The Trust on the Shelves

Rain slid down the bus window in silver lines as Bradford’s terraced houses rolled past. Amina pressed her forehead to the cool glass and watched the green dome of Madni Jamia Masjid appear at the end of Leeds Road.

After school, she got off at the same stop, walked past steaming kebab shops and the smell of fried dough, and headed for the masjid basement. The call to prayer for ‘asr echoed between the brick houses.

In the basement, strip lights buzzed over shelves: tins of tomatoes, stacks of pasta, towers of rice. Her mother, Sakina, tied her apron and wiped her hands on a tea towel.

“On time again,” she said, tapping Amina’s watch. “Our little accountant.”