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but he just couldn’t face the walk – not anymore. He veered underneath the roof and felt immediate relief, hearing the wind and rain batter tin and glass, instead of him. He looked down the road but no bus was on its way so he just stood there, foregoing the empty seats.
    ‘Gosh, what a miserable day!’
    He turned round, startled to see a woman smiling at him. She was heavily pregnant; late twenties, early thirties and with bags of groceries by her side, and a rosy glow to her cheeks.
    ‘Yes, yes it is,’ he replied tentatively, before considering his response to be somewhat effete. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. You’re right – it is a miserable day. I can’t wait to get home.’ The woman looked at him quizzically and he smiled with embarrassment.
    ‘Get home?’ she remarked. ‘My day has only just begun! Do you work nights or something?’ Salman smiled, feeling more relaxed. She was still catching her breath and her words were mixed in with puffs and pants. The supermarket was only nearby but in her condition and this weather, and all those bags, one could quickly get despondent. Yet here she was, wiping matted locks from her forehead and enjoying being alive. Salman thought of a robin in a snow-covered landscape, busily foraging for berries: winter cheer personified.
    ‘No, no, I’m not working today. I’ve got the day off.’ He tensed a little before continuing, ‘I’m a Muslim and today is Eid. It’s like our Christmas.’ He paused, waiting, actually expecting to see a note of discomfort as he mentioned the M-word, but it didn’t come. ‘I’ve been at the mosque this morning and I’m going home now to celebrate with my family.’
    ‘Oh, that’s nice!’ exclaimed the woman. Her eyes were bright and her face seemed full of genuine delight. Salman felt renewed – such an elixir, the milk of human kindness. ‘Do you give presents to each other?’
    ‘Yes, of course. And we have a feast and enjoy being together. It’s exactly like Christmas, minus the drink and the Queen’s Speech!’ Salman revelled in his own joke.
    ‘Ah, that’s wonderful. How many children do you have?’ She settled into one of the seats and looked up, her smile uncomplicated.
    ‘I’ve got two – a boy and a girl. They’re right little terrors.’ He pictured his Taimur and Aaliyah and wanted to be home now more than anything. ‘And you?’
    ‘Oh, I’ve got just the one, young Emily,’ and she opened up her handbag and prised a passport-sized photo from her wallet. She handed it to Salman who looked at a miniature version of the lady herself – all big smile, rosy cheeks and strawberry blonde hair.
    ‘And another one on the way, I see,’ he gestured merrily at her bump whilst handing the picture back.
    ‘Yes, yes. Only one month to go now!’ She caressed her stomach before breaking once more into that pinball smile. ‘Emily has already said that she only wants a baby sister, and that if we bring home a boy she’ll leave him outside at the bottom of the garden!’ The two of them laughed, enjoying the innocence of a child. ‘We have so much to look forward to, sometimes it makes you desperate for those whose futures are so bleak.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Oh you know, what we’re doing in Iraq. I feel almost guilty when I look at what I have – especially when my country is wrecking the futures of others.’
    ‘Yes, it’s a sad business,’ offered Salman simply. He’d never discussed the issue with a non-Muslim and took a cautious line.
    ‘It’s more than sad,’ she stressed. ‘It’s an absolute travesty. Did you know that Iraq is being forced to pay reparations – even post-Saddam? Is that not sick?’
    ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said, still unsure how to react.
    ‘No? Well it gets worse. A lot of that money is going to big business. People don’t even have clean water and there are dogs eating corpses in the street, and yet Iraq is forced to handover money to American Express,