'The girls will be here tomorrow. And the next day.'

He paused a while. When he spoke again he had dropped the tone. 'Maybe it's, like, time I got to know them.'

She had wanted to talk and now she did not want to talk. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, not the old way but the new way: just two weeks ago, or ten minutes ago.

'Who did you see in Bradford?'

He shrugged, as if it were impossible to say. 'Family. Cousins and that.'

'How many cousins?'

He shrugged again. 'Loads.'

She worked on him, and it was not difficult to make him stay. He decided to use Chanu's computer. She wiped the dust off the screen. While he fiddled around with plugs and wires he began to talk about the Bengal Tigers.

'We've got to get things going again. Nobody bothers to turn up. It's pathetic.'

She ran a damp cloth over the keyboard. He was close enough to smell: limes and cloves and the lingering afterburn of sex, washed away but still there if you knew about it, like a removed stain.

'Everyone was coming, you shudda seen it,' he told Nazneen, as though she had not. 'Then smack' he clicked his fingers 'all gone again.'

His beard had grown in. Even a beard could not hide how handsome he was. She remembered the meeting in the community hall at the edge of the estate, sitting below the stage, flaming inside her red sari, watching him pull the audience to his side, running home and waiting for him, knowing yet scarcely believing he would come. That was how she wanted him, like that, not with his feet on her coffee table and holes in his socks.

'When we were going to organize that march . . . different story.' He bent down and unravelled some wires.

'Make another one.'

'Lion Hearts were going to march against us. We were going to march against them. But they bottled it. They knew they were going to be outnumbered. We were going to hammer 'em.' He banged his head on the table coming up again, and rubbed it with his fist.

'Make another march. Why you have to do it against someone?'

He looked at her and transferred his fist to his beard and rubbed that as well. 'It don't work like that.'

'Why not?'

'You can't march for no reason. That's like like just walking around, man.'

She grew stubborn. 'Why?'

He looked her slowly up and down, as if she might be an impostor. 'Because,' he said with quiet emphasis, 'it is.'

'You want people to come back in the group?'

'Bengal Tigers is dying out. We need new blood.' He pressed a button on the keyboard and the computer made a whirring noise, like insects at nightfall. He sat down and pressed more buttons.

'Make it into a celebration,' she said. 'People always come out for a celebration. Some singing, some dancing.'

'What, like a mela?' He looked round at her, and gave her the kind of smile that substituted for a pat on the head.

'Yes,' she insisted. 'Like that.'

He was absorbed in the screen and she could not say any more. She stood by his shoulder and demanded his attention silently. After a few minutes he spoke again without turning his head.

'You know, it could be like a mela.'

'Oh, but do you think so?' said Nazneen.

'It don't have to be a negative thing. It can be positive.'

'Well,' said Nazneen, 'if you say so.'

Karim spent an hour or so in front of the computer screen and Nazneen blunted two needles on the zips. From time to time it occurred to her that Chanu, who had gone back to the taxi-driving early in the morning, might arrive home and find them in this compromising domesticity. The thought of it left her indifferent. He comes, he doesn't come, she said to herself. By this attitude, she was vaguely shocked and nearly thrilled for it seemed at once wanton and sublime, the first real stoicism she had shown to the course of her fate.

'What are you looking at?'

'Day in the life of a typical Bangladeshi village.'

She got up and looked over his shoulder at a picture of a bullock cart and driver, both animal and man jutting bones like rude gestures.

'When was the last time you went there?'

'N-no,' he said, and his stammer grew worse than ever. 'Never been there.'

She went out to the kitchen and made tea. Somehow, she felt sorry, as if she had asked casually after a relative, not knowing that he had died.

When she returned the picture had disappeared and the screen was filled with English text. 'What's this?' she said, and was surprised at how she sounded, almost as though she had a right to know.

'Hadith of the day, on an Islamic web site.'

'Go on what does it say?'

He read in English. 'On the authority of Abu Hurairah (may Allah be pleased with him) who reported that Allah's Messenger (may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) had said: A man's share of adultery is destined by Allah. He will never escape such destiny. The adultery of the eye is the look, the adultery of the ears is listening to voluptuous talk, the adultery of the tongue is licentious speech, the adultery of the hand is beating others harshly, and the adultery of the feet is to walk to the place where he intends to commit sins. The heart yearns and desires for such vicious deeds. The loins may or may not put such vicious deeds into effect.'

After the first few lines Nazneen heard only the blood in her ears. She watched Karim as a mouse watches a cat; when he turned she would be ready.

'Lot of good stuff on here, sister.' Karim did not even look at her. His voice was unchanged. What form was this punishment to take? Was she to believe that he had found this hadith at random?

'An Islamic education open to everyone.' He worked the mouse and kept looking at the screen. Even if he had chanced upon it, what then?

'The Islamic Way of Eating, or Sleeping the Islamic Way.' He looked at her now, and she saw that nothing had changed. 'Which you want to hear first?'

'It's time for you to go,' she said, and she took his tea back to the kitchen and poured it away.

All around the Dogwood Estate posters began to appear, drawn in red and green felt-tip pen and attached like some late-flowering blossom to the lampposts and litter bins. Shahana brought one home.

'Can we go?' She delivered this like an ultimatum. 'Everyone's going,' she added, and managed to sound as if she was already sick of explaining.

Chanu took the piece of paper from her hand. 'What is this rubbish?'

Shahana blew up at her fringe. 'Everyone's going.'

'Bengal Tigers,' said Chanu, and chewed it over.

'And Bengal Cubs.'

'You see, I think I remember this name.' He put his head this way and that, trying to roll a memory out of the corner of his brain.

'They're organizing a festival. Everyone who wants to help has to turn up next Monday.'

Chanu remembered. 'Those idiots who were putting the leaflets through my door.' He cleared his throat and folded his arms on top of his stomach. 'In this society-'

'Can we go or not?'

'Bibi,' shouted Chanu, 'tell the little memsahib that she is going to get beaten to a bloody pulp. Body parts will not be identifiable.'

'It's not fair,' shouted Shahana.

Bibi, who was standing near the doorway, slipped out of the room.

'Nothing will be left,' screamed Chanu, 'only a little bit of bone.'

Nazneen stood between her husband and her daughter. 'I say she can go,' she said, but as they were both shouting she could not be heard. 'I say she can go,' she yelled. They were silent and shocked, as if she had ripped out their tongues. 'And Shahana, show respect to your father.'

'Yes, Amma,' said Shahana.

'And you,' she told Chanu, 'should be careful what you say to such a small girl.'

Chanu's mouth worked silently. 'That is true,' he managed, after a few moments. Father and daughter looked at each other, caught in a conspiracy. The conspiracy transpired to be one of amusement. They smiled and fought against laughter. Neither of them looked at Nazneen. Then Chanu winked at Shahana and said, 'We must remember, she has not been well.'

'Amma,' said Shahana, still avoiding her eye. 'Would you like to sit down?'

'I will sit down,' Nazneen told her. 'And shouldn't you be spending some time with your schoolbooks?'

Chanu wobbled his cheeks and made some restrained hand gestures to Shahana. Better escape from this madwoman while there is still a chance.

Having descended from her high-wire, Nazneen spent the next few days stamping along on the ground, and the ground to her surprise appeared to be solid. The girls and Chanu took their turn at tiptoeing. 'Now, what did we agree?' Chanu would say to the girls and they would nod their heads very slightly as though Nazneen must not see.

'We should all go to the meeting,' said Chanu. 'It will be fun.' She said that she would go if he liked, and he touched her cheek and said, 'That's it. Now that's better, isn't it?' and generally fussed around until she was forced to smile just to make him go away.

On the day before the meeting was scheduled Chanu sat cross-legged in his lungi and vest on the floor, reading the newspaper.

'Shahana! Bibi! Come quick.'

The girls came and each tried to stand behind the other.

'Which do you think is the happiest nation on earth?' A smile puffed out his cheeks.

Shahana shrugged and Bibi put a finger in her mouth.

'Can you guess?' In his delight, he rocked a little so that his stomach slapped on his thighs. 'Come on, take a guess.'

'Happiest?' said Bibi, finding difficulty understanding the word.

'Bangladesh,' said Shahana, in a monotone.

'You are right. It says here that Bangladesh ranks Number One in the World Happiest Survey. India is fifth, and USA is forty-sixth.'

'God,' said Shahana.

Chanu ignored her. 'Research led by professors at the London School of Economics into links between personal spending power and perceived quality of life has found out that Bangladeshis are the happiest people in the world. And LSE is a very respectable establishment, comparable to Dhaka University or Open University.' He handed the newspaper to Shahana so she could verify the facts. 'You see, when we go there, what will you lose? Burgers and chips and' he waved at her legs 'tight jeans. And what will you gain? Happiness.'

'God,' repeated Shahana. Bibi stood on one leg and grimaced in concentration.

'Where do you think this country comes in the league table? Go on, have a look. Thirty-second. So, you see how big the difference is.' He began to hum an old film song and examine the corns on his left foot. The girls slid away leaving the newspaper on the floor.

'Maybe needs a bit slicing off here,' said Chanu after a while. He bent as far over as his belly would allow and poked around his toes.

'I don't believe it,' said Nazneen. She was sitting at the table, not working or tidying but just sitting.

'Well,' said Chanu, 'I will do it myself.'

'No. I don't believe this survey. What kind of professors are these?'

Chanu's eyebrows shot up high, leaving his small eyes vulnerable, unprotected, like two snails out of their shells. He reached for the newspaper. 'Here have a look. I am not making it up.'

'It may be written down,' said Nazneen. 'But I do not believe it.'

'Why?' It was scarcely possible for one face to contain such a quantity of astonishment.

Nazneen did not know how to answer. She was unsure why she had spoken. She did not know if she believed the newspaper report or not. Finally, she said, 'My sister she is not happy.'

'But Hasina is very happy,' insisted Chanu.

'No, she is not. Has not been . . .' said Nazneen. And she started to tell him the things she had hidden from him over the years, and at first she stumbled around as if it were lies she were telling and not the truth, and then the words began to flow and he was stiller than she had ever seen him, a slackness in his face, and she told him about her sister and left nothing out, beginning with Mr Chowdhury, the landlord, the one who (Chanu had said) was respectable-type. When she spoke of the rape she named it in the village way, Hasina was robbed of her nakphool, her nose ring; and the selling of her body she did not name, saying only my sister had to stay alive and she saw that Chanu understood.

When she had finished, she folded her hands in her lap and sat up very straight, defying with her neatness the chaos and disorder of the world. Chanu waggled his head and looked around the room.

'I will make a plan,' he said. 'Something must be done.'

On the morning after the Bengal Tigers' meeting, Nazneen made the short journey across the estate to visit Hanufa.

Hanufa presented her with a stack of old margarine and ice cream tubs. 'Dal, kebabs and niramish. I made too much.'

'But I'm fine now,' said Nazneen.

'Take it,' said Hanufa. 'I made too much.' She fetched a stool and suggested that Nazneen put her feet up. It was not worth the bother of protesting. Nazneen did as she was told.