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

‘That was nice, Ibby,’ says mum when we get back in the car.  

‘But?’ 

‘Why would there be a but?’ 

‘I can see it. You’re shaking.’ I look at her seriously. ‘Are you still angry with me?’ 

Mum just sits staring through the windscreen.  

‘Not with you…’ she mutters eventually. 

‘With Mrs Dhil…’ 

‘Call her auntie Satya. Can’t get used to that name. Her name was Satya Singh. No, not Kaur. Not any tribal name, no village, no clan, no caste: nothing. Just plain old Satya Singh.’ 

I can see from my mum’s face that she’s on the verge of tears.  

‘Let it out, mum,’ I tell her, but she just sits there staring. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

‘I feel like that woman’s taken my place again. I come back here for the first time in twenty years, and there she is, in my face all over again. But this time she’s taken my best friend and my mother-in-law. Somehow she’s worked her way into my life all over again. If there was anyone who should’ve been there for your gran, it was me. Not her. Not that stranger.’ 

‘But I don’t think her intentions were bad, mum.’ 

‘Her intentions never were, but… but I feel like she’s stalking me. That’s how I feel. I mean… I just can’t comprehend it… how… why?’ As she says this, mum bursts into tears, holding her face in her hands. I just let her sob and wail, five minutes long. Eventually she wipes her face with a tissue and sort of glances at me sideways.  

‘I’ve always been very bitter towards that girl… that woman: Satya Singh. For years, I’ve been bitter like this. I always blamed her for all that happened. That was wrong of me, of course.’ 

‘Is it jealousy?’ 

‘It’s way beyond that. Verging on mental illness, I suppose. I hate her. That’s how I feel in my heart… which I know is wrong of me… but that’s the truth.’ 

‘Was she in some kind of relationship with dad?’ 

‘He’s always denied that, but…’ 

‘You don’t believe him?’ 

‘He always said he only had eyes for me,’ she says, smiling a little. ‘He’s always said there was nothing between them, but yes, it’s true: I was jealous of her. I always have been. And then I come home after twenty years, and there she is.’ 

‘Are you disturbed?’ 

‘Yeah… yeah, that’s a good way of putting it,’ she says, nodding. ‘Disturbed. Disturbed, coming home to discover she’s done this: pushed herself into my life all over again. That she’s taken my place for twenty years. Yes, I’m disturbed alright.’ 

‘Maybe you’re overthinking it, mum. Maybe it’s like auntie Noor said: she helps everyone. Maybe gran was just one of the people she helped. One of many.’ 

Mum glances at me and almost nods. ‘Maybe,’ she mutters, ‘but still…’ 

There’s another long and awkward silence.  

‘I’ve always told myself that if she’d just let me sort things out myself, none of the horrible stuff we went through would’ve happened. If she’d just backed off, I could’ve reached my soulmate without all that pain. I was just about to mend things when she took my place. I’ve always told myself that if only she’d left everything alone, we would’ve been saved all of that heartbreak.’ 

‘You mean dad’s time in the far-right?’ 

‘Oh, he told you about that, did he?’ 

‘It was a bit of shock. Here I am, his beige son, and he tells me he used to be a white supremacist.’ 

‘He never believed in that nonsense. He just submitted to them because he had no other choice. But that’s what I mean: we were on the verge of fixing everything between us. Him and me. We were so close to reconciling ourselves… to wandering off into the sunset… and then she inserted herself right between us, and it just broke everything… made everything even worse.’ 

‘But you ended up together in the end.’ 

‘Alhamdulilah,’ whispers mum.    

‘So that’s all the matters, isn’t it?’ 

‘The truth is… maybe I’m unfair to Satya… maybe she had to walk into our lives back then…’ 

‘What do you mean?’  

‘Perhaps without her, we would never have been reunited at all. Perhaps I would never have learnt the truth. Perhaps I would never have learned what drove my soulmate away from me. The truth is… maybe she saved me… maybe she saved me twice.’ 

‘Saved you?’ 

‘The first time… I remember it clearly… well, it was a series of events… this new girl arriving at our school… she arrived wearing the wrong school uniform and everyone could see exactly where she’d come from, and they hated her for it. Class warfare used to be big around here, and there she was walking around in a blazer with a big badge of the front that said, “Look at me, I’m the lord of the manor.” And everyone was mean to her that day. Well everyone except one. Your dad.’ 

‘And you noticed?’ 

Mum glances at me and chuckles. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’ 

‘Jealous even then?’ 

‘We’d been bitter enemies for two whole years, me and your dad, and nothing could challenge that, because I had so many allies. But that day, seeing that beautiful, friendly Indian girl having a conversation with him, oblivious to the whole school’s contempt for him… well, of course I took notice.’ At least mum’s smiling now. ‘But the moment that really triggered me: we were in a history lesson, the last day of term, just before Christmas, 1993.’ With her hands, mum sets out a map of the room. ‘So I’m sitting here with Siti Noor. Satya’s there. The desks are arranged like a horseshoe. And there’s your dad, opposite us. In those lessons, always, always he kept his eyes down, lest our eyes accidentally meet.’ 

‘Sounds worse than my college.’ 

‘Well, I admit it, girls can be mean. I know we were.’ 

‘So what happened?’ 

‘All I remember… all lesson long… he… your dad… he kept staring at Satya like he was in love with her.’ 

‘Staring?’ 

‘Gazing, I guess. But repeatedly, over and over. Of course, after the lesson we all teased Satya about it, but inside… yes, something stirred… maybe I should thank Satya for stirring that jealousy in me… if it wasn’t for her, maybe I’d never have found the courage to speak to him again. Maybe I would’ve just left school and just forgotten all about him. My whole life would’ve been so different.’ 

‘No me? No Maryam, no Isa?’ 

‘I can’t even bear to imagine that,’ says mum, ‘I can’t bear to imagine life without your dad.’         

‘So don’t imagine it, mum. We’re all here, all real.’ 

‘Yes, and in truth, I should thank Satya for that. I have no right to be bitter, really. It’s the opposite: I should be grateful.’ 

‘For stirring your jealousies?’ 

‘No, she did much more than that. So much more.’ 

‘Like?’ 

‘Telling me the truth. No, even more than that.’ 

‘What did she do?’ 

‘She saved his life. No exaggeration. Literally, she saved him. Yes, by shielding his body in the middle of a riot. It’s funny: that day I sat next to her in A&E for hours on end and I never noticed she was splattered with his blood. It came to me afterwards. Years afterwards. The blood on her face, her hands. The blood on her clothes. I see it in my dreams. Whether it’s real or imagined, I don’t know. But her saving him? Yes, that’s true.’ 

‘And you’re jealous of her for that too?’ 

‘When you put it like that, of course, it sounds messed up. Yeah, I’m messed up. The truth? Without her, life would’ve been so different. I can’t imagine I’d ever have had the life I’ve had. I can’t imagine I’d ever get over that loss. I’d just visit his headstone and live my life in mourning. I know I would. There’d be no you, no Maryam, no Isa. Just me and my regrets.’ 

Mum is crying again now. 

‘But that isn’t what Allah decreed,’ I tell her, smiling, showing her my face, which everyone says is the perfect blend of her and dad.  

‘I know,’ she says, wiping her face. ‘He sent Satya. And look at me: still jealous of her after all these years.’ 

‘But why would you be jealous?’    

‘She hasn’t told you that then?’ 

‘She just told me dad helped her when she really needed it.’ 

‘It was the other way round, Ibby. She did for your dad what I should’ve done. Me? I just abandoned him. No, it was worse than that. I kicked him when he was down. Just like those rioters really. I kicked and kicked until there was nothing left of him. Only Satya could save him then.’ 

‘But it all worked out in the end,’ I say, smiling at her. 

‘Alhamdulilah,’ whispers mum. 

Mum puts the key in the ignition at last and starts the car, but she doesn’t pull away. She turns the engine off again and looks at me.  

‘Call her for me, Ibby,’ she says. 

‘I already tried,’ I say. ‘When you two were chatting. I wanted to warn her that auntie Noor had told her everything.’ 

‘What did she say?’ 

‘She’s not answering. I tried five times. So I just sent her a message.’ 

‘What did you say?’ 

‘I just said sorry. I feel bad about it. She asked me not to mention her.’ 

Mum starts the engine again. She reverses back and prepares to set off, but then she stops, pulls the handbrake and turns the engine off again.  

‘Call her,’ she says. ‘Give me your phone.’ 

Mum sits there calling. She lets the phone ring and ring, trying again whenever it goes to voicemail. After nearly ten minutes it’s answered. Mum has the phone on loud speaker.  

‘Hello Ibrahim,’ replies a female voice. 

‘Not Ibrahim,’ says mum, ‘I’m on my son’s phone.’ 

‘Snap,’ says the girl, ‘I’m on my mum’s. She forgot it again.’ 

‘Who am I speaking to?’ 

‘I’m Jas, her eldest.’ 

‘Okay, well can I speak to your mother, please?’ 

‘I’m afraid she’s at work right now. She won’t get back until late.’ She pauses. ‘Is it, er… Anjana ji?’  

‘Yes.’ 

‘She’s mentioned you.’ 

‘Is you father at home?’ 

‘Yes, he’s here. Do you want to speak to him?’ 

‘No, I… but maybe…’ Mum shakes her head, forgetting she speaking on the phone. ‘Never mind. Sorry. Thanks, I’ll leave it. Thanks and bye.’  

Mum kills the call.  

‘What was that about?’ I ask her. 

‘I have a million questions in my heard about all of this… but I’m not going to go steaming into their house, am I, blabbering about it to her husband? However much I resent her, I don’t want Satya getting battered by him because I spoke out of turn.’ 

‘Would he do that?’ 

‘You think my jealousy’s bad. It’s nothing to their men.’ 

‘I’m sure that’s not true. I think she said her husband’s a doctor. She told me about him. She loves him.’ 

‘You never know. Some men can be real animals. They’ll look for the tiniest little excuse to batter their women. Some stranger looks at her the wrong way… and wham, before she knows it she has two black eyes and a broken arm.’  

‘I don’t think it’s like that in her home, though. I’ve met her family, her kids. It seems like a home full of love.’ 

‘Let’s hope so, but… but her family has form… her brother…’ 

Before my mum can finish, my phone rings. The name comes up on the screen.  

‘They’re calling back,’ I tell my mum, handing my phone to her. 

‘Satya?’ exclaims mum, her voice all high-pitched. 

‘No, I’m sorry, still me. Jasbir. But, er, my dad asked me to call back.’ We can hear her dad feeding her things to say in the background. ‘So, um, yeah, my mum’s working tonight. But, erm, I’m sure she’d like to see you. Maybe you could… Could you come over tomorrow?’ 

‘Told you,’ I say. ‘Say yes, mum.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ says mum instead, ‘we’re heading back first thing in the morning.’ 

‘Oh, that’s…’ She’s quiet for a while. Her dad’s whispering in her ear, but we can’t make out what she’s saying. ‘It would be nice for you to see my mum, though,’ says Jasbir. There’s some garbled conversation in the background. ‘Um, my dad says… if you come to our place… I’ll take you…’ 

‘To your mum?’ 

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘We need to get her phone to her anyway.’ 

‘Are you sure?’ asks mum. 

‘Just say yes,’ I tell her.  

‘Well, I suppose…’ 

‘I’ll text you our address. Just come over. We’ll see you soon.’ 

Mum hasn’t even answered properly when she closes the call, but their address pings through anyway.  

‘So are we going?’ I ask her.  

‘I guess so,’ says mum.  

Soon we’re driving back to Mrs Dhillon house, following the satnav. I’m starting to get used to this town. I feel like we’ve been up and down these roads over and over already. As we pull up, I recognise the house immediately. I lead the way once more and ring the doorbell. Her daughter answers the door.  

‘Welcome,’ she says, smiling at us. ‘Do you mind, er, just coming in a minute? While I get ready.’ 

‘We came too soon?’ 

‘No, no, not at all. It’s fine. Just… I just have a little, um…’ 

‘We can wait in the car.’ 

‘No, no, come in. Are you okay with that?’   

‘If you’re okay.’  

‘Of course, of course: no secret police here,’ she laughs. ‘Come through.’ 

She takes us into their living room and invites us to sit down. Aman wanders in soon afterwards. He sort of waves and nods at me at the same time, but seems to have lost the confidence he had last time we met, and soon slinks away. Mum’s staring at Jasbir. I have to nudge her to tell her stop. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ’it’s just that you look just like your mother.’ 

‘People say that,’ she says, smiling.  

‘You must be the same age she was when I last saw her.’ 

‘Yeah, I’m nineteen now, so probably.’ 

‘Studying at uni?’ 

‘Yeah, just back for the holidays.’ 

‘What are you studying?’ 

‘Psychology. Sort of following in dad’s footsteps, but not exactly.’ 

‘Oxford?’ 

‘No,’ she laughs, ‘Bath.’ 

‘That’s a long way away. Trying to escape your family?’ 

‘No,’ she smiles, ‘it’s just one of the best for what I want to do.’ 

‘Sounds amazing,’ says mum. ‘Are you enjoying it?’ 

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ 

‘So your dad’s a…’ 

‘He’s a consultant psychiatrist.’ 

‘Wow, so your mum really landed on her feet,’ says mum. 

‘No, that was me,’ says Jasbir’s dad, startling us. He’s appeared in the doorway and instantly paces across the living room to greet us. He has a neat black turban on his head and a clipped grey beard. He offers his hand toward her, but mum declines it, patting her heart instead, but I shake it. ‘Surjan,’ he says, smiling.  

‘Nice to meet you,’ says mum. 

‘Yes, so it was me who landed on my feet,’ he says, ‘I don’t really know what I did to deserve someone like Satya. I was very blessed.’ 

Mum looks up at him timidly.  

‘How did you meet?’ she asks him. ‘At uni?’ 

‘No, I was working in a mental health crisis intervention team. I kept coming across her in the community. She was always helping people, which got my attention being Sikh like her. I found the courage to speak to her after about six months. We hit it off immediately.’ 

‘Not an arranged marriage then?’ 

‘Oh, don’t go there,’ he laughs, ‘My poor parents introduced me to about a hundred girls before that. You can imagine how worried they were when I was still single at thirty-two. But I guess I was just waiting to cross paths with Satya. It’s just amazing, thinking about that.’ 

‘When was that?’ 

‘We married on the millennium.’ 

‘You were brave,’ laughs mum, ‘Weren’t you worried about the millennium bug?’  

‘Too madly in love to even think about that.’ 

‘Don’t start, dad,’ says Jasbir, rolling her eyes.  

‘Heard it before?’ asks mum. 

‘You could say that. I have no idea how I’ll ever compete with those two love-birds. They’ll be a hard act to follow.’ 

‘Oh well, plenty of time for that,’ says mum. 

Jasbir just smiles modestly, and squeezes her lips together.  

‘So can I offer you tea?’ asks her father suddenly. 

‘I think we’re all teed-out,’ says mum. ‘Maybe just a glass of water.’ 

‘Coming up,’ he says wandering through to their kitchen. 

Mum smiles at Jasbir. 

‘I just can’t get over how much you look like your mother,’ she says. ‘It’s like I’ve just stepped out of a time machine. Even your hair.’  

‘Yeah,’ she laughs, ‘all my relatives say the same thing, but I think that’s really just because my brothers and little sis take after dad. It’s all relative. No pun intended.’ Her dad returns with two glasses of water, handing them to us. ‘My mum’s told us all about you,’ she says. This is where mum sort of disappears into herself. ‘After Ibrahim’s visit last week.’ She glances at me. ‘She was really happy she met you,’ she tells me. ‘It really made her day.’ 

Jasbir’s father sits down across from us. His eyes focus on us intently. Mum looks terrified. She can barely hold her glass, she’s shaking so much.  

‘Actually I knew the story about you and your husband all the way back then,’ he says suddenly. ‘It was one of the first things Satya ever told me.’ 

‘Why would she tell you that?’ splutters mum, choking. 

‘It was when I asked her what motivated her to work in the community for nothing. She wasn’t paid, you know? She had a small side hustle she lived on, but all that work in the community… she just had a passion for it.’ 

‘I don’t know how anything I ever did could’ve motivated her.’ 

‘Perhaps you’re just too close to the facts to see what other people saw,’ he says. ‘No, she told me very clearly the story about these two friends she had.’ 

‘That’s… I don’t know what to say.’ Mum glances at me and then back at them. ‘It’s strange, because the last time we ever saw each other… those were awful circumstances… but… but we had some very frank exchanges with each other. I think we both said things we regret. I definitely did. I can’t imagine her thinking anything good of me at all after that. We were both very hot-headed teenagers back then, with these stupid mutual jealousies and such bad tempers. It’s embarrassing, thinking about it now.’ 

‘But still it’s true,’ says Dr Dhillon. ‘Whatever happened back then set her whole course for life. I’ve never known a woman like Satya. I’ve never known someone so selfless, so willing to serve others, despite herself. She’ll always, always put others before her. Even if she’s not feeling well herself, she’ll just go out and carry on, whatever the weather, whatever’s going on. Just like today. She’s been feeling ill for about a month now, but she just doesn’t stop.’ 

‘That’s…’ Mum stops herself. ‘Astaghfirullah,’ she mutters, shaking her head. ‘Then I’ve be extremely unfair to her.’ 

‘Not at all,’ says Dr Dhillon. 

‘Unfortunately, it’s true. I’ve felt bitter for twenty-five years. Ibby here is my witness. I’ve never mentioned her name, but he’s witnessed my burning envy. I hate sharing my soulmate with anyone. Not his friends, not his family, not this town. So, yes, it’s true: I’ve been extremely unfair to our Satya. To think, I’ve spent twenty-five years like this, and she’s spent twenty-five like that. So much for my faith!’ 

‘You’re not that bad, mum,’ I tell her.  

‘Yes,’ says Jasbir, ‘I’m sure none of that’s true.’ 

‘Sadly the state of my heart is known intimately by the One in whose hand is my soul. He stands witness against me. And my heart stands witness against me too.’ 

‘Then isn’t it great that your God is Rahman and Rahim,’ says Jasbir, smiling. Mum looks at her, shocked. ‘One of our relatives is a convert like you.’ 

‘Subhanullah,’ says mum.  

‘And, of course,’ says Jasbir’s father, ‘we believe the exact same thing: God is karima, rahima. So find your redemption in God’s great mercy, my sister.’ 

‘Inshallah,’ whispers mum. 

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘we didn’t mean to bring down your mood. Really, Satya only had good things to say about you.’ 

‘But as I say, I don’t know why.’ 

‘Perhaps the love you had for your beloved touched her heart. Perhaps his love for you awakened something inside. Perhaps you both embodied something she was looking for. Perhaps you taught her the five virtues in a manner no book ever could.’ 

‘I don’t know what the five virtues you speak of are, but our reality when I knew her: all anger and ego and jealousy. That year… it started just like the previous one ended, with me hating on my beloved. I treated him so badly, until I just couldn’t anymore. I saw him coming into school covered in bruises. I saw the misery in his eyes. His loneliness. Something stirred inside me. Dreams. Oh, those dreams. So vivid, and horrific. So what did Satya see? Nothing good.’ 

‘My mum spoke of your faith,’ says Jasbir. ‘Maybe it was that. Your pursuit of the One. You and your husband, together.’ 

‘We never talked about faith, me and Satya.’ 

‘But he did. My mum said he was always talking about you as his gift from God.’ 

‘He still says that,’ I laugh. 

‘My mum said he credited you with his faith. She said he was mesmerised by your search for truth. She told us of his love for you, even back then when you were like enemies. That’s a special kind of love.’ 

‘He had to love me, because he had no one else.’  

Jasbir smiles at my mum and closes her eyes, then speaks with rhythm: ‘Nanak gavi-ai guni nidhan… Sing… listen… let your mind be filled with love: your pain shall be sent far away and peace shall come to your home.’ 

‘A word of truth,’ says her father. ‘Satya doesn’t wear her faith proudly. Hers is a quiet, personal faith, but to me it’s so very profound. She’s found peace through that selfless service of hers. And she learnt that from your beloved, who learnt it from you.’ 

‘His service was just his rage. Bopping people on the nose…’ 

‘Yes, mum told us about that,’ smiles Jasbir. ‘And the time he locked her in the cleaner’s cupboard.’ 

‘I don’t know,’ sighs mum, ‘you’re both talking as if we were some great spiritual people who could have a profound impact on others. We weren’t. We were just messed up. He was. I was. He loved me because his life was just so awful. I was just his fantasy: his alternative reality. His escape from that reality. There was nothing profound about our relationship. I was just a normal teenager day-dreaming. And he was the same.’ 

I have to chip in. I can’t listen to my mum undermining herself like this. 

‘You know that’s not true, mum. Dad says you’re so special. He says you never gave up on him, even when he gave up on himself. He told me this last Sunday, when we went for that long walk. He called you his gift from God. He said you were the answer to his prayers. Dad thinks you’re so special. And I do too.’ 

‘And so does Satya,’ says Jasbir’s dad.  

‘And so do I,’ smiles Jasbir. 

‘Oh please,’ says mum, waving them away. ‘This is too much. It’s vulgar. Let me find a handful of dust to throw in your faces. Please stop. Save your eulogies for the One deserving of praise. I hate all this.’ 

‘It’s all good,’ says Jasbir. 

‘No, it’s not good at all, for I have a mountain of sins and a withered heart. I’m nothing like any of you say. I’ve carried heavy weights with me for thirty years. I profess the Oneness of God, but that’s all I’ve achieved. I’m nothing. Just worthless.’ 

‘Don’t say that, mum,’ I say. ‘You’re everything to us.’ 

‘Allah is everything,’ says mum, crying suddenly. Then I watch as she gets up, leaves the room, standing out in the hall. 

‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter to our hosts, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’ 

‘Forgive us,’ says Jasbir. ‘That got a bit heavy, a bit fast. Not a great advertisement for Bath’s department of psychology.’ 

As she’s saying this, mum wanders back in. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘it’s not you. I’ve been like this all day. No, for weeks, I suppose…’ Mum looks at me sternly. ‘I guess Ibrahim was so worried about his dad that he didn’t notice me having a breakdown. Maybe he thinks I keep it together better than his dad, but really we’re the same. Today’s been too much for me.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ says Jasbir.  

‘It’s not your fault. I never wanted to come back here. I knew it would kill me, and it has. Maybe we should get going. Call it a day.’ 

‘I can still take you to see my mum,’ she says. ‘I still need to give her the phone. It’s no bother.’ 

‘No, I don’t think… I don’t think I’m ready to see your mum after all. I’m sorry.’ 

‘You know you’re not the only one with regrets, don’t you?’ says Jasbir’s dad. ‘Satya’s been just the same this past week. She has a lot of regrets too. She regrets coming between you two.’ 

‘She told you that?’ 

‘We’ve always been very open with each other.’ 

‘And you’re not angry?’ 

‘Mum was worried you’d beat auntie Satya up,’ I laugh, attempting to lighten the mood.  

‘Never!’ says Mr Dhillon. ‘Satya’s my princess. Meri kaur, in the truest sense.’ 

‘But still,’ says mum, ‘these are matters of the heart. They’re difficult to bear.’ 

 ‘Perhaps you think something that never happened occurred. Perhaps that’s what troubles you. But I know all about those days back then. She told me all about it long before we became one.’ 

‘And what did she tell you?’ asks mum. 

‘She told me about her interactions with the man you went on to marry.’ 

‘Interactions? You mean her relationship? And what was that? I don’t even know what that was myself. Even after all these years, I really have no idea what happened between them. Ben always says… nothing, nothing at all.’ 

‘I can only tell you what Satya told me all those years ago,’ says Mr Dhillon. ‘She tried to take refuge in his company to compensate for all the rejection and dejection she felt at home, from her family. So yes, I know it: she was looking for love… She’s always been open about this. She was looking for someone to love her… for someone to care for her… and she thought he was the answer to her prayers. Only…’ 

‘Go on…’ 

‘Only that man of yours… he wouldn’t let her get close… he was saving himself… he was saving himself for you.’ 

‘That’s what he always claimed…’ 

‘And I believe that’s true,’ he says. ‘I believe Satya when she says that. And I think you should believe your husband too.’ 

‘I want to believe that… of course I do… but…’ 

‘Mum’s even jealous of us kids,’ I laugh.  

‘Because my kids have no idea what I’ve carried inside me for thirty years. They never had to spend their teenage years in mourning, like I did.’ 

‘Who died?’ I ask. 

‘Not a death like that,’ says mum. ‘A different kind of death. Losing your dad, over and over. I had a decade of it, over and over again.’ 

‘But he was devoted to you,’ says Jasbir’s dad. ‘He was holding out for you. He never let Satya get close to him. If you knew the lengths he went to… all your doubts would vanish.’ 

‘You say that, but today… today I come back to discover Satya has taken my place. Siti Noor was my best friend. Now I find she’s hers. And Ben’s mother? My son tells me she rescued her. So what am I meant to think? Why’s she doing this to me? Why’s she stalking me like this? Why has she taken my place?’ 

‘She hasn’t taken your place,’ he says, ‘she just wanted to make amends. She wanted to make up for everything she believes she broke back then. She’s atoning for the sins of her family.’ 

‘Atonement? I’ve heard that before. Years back. Just before she disappeared. She thought she had to do that then.’ 

‘Yes, and every day since. She’s not stalking you. She’s not trying to wind you up. She’s not clinging onto something from long ago. She’s just trying to fix things. That’s how she’s spent her adult life: trying to fix everything she finds broken. It started with your mother-in-law, but since then… it’s just her way of life. She’s a servant of the broken.’ 

‘I don’t know,’ says mum, ‘this is hard to take.’ 

‘Of course it is, but it’s the truth. I love Satya with all my heart. She’s my soulmate, twenty-one years married. She’s the only person I’ve met about whom I could really say: “She’s a person of truth.” She is just as she was named. Forgive her Anjanaji. Her intentions are pure and true.’