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Note: this chapter is very much a draft, unedited and unpolished.

‘So,’ asks mum, glancing back at me, ‘where are we headed?’ 

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tap the address into the search bar and pull up a map. ‘I’ll tell you the way,’ I tell her. ‘Just drive.’ 

Thank God, for big data, showing us the way. Without satnav, we’d never find our way through this maze of winding streets, junction after junction. Google has us there in under ten minutes; without it, we’d still be wrestling with our bearings.

‘Park anywhere round here,’ I say as we pull into a quiet road, a cul de sac at the end.

‘Where are we?’ asks mum, perturbed. ‘I mean, where are we?’ 

‘Come,’ I whisper, ‘it’s a surprise.’ 

But my mum can’t be moved. ‘I’m not getting out of this car until you tell me what’s going on,’ she insists, firmly.  

‘Please, mum…’ 

‘No, Ibby. I have no idea where I am. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know who you think we’re going to meet, or…’ 

‘Are you scared, mum?’ 

‘I’m… worried, confused.’ She looks at me sternly. ‘I’m not good with surprises in this town,’ she says.  

‘It’s nothing to do with dad’s family,’ I tell her.

‘Well thank goodness for that!’ she exclaims. ‘Don’t particularly want a bullet in my knee for dessert.’ 

‘So if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be. It’s something nice.’ 

‘Still,’ she says, ‘I’d rather not get out until you’ve told me what’s going on.’ 

I gaze at my mum for a minute, but she’s not budging. 

‘Okay,’ I mutter finally. ‘You know I asked you if you missed anyone you’d left behind?’ 

‘Yes?’ she asks, her voice both curious and worried at the same time. 

‘And you told me about your best friend. Siti Noor.’ I look into my mum’s eyes. ‘Well, she’s waiting for us. She’s expecting us.’ 

‘Siti Noor?’ 

‘Yes. She might even have made you afternoon tea.’ 

‘But… how?’ she asks, completely perplexed. 

‘It doesn’t matter, mum.’ 

‘Well it does,’ she says, ‘I told you not to go searching on the web.’ 

‘I didn’t.’ 

‘Then how?’ 

‘Just… a friend of gran…’ 

‘My mother?’ 

‘No, dad’s.’ 

Mum looks at me like she doesn’t believe me. 

‘Look, it’s complicated,’ I say. ‘I’ve been asked not to say anything. But I promise you, mum: that is your old best friend’s house, and she’s waiting for us right now. Let’s not be late.’ Mum stares at me for what seems like ages, saying nothing at all. ‘Please, mum,’ I say, pulling the door handle and getting out. 

Mum still doesn’t move, but I get out anyway, a box of chocolates in hand. I wait for her to follow after me, but she remains where she is, just staring after me, as if in shock. Never mind, I tell myself, I’ll just introduce myself. I wander over to their house, ring the doorbell and wait. After a minute, a man opens the door, then a woman appears in the hallway, gazing at me with wide open eyes. 

‘Auntie Noor?’ I ask. 

‘Yes, yes,’ she replies.  

‘Erm… my mum… she’s…’ I point down the street to our car. ‘I think I may’ve, er…’ 

Auntie Noor peers out, then immediately pushes her feet into a pair of flip-flops, hurrying over to our car with a quick, deliberate pace. As we approach, my mum gets out, as if she’s in a trance, then strides towards her, throwing her arms around her friend.  

‘Assalamu alaikum habiti,’ cries auntie Noor, hugging her even tighter, but mum just bursts into tears. ‘Where’ve you been all these years?’ asks her friend. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ 

‘I’ve missed you too,’ whispers mum, freeing herself from their embrace at last. 

‘Come,’ says auntie Noor, glancing at each of us in turn.  

We follow on after her. When we reach her house, she takes us through a gate into the back garden, to a table set up for for us on the patio. ‘Take a seat,’ she tells us. ‘Hopefully it’s not too chilly.’ 

‘Are you saying we’re soft southerners?’ I quip. 

‘Is that where you’ve been?’ she asks. ‘Can’t wait to catch up.’ Auntie beams at me. ‘Not that your face hasn’t already betrayed all of your mum’s secrets,’ she says. ‘Your face tells it all.’ 

‘In what way?’

‘You look just like your dad,’ she says. ‘Except for your smile. We missed his smile.’ 

‘Didn’t we!’ laughs mum at last. 

‘I always knew Allah would answer my prayers,’ she says. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ 

Mum just nods her head, but has to wipe more tears from her eyes with the end of her headscarf. 

‘How long has it been?’ asks Siti Noor. 

‘Too long,’ sighs mum. 

‘It must be nearly twenty years…’ 

‘Can’t believe it,’ says mum. ‘Where have all the years gone?’ 

‘Well we’ve been busy,’ says auntie Noor. ‘My eldest has graduated already.’ 

‘Seriously?’ 

‘Number two is doing his finals.’ 

‘How many…’ 

‘We have four,’ she says. ‘Two girls, two boys.’ 

‘Mashallah,’ says mum. ‘Three’s quite enough for me.’ 

‘Tell me about it. Challenging, but we love them to bits.’ 

‘True,’ says mum, smiling at me. ‘Isn’t that right, Ibby?’ 

‘Which part?’ I ask. 

‘You tell me,’ she says. 

‘I guess I haven’t been the easiest kid to live with,’ I shrug. 

‘No, but you’re turning out just fine,’ she says. ‘Full of surprises is our Ibby.’ 

Just then, auntie Noor’s husband appears at the patio door. ‘Salam alaikum, sister,’ he says to my mum, bowing his head, his right hand placed on his heart. ‘Tea?’ 

‘Yes please,’ says auntie Noor, beaming back at him. 

When he returns a few minutes later, he carries plates laden with biscuits, cake and scones. ‘Told you,’ I smile at my mum, watching as her eyes light up. 

‘Don’t tell me you arranged this too?’ she whispers. 

‘Not me,’ I say, ‘but someone’s looking after you.’ 

Mum can’t help taking a cookie. 

‘It’s so good to see you again, Noor,’ says my mum. ‘I’m so sorry we lost touch. We had such good fun together when we were young. You were always such a comedian. Do you still do that?’ 

‘Clowning about?’ she smiles. ‘Now and then, but it’s not the same without you. We were going to be a comedy double-act. Remember that?’ 

‘I think you must be mixing my mum up with someone else.’

‘Oh, aren’t you the comedian, Ibby,’ comes my mum’s biting reply. ‘My son thinks I’m a miserable dragon lady, Noor. How sad is that?’ 

‘I must say it’s a shock to discover we’re suddenly old fogeys,’ she nods. ‘We know nothing, right?’ 

‘Absolutely,’ says mum. 

‘Alright, alright, I’m sorry,’ I mutter, ‘just joking.’ 

‘Likewise, Ibby,’ says mum, thumping me. 

Auntie Noor’s husband comes out with the tea and sets it down on the table, then retreats back inside. 

‘So what are you up to these days?’ asks mum. 

‘Me? I’m in district nursing. I’m a community matron.’ 

‘That must be challenging in this pandemic.’  

‘Yes, it’s horrendous, but someone has to do it.’ 

‘Have you had it?’ 

‘Covid? Yes, at least twice. You can’t avoid it doing my job.’ 

‘Was it bad?’ 

‘Unfortunately,’ she says. ‘I honestly thought I was going to die, but I lived to see another day.’  

‘Alhamdulilah,’ says mum. 

‘What about you?’ 

‘Covid or work?’ asks mum. 

‘Either.’ 

‘Covid: don’t know. Work: just looking after my three monsters.’ 

‘You forgot the daddy monster,’ I laugh. 

‘The daddy monster can look after himself.’

‘Not really, mum. Without you…’ 

‘I know, he’s the Incredible Hulk. Hilarious.’ 

Mum raises her eyebrows at me, shakes her head and exchanges a cynical glance with her friend. I see the generation wars are in full swing here. Auntie Noor pours the tea and hands each of us a cup. Mum takes a sip almost immediately. 

‘Apart from Covid, how’s life treating you?’ 

‘Alhamdulilah,’ says Siti Noor, ‘can’t complain.’ 

‘How’s life around here?’ 

‘Cold,’ she says, ‘but apart from that, we’re doing fine. It’s a lot more diverse these days. A mixed bag really. Depends which part of town you’re in. That same old east-west divide still exists. Don’t think we’ll ever get rid of that.’ 

‘West was always best,’ says mum, smiling. 

‘There are some news developments out east. Quite nice if you don’t mind living in a tiny windswept box with no garden.’ 

‘Your garden looks nice,’ says mum.  

‘My little sanctuary from the stresses of work,’ smiles Siti Noor. ‘Has to be done.’ 

‘And how’s your family? Your parents? Your sister?’ 

‘My parents are doing just fine. My sister’s quit social work. She couldn’t take it anymore. Last spotted decorating wedding cakes.’ 

‘That’s good,’ says mum. ‘What about old friends? In touch with anyone?’ 

‘Hmm, let me see. Bal: I heard she has three grandchildren already.’ 

‘Really?’ 

‘Well she was married at eighteen, so that’s twenty-six years ago. I gather she’s gone back to education to study law. Good luck to her, I say.’ She takes a sip of tea. ‘Who else? Remember that Bengali guy who used to tell everyone he was Italian? I came across him a while back. He lives out in the suburbs. Lovely big house, big garden. Entrepreneur: has a whole portfolio of businesses. Studied accountancy as far as I remember it. Well respected, apparently. Kids go to private school. Drives around in a matt black Tesla Model X.’ 

‘Muslim still?’ asks mum. 

‘That I don’t know,’ says Noor, ‘Married an English woman as far as I know. The rest… I don’t know.’ 

‘It’s amazing where life takes us. From where to where?’ 

‘Well you’ve been away a long time. It’s like you’ve been stuck in stasis, coming back into our lives like this.’ 

‘I suppose so. Who else was there?’ 

‘Well, only Satya, but you know all about her.’ 

‘I do?’ 

‘Don’t you?’ 

‘Um…’ 

‘She’s the one who told me you were in town.’ 

I nearly choke on my tea when auntie Noor says this. 

‘Wait. Back up. Satya contacted you?’ 

‘Well, yes.’ 

Mum puts her tea down on the table top and looks at me sternly. She’s puzzled. No, she’s angry, staring at me intently. 

‘Something wrong?’ asks Siti Noor. 

‘Somebody here has some explaining to do,’ she says.  

‘This will surprise you,’ says Noor, ‘but Satya and I have become good friends.’ 

‘Not you,’ says mum, ‘Ibrahim. Ibrahim has some explaining to do. What’s going on? How come you’re in touch with her?’ 

‘Um, I’m not sure…’ 

‘Not sure?’ 

‘I mean, I didn’t know her by that name… but, I guess… it’s a bit complicated,’ I say. 

‘You’re telling me. How do you even know about her? Did your dad mention her? Is that what you talk about with him? Did he put you up to this?’ 

‘I think maybe I can help,’ says Siti Noor. Mum looks at her expectantly, her face all bitter and cross. ‘Satya’s not really the Satya we knew back then. She’s changed completely.’  

‘Irrelevant. I want to know why and how my son’s been in touch with her.’ 

‘Everyone knows Satya, Anjana. In the community, everyone knows her name. For the work she does.’ 

‘What work?’ 

‘With the homeless, the poor. She’s devoted her life to it.’ Noor touches my mum’s arm. ‘Ibrahim won’t have gone looking for her; you mother-in-law will’ve mentioned her. Isn’t that right, Ibrahim?’ 

I nod my head shyly. ‘But she asked me not to mention her name. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.’ 

‘Well you better say something,’ demands my mum. ‘You need to tell me everything. I don’t want you keeping secrets like this from me.’ 

‘Mum, please…’ 

‘No, Ibby, I’m not having it. You need to tell me exactly what you’ve done.’ 

‘I haven’t done anything. Gran introduced me to her when I came down last Friday.’ 

‘Gran? Your dad’s mum?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘And how does she know her?’ 

I glance at Noor, then back at my mum. ‘Mrs Dhillon…’ 

‘Mrs Dhillon? Who’s she?’ 

‘That’s Satya’s married name,’ says auntie Noor.  

‘She rescued gran…’ 

‘Rescued her?’  

‘From homelessness. Got her off drugs.’ 

‘She told you this?’ 

‘Gran told me.’ 

‘Why?’ asks mum. 

‘That’s what Satya does,’ says Siti Noor. ‘She works with the homeless and gives them hope. I’ve seen it myself. She’s been doing it for twenty years.’ 

‘Satya?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Satya who was going to go off to Cambridge and become a captain of industry? Satya, genius brain, who thought we were all too simple and stupid to keep her company?’ 

‘Yes, that Satya.’ 

‘So you’re telling me…’ 

‘I’ve never heard Satya boasting of what she does. She never mentioned your mother-in-law to me, but I can believe it… I can believe that’s exactly the kind of thing she would do. I’ve met so many people who credit Satya with turning their lives around.’ 

‘It’s true, mum,’ I tell her. ‘That’s what gran told me. They’re friends. That’s the only way I know her. Gran took me to meet her that day. I helped her out at her soup kitchen. I’ve seen the work she’s doing myself. I swear, mum: gran introduced her to me. That’s the whole truth, I promise.’ 

‘The whole truth?’ 

‘She said she knew dad. She said you and dad were two of her favourite people. She told me she said things to you the last time you ever met that she’s always regretted. I knew you were friends, so I just asked her if she knew auntie Noor. And that’s the truth.’ 

‘Anything else you think I should know about while you’re at it?’ 

‘Um, well lunch… the lunch we ate… she provided it.’ 

‘Right, that makes sense.’ 

‘And she asked me not to mention her name. I think she… she sounded like she’s ashamed…’ 

‘Satya’s not like the girl we knew back then,’ says Siti Noor. ‘She’s very humble. She doesn’t talk about the work she does. But everyone knows. They see it. Her reputation precedes her.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ says mum, ‘I’m still struggling to process this.’ 

‘You’re over-thinking things. It’s nothing to be alarmed about. She and I have been close friends for years. Ever since she apologised to me for that silly enmity at school. That was around 1998. We’ve been close ever since.’ 

‘No, I’m sorry,’ says mum, ‘Satya was so… arrogant. The last time I saw her… She was still big headed… An opinionated know-it-all.’ 

‘She’s still opinionated,’ laughs Noor, ‘but arrogant? No, the complete opposite. She puts everyone else first ahead of her. Just like today, it sounds like.’ 

‘You can ask gran yourself,’ I say. ‘She’ll tell you the truth.’ 

‘Okay, fine,’ sighs mum. ‘I believe you.’ 

‘Am I forgiven?’ 

‘Forgiven,’ she says. 

‘Not just forgiven,’ says auntie Noor. ‘Thanked as well… for arranging this great reunion.’ She picks up a knife. ‘You deserve a reward,’ she says, cutting into the cake. She nearly gives me a quarter it. ‘Here,’ she says, passing it to me. ‘Eat up before your mum says something.’ 

‘Naughty,’ says mum. ‘But yes, you deserve it. Enjoy. It might be your last meal of the day.’ 

‘Don’t worry, I will.’ 

‘So,’ says mum, ‘the old town is treating you well?’ 

‘We survive. Though it’s not the same without you. Will you ever move back?’ 

‘Never,’ says mum. ‘Our life is down there now. It’s all our kids know. We’re on the edge of a little market town. We like the country air.’ 

‘That’s a shame,’ says Noor. ‘I’ve missed you.’ 

‘I’ve missed you too, but we’re stuck with our soulmates now. Let’s save up for Jannah. Something to look forward to.’ 

‘Or there’s always WhatsApp and Zoom,’ I laugh, reminding them that we’re not yet dead. ‘Stop being so morbid, mum. Invite her to your virtual halaqa.’ 

‘Oh yes,’ she says, ‘there is that too.’ 

My slice of cake finished, I wander off to take a look at the rabbit hutches at the end of their very long garden, leaving those two friends to their conversations.