SATURDAY 10AM – FARIDA RAFIQAs soon as he hears me coming out of the bathroom, Jameel is upon me like a crafty snake, slithering along the landing and fixing me with his tired eyes, deciding how to force from me what he needs. He hasn't shaved this morning and greying stubble protrudes from his usually smooth chin.
“I've been thinking,” he tells me, running a hand through his hair. “If anyone would know anything about Uzma's whereabouts, it would be Maryam, wouldn't it?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I reply after a slight pause, ashamed to admit that I am a bad mother for not sensing that my own daughter was planning something. “They're best friends, after all.”
“So, you need to call her,” Jameel insists. “Talk to her as an aunty, explain how concerned you are and that you just want some contac
