly. But her gut told her it wouldn’t.