6‘Are you prepared to meet your grandmother tomorrow?’ Ghassan asked me on the evening of the day he took me to the National Day celebrations.
‘I don’t know,’ I answered hesitantly. ‘She used to hate me.’
I watched Ghassan’s face, expecting some encouragement from him, but he didn’t say anything. ‘Do you think she still feels the same way?’ I continued.
‘I’ve no idea, Isa, but . . .’ Ghassan began, then paused. ‘Don’t think it will be easy,’ he continued.
The next morning, a little after eleven thirty, I was shaking and sweating. I sat next to Ghassan in his beloved car. He parked outside my grandmother’s house and looked at me. ‘Isa! What’s wrong?’ he said.
‘Take me back to Jabriya, please.’
He took a paper handkerchief out of the box in front of him and passed it to me. ‘Isa, take
