The interview at Clarkson’s went quite well, I thought.

There was one awkward moment, though, when someone asked where I thought I’d be in five year’s time. I told her, “Glasgow,” which failed to get the laugh I’d expected. Apart from that, everyone seemed quite happy with my answers. All I have to do now is wait. It will be a week to ten days before I hear if I’ve got the job.

Now, of course, I’m wondering whether I really want it. Might it not be better to stay on here at college?

Once the interview was over, and they’d given me the traditional tea and biscuits, I got the bus back to Hoxton for Friday prayers. Afterwards, I approached the imam, set out my situation as clearly as I could, and asked him to explain what I’d been reading about the Holy Spirit.

“It’s the Archangel Gabriel,” he said. “Everyone knows that.”

“Do they?”

He looked slightly uncertain.

“Well, most people do,” he said. “Gabriel was the one who told Mary she’d have a son. He’s Allah’s messenger, you know.”

“And he’s the Holy Spirit?”

“Yes, Sami.”

“I see,” I said, though I didn’t really.

The imam smiled.

“Glad that’s sorted out,” he said. “Go to go now. I’ve got a couple of weddings to arrange.”

And he hurried away to a noisy group at the back of the hall.


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