‘Wait,’ I call, ‘don’t open it.’ Dread creeps along my spine as I remember the bones tied to the tree. ‘We don’t know who it’s from.’

‘Yes, we do.’ Mina ignores me, pulling open the cardboard flaps to reveal a Tupperware container. ‘It’s from Avó.’

Of course, it’s from Avó. Once we get inside, we open the box to find a tub of Rav’s favourite curry – enough for one generous portion – a pot of spiced potatoes for dosa (even though Avó knows I don’t know how to make the thin, crepe-like pancakes that Rav loves for breakfast), and a large packet of chocolate buttons for Mina. Sighing, I stack the tubs on the work surface and pull out my mobile to call Avó to thank her, even though none of the gifts are for me.

‘Hi, Avó,’ I say when she answers, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. ‘Just calling to say thanks for the package you left.’

‘Make sure Rav gets his dosa in the morning, eh?’ she says, and I am glad we are having this conversation over the phone, not face to face as I roll my eyes at Mina and she giggles.

‘I will, and I’ll give him the curry tonight, OK?’ I’ll have toast; my appetite seems to have shrunk to nothing anyway. ‘It’s his favourite.’

‘Eh?’ she squawks into my ear, ‘the potatoes are for Ravi. The curry is for you.’

‘For me?’ I feel the sharp sting of tears behind my eyes. Avó has never brought food for me before – Rav and Mina, all the time, but never for me.

‘For you. It’s good for the milk. And good for the baby to taste the flavour, so he won’t be a fussy eater when he grows up.’ She sniffs.

‘Oh. Well, thank you.’ I don’t know whether to laugh or cry and I’m not sure whether the gift is for me or really for the baby. Movement outside catches my eye and I move closer to the window, craning my neck to peer out into the garden. ‘Avó, thanks so much, it was very thoughtful of you, but I have to go. There’s someone … at the door.’ And there is someone here, out in the garden by the border.

I hang up, promising I’ll try my best to make dosa for Rav’s breakfast (as if I don’t have anything else to do) and pull open the back door, stepping out into the sunshine that warms the patio. ‘Mum.’ She stands from where she is crouching over the border plants, a waft of Shalimar surrounding her.

‘Ah, you are home. I didn’t think you would be long. I thought I would wait.’