'Buttons will not sew themselves.'

'Talk to me. Leave it'

'I will listen. You talk.'

He picked up a handful of brass buttons from the cardboard box. He put them in the front pocket of his jeans. He tipped out the remaining buttons onto his palm and pocketed those as well. Nazneen felt an electric current run from her nipples to her big toes. She sat very still.

'Do you know about our brothers in Egypt?' He found his magazine on the table and searched for the right page.

Nazneen tried not to think of the buttons. She could think of nothing else. Why did he take them? Why put them in his pockets? Her skin was attached to thousands of fine silk threads, all of them pulling, pricking at the point of tension.

He told her something of Egypt, the oppression, the jailings, the cowardly American-loving government, and they both pretended that he was not just reading from the magazine. Nazneen thought of Chanu with all his books. He read too much and it did him no good.

'It is sad,' she said.

"Tumi ashol kotha koiso.' Yeah, man, you're so right.

This was something he did: made her feel as if she had said a weighty piece, as if she had stated a new truth.

Chanu and all his hooks. How much he knew and how baffled he seemed.

Karim pulled out the buttons and put them back in the box. When his phone began to ring he flipped it open, checked the number and turned it off. This meant it was his father calling. Now that he had a smaller, sleeker phone he seemed unable to take calls from his father. The gold chain around his neck had grown fatter.

Nazneen began her work, but Karim could not settle. He walked with some difficulty, for the way was strewn with obstacles around the table. He watched from the window but found nothing to comment on. The showcase attracted his attention and he bent down to slide the doors back. He pulled out the pottery tiger and lion, and a porcelain figure of a girl on a swing. He lost interest and put them back without remembering to close the doors. The corner cabinet was stacked with books and he took down a couple and turned them over as if he would judge them by their weight alone. Next he moved across to the far corner of the room and stood by the trolley. It was loaded with files and papers and the computer keyboard which Nazneen had removed in order to make more space on the table. He pushed it right up against the wall. Then he went to the sofa, kicked off his trainers and lay down.

Her fingers trembled and she could not work. Karim squeezed the back of his neck. He closed his eyes. His right leg vibrated up and down. When Chanu fidgeted he showed his unease. When Karim could not be still, he showed his energy. For a few moments she drifted helplessly on a tide of longing. Her mouth became loose and her eyes unfocused.

'When I was a little kid. . .' He sat up and put his feet on the coffee table. It was as if he were taking possession of the room, marking each item as his own. 'If you wanted to be cool you had to be something else a bit white, a bit black, a bit something. Even when it all took off, bhangra and all that, it was Punjabi, Pakistani, giving it all the attitude. It weren't us, was it? If you wanted to be cool, you couldn't just be yourself. Bangladeshi. Know what I'm saying?'

'Yes,' said Nazneen. She did not know what he was saying. She was waiting to be claimed as well.

'There was no one to look up to.'

'Your father.'

'Exactly.'

He looked straight at her and she held the look. She wished her eyes were not so close together.

'Exactly,' he repeated. 'It's different now. For the little ones. We're the ones who had to stand our ground.'

In the bath, while the incontinent cold tap dribbled and the extractor fan rasped, she examined the hairs on her legs. They were fine and sparse but clearly visible. She ran a hand along a calf. On the ceiling was a little flower of damp. She imagined the plaster breaking and falling into the bath, coating her in white dust. She heard footsteps and the flush of a lavatory. The woman upstairs would be up three or four times in the night. It was getting to be quite a condition.

She thought of her shopping list (tin foil, mustard oil and fennel seeds to add). She thought of plastering the hallway herself: how difficult could it be? She thought of the homework planner that Shahana had pinned on the bedroom wall and how quickly she ticked off the items. Nazneen looked in her exercise books. 'This doesn't look finished,' she said. Or, 'Have you written enough here?' Shahana showed her red ticks that the teacher had marked. There was a red biro on her desk. Nazneen thought about Bibi who had begun to chew her nails. She rehearsed a letter that she would write to Hasina. She counted in her head the money in the hidey-holes. And when she could keep him out no longer she thought of Karim. She thought about his forearms and she rejoiced that they were not thin. She thought about the small flat mole on the left ridge of his jaw and how stunned she had been to discover it only this week. She thought about his certainty, how he walked a straight line while others turned and stumbled. And most of all she thought of what he had that she and Hasina and Chanu sought but could not find. The thing that he had and inhabited so easily. A place in the world.

She sat until the water was cold and then she took Chanu's razor, soaped her legs and began to shave.

The next day, when she was walking back from school with the children, there was a police van parked in the courtyard where no cars were allowed. The door was open and inside was a policeman petting a large dog that quivered to be released. Four police stood with their backs to the two Lion Hearts. The police wore short-sleeved shirts and their helmets all seemed too big, as if they were just dressing up. A group of young Bangladeshi men stood shoulder to shoulder facing the police. The Questioner was at their centre.

The younger of the two leafleteers stepped out from his police barricade, stuck a finger in the air, and stepped back again. The Questioner moved forward but the boys at his side held on to his arms and he seemed willing to be held. The policemen shared a joke. Their radios crackled and their helmets hid their eyes.

Shahana walked on in front. As she passed the Bengali group a couple of the boys turned round. She looked at them and cocked her head. Nazneen wished that Shahana had her trousers on. But today Chanu had ordered skirt and no trousers. Yesterday, both the girls had to put trousers beneath their uniforms. It depended where Chanu directed his outrage.

If he had a Lion Hearts leaflet in his hand, he wanted his daughters covered. He would not be cowed by these Muslim-hating peasants.

If he saw some girls go by in hijab he became agitated at this display of peasant ignorance. Then the girls went out in their skirts.

Sometimes he saw both sides of it. 'The poor whites, you see, are the ones that feel most threatened. And our young ones are rebelling. Young ones will always rebel. If the parents are liberal then how can they rebel except by becoming illiberal themselves?' On these days it was left to Nazneen or the girls to decide what they should wear.

They went up to the flat and the girls settled with their books in front of the television. Nazneen sat with pen and paper. What could she tell Hasina? She wished she could tell her what was happening on the estate. But how to make sense of it? She did not know where to start, and besides it might sound alarming. She made a beginning.

Sister, I hope you are well. The children are doing well at school. I am still doing the sewing at home. I am sending a little money. I wish it could be more.

Something is happening here in the flats.

She smoothed out of the paper some imaginary wrinkles. Bibi had a book open on her lap; Shahana made no pretence of reading.

Something is happening here in the flats. Men are writing leaflets and pushing them through the doors.

She smiled. That was all that was happening. She began to giggle. Shahana flicked channels. Bibi looked up.

Nazneen went into the bedroom and, from the modest seclusion of the underwear drawer, unveiled her sister.

April 2001

It good news you send about sewing machine and work you have now. You say you send money soon but sister I am not in need. Allah provides. Write me longer letter that is what I need.

Everything here is same. It is good. Sometime I feel so tired I think to lie down when children take nap but it is chance for washing clothes and I must do my duties. I take clothes outside for washing and time to time I see maid from next door. Her name is Syeeda and she is from Jessore. In all your life you did not see face so untrouble as Syeeda. She never say much but she come and squat along beside me and it soothe to be with her. It funny I thinking about Lovely and Syeeda. Lovely is very often time with smile on face and it beautiful smile on beautiful face but underneath something not happy. Like she smile to please you or to cover something or make face pretty without it ever make you think she really happy. Syeeda have lumpy round face plain as potato and I never see her smile. But she look like she happy all the time you feel it like she yogi squat there with hand between knee other hand shade the eye. I ask how it is work in that house look like palace with little fountain all about on lawn. She say very fine and you believe she mean it. In house on other left side is maid around eight to ten year old. I call out to her few time but she look frighten and run inside. Little and little I will make her come to me.

Husband fames have worry about election. If Begum Khaleda Zia come to power it is bad for him. Zaid say strange thing. They pay the dogs to bite and mind it come a time when the dogs turn on them. Then he say but my time is coming. He chopping around in the air like he slicing up great big onion. He is very dark skin man and also not so bad looking for man without flesh. Lovely say 'My husband fames tell me everything. He shares all his thought with me. Thats why I know he is so worried about money and share price and election. Many husbands dont tell wife anything at all. It so sweet of James really.'

She gone now for Charity Affair at Betty house. This new Charity for HIV Innocents is for women infected in innocence by straying husband and also child victim. Betty is always top in fashion in clothes and also in Charity Affair. This is how Lovely tells. Driver come to pick her up and she has kiss the children and tell them darlings you are too too tiring. Daisy say 'Lovey! Lovey!' We all laughing. She wearing tight white jean and lacy blouse with underwear see through it like film star and more jewellery than bride. She call it 'Bombay Look'.

May

Something horrible has happen. I went yesterday in Motijheel and saw this thing and picture all time stay in front of eyes. Closing eyes even still picture there paint on back of lid. I see whole what happen. Two men come out from Islami Bank and when they walk few step on pavement there is five six bang and both fall down. I stand still. Two men dress with dark glasses and good shirt come for robbing the body and jump straight away on motorbike. Only few yards they got and crowd blocking the way. Motorbike is try to get between old Biman building and Hotel Purbani is where fast road begin. Hundreds people come. All is shouting and swear. I run across road. Crowd get big and noise deaf the ear. Mens pull robbers from bike and they beat with fist and foot and lathi also. After few second robber have vanish inside crowd. Somewhere they are on ground and many people push to middle for also applying the blows. Then motorbike petrol tank is open and they set light. Fire come too fast. I watch it. Crowd must move back away. Then I see robbers a time again lie there burn on ground not know if already death or live burning watching I am watching. This is picture I cannot clear from eyes.

Sister what is happen to police and court and thing? In England could such thing happen like this? People justice is quick and is terrible. Everyone talk about this thing. Lovely say how dreadful but she say is good example for showing robbers street is not belong to them and other people money also.

This evening husband fames eat at home and has keep Jimmy up for meal together with. I sweeping up food Jimmy throw and wiping table leg and underneath table. Husband fames talking with face inside a paper. Heavens he say just goes to prove. What this country need is more stability. How it going to help if government is change? The opposition parties is cause much trouble and go to people house for scare them and even rape of wife. Sometimes they pay police for arrest-and-scare. Also student these day should not have name of student but name instead thug. The opposition party give gun and money and student have not one second for looking at book. Is big problem for business. All boils down is instability. Then he talking this and that about business Jimmy making rice ball and sticking to underneath table. Husband say all big company is corrupt and rotten. It seem a Certain Person who have high up influence have stolen one crore fifty lakh taka from steel company everybody do know it. Husband James say it goes to prove. Prove what darling say Lovely. He put head out from paper and explain all around is crook and thief steal from national industry and all this judges do is chase little private company around for bribe money. Lovely look like she hiding yawn. Very sweet for husband James to tell all things to her but it do make her tired. She try to keep eye open. 'Medium size company' she say.

Zaid stand behind door and listen. When we go to kitchen he say to me listen this people is all the time shitting and say stink is not come from own behind. He speak like this never tell you what he mean. Also he say all sides is hiring muscle for street politic and only sometime the muscle has brain belong to itself. He tap on the head. Is small head and forehead come low like not much space for brain but is not stupid look in an actual fact he look pretty smart.

May

Sister I pray Allah keep you safe. I pray this letter find you unchanged. I have more news again to tell. I had word it came from mouth to mouth that friend to me Monju is lie in Dhaka Medical College Hospital very near to death. I went to Lovely and explain her what has happen and she tell to me 'Go and see her. A mother can care her children for one hour.' In spite she paint toenails at that time she push me to go straight and not linger around.

Sister how can I tell what I saw? I do not know how.

I go to hospital ward and I look around for friend Monju. No one there looking like her. I ask nurse and she point in corner. Bed is push right to wall and space left around. When I walk close is bad odour emitting from thing lie on mattress. I must put hand over nose and mouth and stomach make threat on me. I kneel down by bed and put face very close. I see is Monju. I know by right eye alone. Left eye is narrow and stuff come out. Cheek and mouth is melt and ear have gone like dog chew off. I whisper to her but nurse pass by and tell to shout. Hearing is very small now. 'Monju' I shout. 'Monju.' Is all I can think to say. She say God give them the pain I suffering now. Mouth cavity shrinking from which she cannot shout cry or talk loud. I stay for ten fifteen minutes. She must whisper and I must shout. It is her husband who have done this with his brother and sister. Brother and sister hold tight and husband pour acid over head face and body. All over is infection on body and smell make it difficult for people to go near.

She say to me see that dirt mark on ceiling like thumb print. I see it. She say I dont want that the last thing I see. I tell her it going to be all right and last thing she see is grandson but I dont look at her.

I come back to house and sit some time with Syeeda. She right to be happy I feel to stay always beside her. But I must look after children and Baby Daisy poke me in cheek and rub nose on my nose and I give thanks to Allah for this love which come at last.

Nazneen went back to the table and looked at what she had written. Now she could not see what was funny.

Men are writing leaflets and pushing them through the doors.

Her head felt full to bursting. The children and Chanu, her sister, the cleaning, the cooking, the sewing, the worrying. It all took up space and her thoughts circled as busily and broke up as easily as a cloud of flies on a dung heap.

She decided to begin the letter again. This page could be used for a shopping list. She turned it over. Without thinking, she began to write. She scribbled out the words, screwed up the paper and then ripped it into shreds. It was not true. She had not fallen in love. She had not done anything.

She took a fresh sheet and held her pen ready. She thought she heard footsteps outside the front door. Over the television she could not be certain. If the knock came she would have to answer it. The television could be heard from outside. In the morning she had been able to hide when Mrs Islam called. Her words pierced the door and Nazneen crept to the bed and got under the covers. If the sons broke down the door she would pretend to be sleeping. They went away.

Nazneen wrote down some numbers on her clean page. The last payment was one hundred pounds, the one before was eighty-five, there were six at seventy-five and four or five at fifty. How much money did Chanu borrow? How long would it take to pay it back? At one hundred pounds a week Nazneen would be able to save nothing, even if she worked half the night.

Bibi came up and looked at the page. 'Amma, what are you doing?' She kept her voice light and she kept a frown away from her face. She was worried about worrying.

'Nothing,' said Nazneen. 'Housekeeping. Let me feel your throat.' She pressed her fingers along each side of her daughter's throat feeling for swelling, and at the same time soothing.

'I've been better for a week.'

'Yes, you're better.'

She had been off school with tonsillitis. Nazneen took her to see Dr Azad. His chair had grown larger since the last time she went to the surgery. She almost expected him to swing his legs, but he held himself with his usual correctness.

'Say, "Aaah",' he told Bibi, who complied. He gave his diagnosis and from his computer produced a prescription. Bibi was looking at the snowstorms on his desk. There was a line of them along the back in every shade of coloured glass. They were arranged by colour, running from clear glass at the far end to a small black dome over a frozen winter garden. He picked out one and offered it. Bibi held it on the flat of her palm and peered at the little lattice-worked tower inside.

'No, no. You shake it.' Dr Azad explained that he had got it in Paris. They watched the snow swirl around inside the glass and come to a peaceful arrangement at the bottom. 'That's it.' He took it back. 'That is like life,' he told Bibi. 'Remember that is just like life.'

'Why?' said Bibi, surprised into speaking. She swallowed with difficulty.

Dr Azad picked up another snowstorm and shook it. 'If you are strong you withstand the storm. Can you see? The storm comes and everything is blurred. But all that is built on a solid foundation has only to stand fast and wait for the storm to pass. Do you see?'

Bibi nodded, so slowly that she might as well have shaken her head.

'And do you know how to make a solid foundation?'

Again, Bibi gave her slow, negative nod.

'Then would you mind,' said Dr Azad, 'telling me just how to do it?'

As they went out Nazneen saw Tariq in the waiting room. He leaned up against a noticeboard with his hands in his pockets though there were plenty of chairs to choose from. His lids looked heavy and his hair was flat with grease. The bones had been removed from his body. She stopped for a moment and she thought of speaking to him. His head rolled across his shoulder then hung down and Nazneen began to move again because she knew she would not be able to look in his eyes.

It was the same every morning. When she opened her eyes beneath the large black wardrobe she had the sensation a relief in her bones that the day had finally arrived. Then she strained to remember what the day was, its significance, and she realized that it was a day like any other. This particular morning, without moving from the bed, she ran her hand along the smooth lacquer of the wardrobe door. There was barely a scratch on it. She had hated it for fifteen years but this had made no impression.

Chanu stirred and put an arm across her belly. She regarded his malnourished limb, the two bright pimples above the elbow. She put her hand inside his and in his sleep he gripped it.

Again, the feeling came to her that this would be the day. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth that spread across her stomach.

Chanu snored. Two long hard grunts like the death of an engine.

She got rid of his arm and turned on her side with her knees drawn up and her fists between her knees. It was no longer the day and the tension inside her chest, which had been there for weeks, returned. She had taken a deep, deep breath because she had to shout something urgent, some matter of life or death but the breath and the shout got stuck. They would never come out. That was how it felt.

It was because of the leaflet war.

It was because of Mrs Islam.

It was because she had not told Razia yet.

It was because of Hasina.

It was because of the Home Fund, which was not growing quickly enough.

It was because of the girls, who did not want to go home.

She sat up now and looked at the clock.

'It's because of me,' said Karim.

'What?'

He held a finger to his lips. His hair, the tuft at the front, moved playfully though there was no breeze in the room. 'It's because of me,' he whispered.