Sister she go out then for Pantene Head and Shoulder show at Sheraton Winter Garden. It is competition know as You Got The Look. Girl and boy have get prize for best hair and best Look. Lovely say it show a development in this country and also give confidence to young men and women to achieve target in life. One of winner is girl only five feet in height and not model to international standard but Lovely can make allowance. Maybe come improvement in judging standard by next time of competition. When she was away and children take nap I walk around her room and touch everything put hand on bed on embroider elephant hang on wall on table is made marble on silk clothes on all bottle jar perfume jewellery. I begin touching and think everything beneath her hand feel different. When she touch it how different it feel to her. But now I dont know. I think I was wrong.

Zaid has start creep up behind me and shout Hiiiiaaah in ear very loud to make jump. Then he smile and say 'Surprise is weapon. Remember that when you attack.' What I is attacking? I ask him. He just smile and begin his kung fu leg and hand. Little Jimmy chop on back of my knees so I must either sit down or fall. Baby Daisy also shouting Hiiiiaaah but surprise is not on her side.

July

Sister the money you sent have arrive thanks be to Allah. Do not be angry I took to the hospital and pay for Monju for clean dressings on the body. It hurt the nose to smell her. It hurt the eye to see her. Most it hurt the heart to know her.

When nurse come with new dressings Monju tried to make protest. 'Already all this money wasted. Keep it by for Khurshed.' But she can only whisper a little and she helpless to move so it was done.

She have save nearly nine thousand taka for next operation. That is why the husband burn her. She would not give to him the money.

Now money gone to save her life and all she think is how to get more for the boy. This eat into her more painful than acid.

Baby Daisy back tooth come. All time she want I carry her. When I putting down is like sentence of death. She scream. Yesterday I walk around veranda is only place she like yesterday. She put head on shoulder and close eyes. If I stop walking she open eyes very wide and shock. It too too hot outside but I also like veranda too. Did I tell how nice the house? Is paint pink like your fingernail. On veranda is long chairs for resting whole legs and cover with green and white stripe cushion. There is kingfisher on roof. He sit on parapets and call and call. Fly away and find some water I tell him. But he do not fly just sit there never stretch the wing and call like as if all his brothers better join there on roof where he find some secret like paradise.

Garden is fade into brown only next door garden of house where Syeeda work still green. Near drive is coconut tree which long time now dead. Zaid is suppose cut down this tree but he sit inside reception room with Jimmy watch the kung fu film. I watch kingfisher and he looking down at me. Through rose arches (Lovely proud like anything of all her rose even now of course they flower have finish) I watch men mix cement for new building is know as summer house. They have two little boy for fetch water carry brick and thing. Even when they not carry anything the boy move like old men heat press down on them.

Daisy after long time fall asleep and I sit down with head still rest on shoulder. Back of head is curls. If you see these curls! How pretty the face. I kiss her with very care. I feel like hold the breath sometime when I look at Baby Daisy. Is like have soap bubble on the hand catch light with thousand beautiful colour.

Zaid come out and he say 'Dont make the mistake. She is not for you.'

He has bruise on jaw colour like brinjal and cut on left arm above elbow.

I do not like him then. I put my lip against the curls and I think how it feel when Lovely do this same thing. It different for her I think. This time I am not wrong. When she touch the marble table the Italian chair the jamdanis in her wardrobe the peacock feathers in silver vase she feel how easy they slip from out her fingers. She must get as much as possible. Make as safe as possible. But when she touch her lips to babys head then she know what she has and this she cannot lose and I can never have.

July

Something bit change in your letter. First time now I know more how the girls grow how different one daughter and another. Sound like your husband have very good job with taxi full time take him round all the place.

Lovely have had entertaining dinner for Betty and she husband. Only two people come but many days preparation you imagine is Bangabandhu return to earth and honour house with presence. Lovely wear special trouser sparkle everywhere look like make from crush diamond. Betty wear yellow sari and Lovely say after even best one can trip up in fashion.

I serve food and care children go in and out from kitchen. Men is talk all election and plastic bag.

Betty husband say 'Look like if BNP come to power they push the polythene ban through.'

Husband James get red in face and speak with very control voice. 'That is what so wrong with this country. Nobody want progress. In New York and Paris and London you think they carry shoppings in jute bag? No! Is all polythene.'

Betty and Lovely is look bored. They make show of this. Yawn and roll eyes. In an actual fact they are bored but also they must pretend they only pretending.

Betty husband say 'One hundred and twenty-nine million plastic bags produced each day in Bangladesh. One hundred million used each day. I dont know. Is it progress?'

Husband James say 'What the hell is problem? All this hug-a-tree types saying plastic bag block the drain cause the flood ruin the farmland but something gone wrong in their heads. Four thousand people work to make these bags. It put food in their mouth. These hug-a-trees they prefer to see dead body block the drain.' He sitting up really straight now and bang fist on table.

'Awami League is also in favour of ban.' Betty husband say this and Betty put hand on his arm. Lovely smile has come a little bit stuck round the mouth. She play with hair and say my husband fames know everything about plastic.

Late in evening I put children to the bed and go to kitchen. Lovely still entertaining the friends but dinner is finish. Zaid make some dhoie. The children like for breakfast. The cook say do you hear them how they talk? Politics is this. Politics is that. Turning noses up twitch arse like cat step through puddle. All strike and violence and guns and stabbing and this thing and that. Like as if had nothing to do with them. But this is system. And who has made the system? Is not the labourer. Is not the beggar.

He little man of wire. Did I tell? You can fold up and fit in pocket. But he do not look like weak man.

I ask him again which side he is support for politics? He tap the head and say 'My side.' Then he tell me. He support whoever give pay. So far is Awami League Bangladesh National Party and Jamaat-e-Islami. All is think they hire muscle but this muscle have brain attaching also.

He have save up much money and then he plan what to do. He have many idea. One idea is food stall for office worker. Good standard. Other is restaurant for family dining. He is also look into possibility of train for kung fu actor. Another idea is set up as fixer for sending people to foreign country for working there. Only expense is needed a mobile phone. Do you know how many taka for going to foreign country? One hundred and fifty thousand taka. And that is not for good country. For going to Singapore much more is need.

One time he think to go himself to the overseas. But he say what do you get when you come back? Spend three four year never see one chink sunlight all work work work and come back with fridge and television and when electricity die every evening time then you take hammer and smash whole bloody things into piece. He know one woman sell her plot land for send her son to Singapore. Three years he work construction site and when he come back he do not have enough to buy back land. He know another woman who see job advertising in newspaper and go to Malaysia. She sew clothes from eight in morning to ten in evening seven days out of seven. This she do for five year. When she come home husband have spend all money she sending and all she have is debt.

If you go say Zaid you got to know what you coming back for. While you away who going to build anything here? I tell him about you husband and how he have big job and everything. He say 'How long he been Londoni?'

I think it more than twenty year.

Zaid for first time I see look impressed. He slice the air a little. 'Then its worth it. After twenty years he can come home build his own town where everything work like it meant to.'

August

I go again to College Hospital. Lovely say Oh be a sweet girl and take the darlings with you. I tell her bit how Monju look and dont say anything how she smell. Lovely cover the ear and say sometime you feel like stop the Charity work because nothing is ever enough.

No money now for Monju drugs. Praise Allah most time she go unconscious.

Late late Syeeda came on back veranda watch rains. We hardly speak two word. Side by side we smell the earth. When she leave she say 'Right. Thats it.' Like we discuss all things under moon and decide every move for life.

The next day Chanu did not go to work. He stayed at home and in the way. Nazneen began, bit by bit, to restore order to the flat. The girls attacked each chore that she set them with unusual vigour. Chanu directed operations and philosophized about the nature of housework. It was a little like God, without end or beginning. It simply was.

'Are you not nervous any more, Amma?' asked Bibi, chewing on a fingernail.

'Nervous?' said Nazneen.

'Nervous exhaustion,' Chanu pronounced. 'She had a condition known as nervous exhaustion.'

'Why?' said Shahana.

Chanu, very briefly, looked unsure. Then he rallied. 'Nerves. Women's thing,' he said. 'You'll know about it when you get older.'

'But not any more?' Bibi insisted. 'She doesn't have it any more?'

'Not any more,' said Nazneen. She looked at her daughter's wide, flat cheeks, her heavy forehead. Her soft brown eyes filled with anxiety. It was an open face, neither plain nor pretty but pleasing in its willingness to please. How like her mother she looked. Nazneen flushed, first with pride and then with worry. 'Don't be anxious. Don't even think about it.'

'I won't,' said Bibi promptly, and looked worried when Nazneen laughed.

They worked together as a kind of unrehearsed circus team, with too many leaders and frequent missteps. Shahana complained that Bibi had pulled everything out of a kitchen cupboard. 'But I'm cleaning it,' said Bibi. 'But I just put everything in there,' moaned Shahana. Chanu chuckled and slapped his stomach. 'You think your mother has an easy job? How many times do I tell you to help your mother? It's not easy. Not easy at all.' He ate slices of bread spread with ghur and saw no necessity for a plate. Nazneen swept around him.

'Razia came to see you,' he told her. 'Do you remember? I think you spoke one or two words to her, though you would not speak to me.' He smiled to show her there was no accusation involved.

She did not remember.

'Yes, she came,' he continued. 'Not a respectable type, you could not call her that. But she is genuine in her affection.'

Nazneen went on with her cleaning. In these activities, the scraping and scouring and sweeping and washing, within their sweet-dull void she found the kind of refuge she had the night before sought and lost in the Qur'an. Razia looked in on her and Nazma came with Sorupa and fed her with choice morsels of gossip that passed through her undigested. A day slipped by in this way and at night she slept a dreamless sleep.

As she cleaned the bathroom the next day, Nazneen thought of Hasina. Fate, it seemed, had turned Hasina's life around and around, tossed and twisted it like a baby rat, naked and blind, in the jaws of a dog. And yet Hasina did not see it. She examined the bite marks on her body, and for each one she held herself accountable. This is where I savaged myself, here and here and here.

She dusted off the sewing machine and settled down to work. Chanu, who seemed to have slipped out of the work habit, fussed around.

'She must not overdo it,' he said. Whenever he wanted to emphasize her fragility, he put her at this linguistic remove.

'She will not overdo it,' muttered Nazneen. I've already overdone it, she thought to herself.

'She is still under doctor's orders.'

Whatever I have done is done. This thought came to her, as fresh and stunning as the greatest of scientific breakthroughs, or ecstatic revelations.

'She is supposed to be taking bed rest.'

Now I have earned myself a place in hell for all eternity. That much is settled. At least it is settled.

'Her husband also recommends it.'

A degree or two hotter, a year or two more or less. What does it matter?

'She really ought to listen to him.'

Good. That's it, then. That is it.

'She doesn't seem to be listening.'

'Oh, she is,' said Nazneen, 'she's listening. But she is not obeying.'

Chanu smiled expectantly, waiting for the joke to be explained. The smile lingered a while around his lips, while his eyes scanned her face and then the room, looking for clues, for changes. 'All right then,' he said, after a while. 'I have some reading to do. Shahana! Bibi! Quick. Who is going to turn the pages for me?'

It was an August afternoon, warm and sunless. The estate seemed muffled by the thick grey sky, dense as a blanket. Nazneen looked out and up and watched as an aeroplane smeared the grey with white and disappeared behind a coagulation of buildings. She had come to London on an aeroplane, but she could not remember the journey. All she remembered now was being given breakfast, a bowl of cornflakes which had broken some sort of threshold and released a serving of tears. She had borne everything but this strange breakfast. Chanu, she remembered, seemed to understand. He took the bowl and hid it somewhere and promised her this and promised her that and made so many promises that she had to beg him to stop.

That was a long time ago, when she took such things too seriously. She looked over at the old flat in Seasalter House and saw that the window was filled with potted plants. She should have bought plants and tended and loved them. All those years ago she should have bought seeds. She should have sewn new covers for the sofa and the armchairs. She should have thrown away the wardrobe, or at least painted it. She should have plastered the wall and painted that too. She should have put Chanu's certificates on the wall. But she had left everything undone.

For so many years, all the permanent fixtures of her life had felt so temporary. There was no reason to change anything, no time to grow anything. And now, somehow, it felt too late.

She looked across at the brickwork, flaking beneath the windowsill, black within the cracks like dirt caught beneath fingernails. She had spent nearly half her life here and she wondered if she would die here as well.

Into her reverie broke the sound of knocking at the door. Before she even opened it she knew it would be him, knew the way that he knocked with gentle impatience. Karim had a bale of jeans over his shoulder, tied together with thick cord. He set it down on the floor and folded his arms. They did not speak but regarded each other with caution, each wondering who would offer an explanation and what would be explained.

Looking became unbearable and, as if by mutual agreement, both lowered their eyes. Nazneen breathed air that was choked with things unsaid, their suspense caught in molecules like drops of condensation. She was aware of her body, as though just now she had come to inhabit it for the first time and it was both strange and wonderful to have this new and physical expression. A pulse behind her ear. A needle of excitement down her thigh. Inside her stomach, a deep and desperate hunger.

She did not know who moved first or how but they were in the bedroom and locked together so close that even air could not come between them. She bit his ear. She bit his lip and tasted blood. He pushed her onto the bed and tore at her blouse and pushed the skirt of her sari around her waist. Still dressed, she was more than naked. The times when she had lain naked beneath the sheets belonged to another, saintly era. She helped him undress. She felt it now: there was nothing she would not do. She drew him in, not with passion but with ferocity as if it were possible to lose and win all in this one act. He held a hand across her throat and she wanted everything: to vanish inside the heat like a drop of dew, to feel his hand press down and extinguish her, to hear Chanu come in and see what she was, his wife.

Karim lay on his back with his arms behind his head. Nazneen did not move, her limbs strewn around like the result of a traffic accident. She lay and waited for disgust to stalk its way over and into her. But nothing came. Only the warmth of his body radiating into hers. She had begun to drift into sleep when Karim turned on his side and started to talk. He uttered caresses, whispered promises, moaned and mumbled his love, sweet with the stupidity of youth, humbled by his stutter. She got up and went to wash and rinsed away his words.

Later, he sat on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table while she worked. There was a hole in his sock and a big toe poked out of it. Nazneen tried not to see this. She brought him a glass of water. She brought him some dates. All the time she tried to keep her eyes away from the white socks with the grey bits at the heel and ball and the extra hole.

A couple of times he punched numbers into his mobile phone but there seemed to be no one to speak to. He stretched his arms and fidgeted. 'Got to get things going,' he said, to nobody in particular.

Nazneen worked on her zips. If he asked her, she would tell him everything about her illness, about the impossibility of continuing and then they would talk, and out of the talking would come an ending.

'You angry with me?'

She looked up, to check he was not speaking into his phone.

'Are you angry because I haven't been here for a while?'

'No.'

He smiled. 'OK, I can see that you're angry.' He seemed amused. 'I've been away, up to Bradford to see some family.'

'I am not angry.'

'I'll make it up to you.'

Suddenly, she was furious. 'Why do you not believe me when I tell you I am not angry?' She spoke in Bengali and she hissed the words.

He enjoyed the joke. 'I believe you, sister. I can see that you are happy.'

She did not answer and for several minutes she shoved silence at him. After a while she wanted something to say but nothing seemed suitable.

'Better go, man,' said Karim, and he took his feet off the table. He spoke lightly, as if they were just fooling around. 'Places to go, people to see.'

'No,' she said. 'Don't.'

'Things to do. Jeans to deliver.' But he didn't get up.