Ten years after my husband threw me out in the rain while I was carrying his twins, I watched him tell a television audience that his one regret was never having children.

Not one person in that room moved.

Somebody's glass went over on a table near the back and nobody picked it up for about a minute.

Yusuf had arranged two journalists. Both of them were standing about eleven feet away and neither of them took a photograph.

One of them told me afterward, in a corridor, that she simply could not do it.

She has been doing that job for nineteen years. She had the camera up and she put it down.

And then that man said four words to my son. From the floor, looking up, with his hands on his own knees.

"I didn't know. I swear."

And my son looked down at him and said: "I know. Mum told us."

Which is not what I had expected.

It is not what one single person in that room expected either, and it is not what I had told him to say, because I had not told him to say anything at all.