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we eat.”
    When the three of them reached the nearby park, Sarah saw that the woman with the baby and little girl had gone, only to be replaced by four boys about Ali’s age, who were messing about on the climbing frame. One of them was Hassan, the boy who called Ali names at school.
    Ali tugged on his mother’s coat sleeve. “I don’t feel like playing football anymore. Let’s go to the restaurant.”
    “Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Sarah agreed.
    “Nonsense! A quick game of football will build up our appetites.” Akbar took Ali’s hand and tried to lead him into the park.
    The boys on the climbing frame got down and stood in a row, staring at them.
     “Look! It’s half-breed Ali!” one of the bigger boys shouted.
    “Mum?”
    Sarah could see the pleading look in Ali’s eyes. She went to Akbar and quietly explained that the boys in the park had given Ali some problems at school.
    Akbar looked shocked. He stood to his full height of more than six feet and grabbed the football off Ali. “Don’t worry, my son, I’ll soon sort this out.” And he marched directly towards the boy who called Ali names.
     

Chapter 6
     
    Ali wolfed down another portion of roasted garlic lamb and helped himself to some more rice.
    “Eat, Ali. You’ll never be able to rule over the Al-Zafirs if you aren’t strong,” his father said. He, too, spooned more food onto his plate, two beef kebabs and some roast chicken.
    “Dad, will I be a sheikh one day like you?”
    “Of course! You’re my son.”
    Sarah wanted to ask about Rasha’s son, but she was afraid of spoiling the festive mood at the table. They were sitting at a local restaurant that specialised in Arabic food and catered to the large Middle Eastern community that lived in that part of London. Akbar had ordered huge amounts off the menu and although Sarah had already finished eating a while back, the waiter continued to serve them several more plates of meat, rice, and salad.
    “Sheikh Akbar Al-Zafir!” a middle-aged man called out from another table on the other side of the room. Sarah wasn’t sure whether she imagined it, but it seemed as if the whole restaurant froze.
    Akbar stood and walked to the man who said his name. Soon there was a lot of backslapping, laughing, and rising of glasses at the other table, and it wasn’t long before half of the restaurant seemed to join in.
    “Everyone, you must meet my son!” Akbar shouted. He came and took Ali to the other side of the restaurant, where a group of more than twenty men were now chatting excitedly. They pushed several tables together and called out for more drinks.
    Sarah was left sitting on her own at a table covered in half-eaten food. She picked at a chicken leg. She knew that as a female, she shouldn’t join a group of Arabic men. When they first entered the restaurant, the waiter seated them at the back, in a section reserved for families. The only other family there was a group of six people, only one of which was a woman, and she was completely covered from head to foot. Every time she wanted to eat something, she lifted her black veil just a fraction and surreptitiously slipped a piece of food under it.
    At the front of the restaurant, she could see Akbar proudly showing off his son to the other men as waiters rushed around, serving more food and thick, black coffee. Sarah was exhausted after the day’s events, but she was willing to sit and wait for a little bit while Akbar talked to his friends. She guessed that some of them were old acquaintances from Yazan and it was only fair to give him the chance to catch up with them. Ali looked thrilled to be sitting there next to his father, who was obviously the focus of so much attention and adulation from the other men. Sarah didn’t recognise most of them, but there were a few that she knew, including Hassan’s dad, and a couple of others who brought their female relatives to the clinic where she worked.
    Hassan’s dad was one of the ones