The House in Fez Read online

  Juliet

  The ceiling fan grated as it churned the air in the TV room. Lalla snored on the sofa beside Samir, and Zina sat in one of the armchairs, legs curled under her. Juliet sat in the other.

  Samir gestured at the screen. ‘How is your French, Juliet? Are you able to follow what they are saying?’

  ‘I don’t have a clue. I’m going by their expressions.’

  ‘Shall I tell you what is happening?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Is there no football on tonight?’

  ‘No—or we would be watching it,’ he said with a grin.

  She laughed. ‘I bet we would.’

  He sat forward in his seat. ‘You do not share your sister’s dislike of our… patriarchal way of life in my country?’

  ‘No. Live and let live, that’s me.’ She tried to stifle an enormous yawn. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise.’ His smile was warm. ‘Perhaps you would like some mint tea before you sleep?’

  ‘D’you know, I think I would. I’m becoming addicted to the stuff.’

  He barked a few words to Zina, who uncurled herself from the chair and left the room.

  Juliet turned to Samir in dismay. ‘I didn’t mean… she shouldn’t…’

  Samir shrugged. ‘She is happy to do what I ask, happy to be a wife.’

  She flashed him a suspicious look. ‘Is she?’

  ‘Indeed. We have a saying here in Morocco. A woman without a husband is like a bird without a nest.’

  Lord, it’s a good job Portia’s not around to hear that.

  Her thoughts lingered on her sister. All day she’d been out of sorts, grumpy. Was it all about the child she’d seen in the sweatshop? Or had the pregnancy that never was upset her, reminded her of her own childlessness? Maybe she was just overtired—the heat seemed to bother her, and small wonder in all those clothes—and that’s why she’d decided on an early night. It would do her good.

  Zina returned with a tray of glasses, and as she handed them around, she said something in a low voice to Samir. He shook his head, and after a moment’s hesitation she picked up her drink and went back out. Juliet tried to catch her eye but failed.

  She looks upset. Did she ask him if he’d be sleeping with her, now Miranda’s gone? And how does that work, anyway, with Hasan in the same room?

  Lalla let out a sudden snort, sat up and looked around the room accusingly. She gestured towards the tray of tea and Samir took a glass over to her, then sat back down by Juliet.

  ‘I had a text from Miranda earlier. She has arrived safely in England. It is cold and raining there.’

  I wonder if she’ll text me and Portia? Bet she doesn’t.

  As she sipped her tea, she thought about home and Darren. They had spoken earlier, a conversation both warm and loving. Did she still love him? Could it just be that depression had frozen her emotions, or had their relationship drifted into that of affectionate friends? When had it all begun to change? The harder she thought, the more elusive it became—like picking at a roll of Sellotape trying to find the start.

  When barely an hour had passed, Samir switched off the television without asking if she’d finished viewing.

  Juliet hid a smile. Portia wouldn’t have been able to let that go, but what did it matter? Different countries, different ways. Miranda seemed to be making the adjustment all right. Portia always had to be so confrontational. Still, she thought wryly, it might have been good to have a share of her sister’s balls.

  Lalla shuffled away to her room, and Juliet followed Samir out into the cool of the courtyard.

  ‘Look, Juliet.’ He pointed up at a thousand glittering stars studding the night sky. ‘I think you do not see this in England.’

  ‘No, we don’t. Too much light pollution.’ A lump came to her throat. ‘How beautiful it is. How small we are—insignificant.’

  They stood together gazing up until a shout from the medina broke the spell.

  ‘Goodnight, Samir.’

  ‘Goodnight, Juliet. Sleep well.’

  She opened the bedroom door with care so as not to waken Portia, then felt her way inside and undressed in the dark. The room smelt of damp plaster. It had permeated the whole house since the ceiling collapsed.

  Grateful for the softness of the bed, she sank back and closed her eyes, thought over the day. How happy she was to be getting to know Zina better and how comfortable she felt in Fez. She’d fallen in love with the place and the people and could imagine living here forever.

  She heard a buzz. Bugger. What had followed her into the room? It sounded like a bluebottle. Mosquitoes whined. Burying her face in the pillow, she tried to ignore it, but the sound grew louder and she knew she’d have to get up and find the fly swat. She patted the orange box between the beds until her fingers found the matches, then she took one out and rasped it against the side of the box. Blinking at the flare, she fed the flame to the wick of the candle. As soft, buttery light spread around the room, she saw the empty bed.

  Portia

  What am I going to do?

  A huge clot of fear grew in her stomach as she gazed, with increasing panic, around her. She closed her fingers over her phone. But who could she ring? Juliet? How could she help? What about Miranda? Her spirits lifted for a moment, then slumped. How could her mother give her directions when she herself, had no idea whereabouts in the medina she was? And she’d have to explain her reason for wandering the lanes late at night. No, it couldn’t be Miranda. Gavin? Get real. The bitter irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her. All the numbers that were stored in her phone and all of them useless.

  Try again. Maybe around this next corner…

  The next corner revealed a narrow alley strung with sagging laundry. Please God, help me find the way. If only there was somebody around. She crept into another lane where the evening mist had mixed with smoke from cooking fires to form a gentle fog which hovered a few feet from the ground. Water dripped somewhere and there was the sweet tang of decay in the air. She heard a cough, saw a shadow, and her heart lurched as she ran away, skidding on a greasy stone, then bouncing off damp-blackened walls, only stopping when she reached a junction. With shaking hands she took out her phone, fumbling, hands slippery with sweat.

  Juliet answered on the second ring. ‘God, Portia, where are you? I’ve been going out of my mind. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m lost, Jules.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I’m somewhere in the middle of the medina and there’s not one single person to ask.’

  ‘I’ll come. Tell me where to come and—’

  ‘I’m lost. Listen to me.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m being stupid. What can I do? Tell me what to do.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell Samir. Ask him to come and find me.’

  Juliet’s gulp was clearly audible. After a moment’s silence, she said, ‘Right, hang on. Stay with me, just grabbing my dressing gown…’

  Portia heard rustling, a door creaking open and after a minute, the sound of knocking. A minute passed, then two. More knocking, then Juliet’s voice followed by Samir’s deeper tones.

  He came on the line. ‘Portia?’ The anger in his tone was evident. ‘Find a street name.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘On the street corner… high up.’

  ‘There aren’t—’

  ‘Yes, there are. Look.’

  It was so dark in the alley—black, inky darkness. How was she supposed to see? She screwed up her eyes and peered at the wall—nothing. She tried another, but could only make out part of the lettering.

  ‘I can’t read it.’

  ‘Spell out what you can see.’

  ‘Ras, then something, something r, something t then…’ Samir gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Wait, there’s an empty crate.’ She dragged it across the stones, propped it against the wall and climbed on to it. It rocked, slipped, and tipped her to the ground. She crashed on to the stones and her phone skittered away. Hauling herself to her feet, she looked arou
nd for it in panic, found it and snatched it up. Please, please don’t be broken.

  ‘Hello? You still there?’

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped.

  ‘I’m just…’ She turned the crate over; maybe it would be more stable that way. Gingerly, she tried again. The crate wobbled, but held firm as she craned her neck to read the street sign. ‘It says Ras Cherratene.’

  ‘What?’

  She spelled it out.

  ‘Stay there. Do not move. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said meekly.

  As the minutes passed her fear began to dissolve, to be replaced by apprehension. Samir was going to be so mad at her. And yet, if he didn’t keep children in slavery, if there wasn’t a tiny girl locked in a house alone, then she wouldn’t have needed to be roaming the medina in the dead of night. Which way would he come? She looked along each of the alleys as she waited at the junction. In the end she didn’t hear his approach at all—he must have moved as stealthily as a cat.

  ‘You stupid bitch,’ he spat. He loomed over her, breathing hard.

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that. Who do you think you are?’

  ‘Shut up. Just follow.’

  Seething, she had to trot to catch him as he marched away. He didn’t look back to make sure she could keep up, just strode ahead, leaving her in the slipstream of his fury.

  When they reached the riad, she followed him through the door and bent to remove her sandals. When she straightened up, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her across the dimly-lit courtyard towards the salon.

  ‘Let go of me, you bastard.’ His hard fingers dug into her skin. She tried to free herself, but only succeeded in giving herself more pain. ‘Samir, I’m warning you…’

  He pulled her into the room and slammed her against the wall, knocking the breath from her body. Gripping her shoulders, he pushed his face into hers. Despite the gloom of the salon, she saw the angry glitter of his eyes and her heart banged with fear.

  ‘What,’ he said, ‘just what were you doing out there? I am responsible for you while your mother is away and—’

  ‘Bollocks. I’m not one of your wives.’ She struggled, tried to loosen his grip. Shall I knee him in the balls?

  As though sensing her intention, he pressed his body against hers, his face just a few inches away now. ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘If you didn’t keep children in slavery…’

  He jerked his head back to look at her. ‘What? Is that where you were? How did you find them again?’

  ‘I followed you. You think you’re so smart and—’

  ‘You followed me?’

  ‘And I went tonight to see if that tiny child was sleeping there—and you’d locked her in. How could you do such a—?’

  ‘You stupid, ignorant woman.’ His grip on her shoulders tightened and she winced. ‘She has no home.’

  ‘And the locked door?’

  ‘For her safety.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ She fought against him, tried to bring up her knee.

  Suddenly, he bent his head and kissed her savagely.

  All the breath left her body.

  Bastard! How dare he…

  And then she felt the hardness of his erection. She tried to break free. He tightened his grip. She tried again, briefly, to pull away and then wrapped her arms around him instead, pressed against him. He squeezed her breast, then reached inside her bra for her nipple. She moaned. God, that feels good. His hand slipped between her legs and she shifted a little to make it easier for him.

  Suddenly, the room flooded with light. She sprang away from Samir. Juliet stood at the door. Right behind her was Zina.

  Juliet

  She hovered on the balcony outside her bedroom waiting for Samir to return with Portia, pacing up and down, becoming more and more agitated. Had he managed to find her? What if something happened to her before he could get there? Recalling his silent fury she shivered—she wouldn’t like to be in her sister’s shoes when he reached her.

  The key grated in the lock and they came in, not speaking, then bent to remove their shoes. Thank God he’d found her. Juliet let out a long breath, turned to go back into the bedroom, then froze as she saw Samir’s hand clamp around Portia’s arm. As he dragged her sister across the courtyard Juliet ran towards the stairs then hared down them.

  Outside the salon their loud voices made her hesitate. If they carried on shouting like that they’d wake the whole house, if not the street. Why in God’s name couldn’t Portia leave well alone, and why couldn’t Samir realise he’d never be able to dominate her?

  The voices stopped abruptly. The silence echoed. Oh my God, what has he done to her? She reached into the room, groped on the wall for the light switch, then snapped it on. Blinking in the glare, she saw Samir and her sister spring apart, saw Portia, scarlet-faced, straightening her clothes.

  A squeal came from behind her and she swung around to see Zina with her hands to her mouth. Portia pushed past them both and fled. Juliet didn’t know where to look, what to say, so ran after her sister.

  Back in the bedroom, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, feeling sick. She licked her dry lips. ‘What were you thinking of?’ she whispered.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking, Jules.’ Portia sat on the edge of her bed, looking dazed.

  ‘But you—I thought you hated him?’

  ‘I do. It had nothing to do with—it just happened.’ Her hands shook as she pushed hair back from her face.

  ‘What… how could it just happen? If I hadn’t come in—you’d have come to your senses. You would, wouldn’t you?’

  Miranda’s face flashed across her mind, the way her eyes shone when she spoke about her husband. She crossed the room and sank down beside Portia, gripped her hands. ‘He’s Miranda’s husband, for God’s sake. And Zina’s.’

  ‘I know,’ Portia said, her head in her hands. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen. He was angry, he was shouting, then he kissed me and…’ She looked up and ran a finger over her lips.

  A mosquito whined around Juliet’s head and she swiped at it angrily. ‘Portia, you can’t…’

  Her sister’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Don’t think I’m not ashamed. I am, really I am. But I’ve never felt anything like that in my whole life before. For the first time ever I felt …alive.’

  ‘You’ll have to keep right out of his way from now on. You know that, don’t you?’

  Damage limitation—Miranda need never know. We can pretend nothing ever happened as long as—

  ‘I should go home,’ Portia said. ‘Before Miranda gets back. Do you think Zina will tell her?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t want to go on my own. Please—will you come back with me?’

  Juliet avoided her gaze. ‘I’m happy here,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Despite the problems, it’s so good to be part of a… whole. And I’m sure things will get better as we all get to know each other better.’

  ‘Sorry, shouldn’t have asked, it’s just…’

  ‘It’s like the family we never had. Or can be. I’m hopeful.’

  ‘You are happy here. I can see that. There’s been such a change in you—you’re sleeping better, eating like a navvy.’

  ‘You don’t need to leave, as long as… What about the children in the sweatshop? You want to help them and… you could just keep a low profile…’

  ‘I don’t know if I can keep away from him,’ she confessed, rubbing her reddened wrist. ‘Best if I leave.’

  ‘Okay.’ Juliet watched the candle gutter in its puddle of wax. Her face clouded as she imagined the distress Zina must be feeling and the utter devastation that would ensue if Miranda ever found out. Any small progress they had made in becoming a family would be obliterated.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JUNE 2nd

  Juliet

  She slept badly, pierced by sharp ends of feathers poking through her pillow, haunted by dreams of a distraug
ht Miranda. When a cockerel crowed, she stopped the search for a cool patch on the damp, rumpled sheets, sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She felt blindly with her feet for the babouches as she rubbed her gritty eyes.

  Grey, early light filtered over the rooftops as she went down to the bathroom. Everywhere was hushed and still. She wondered if Samir had spent the night in Zina’s room or if she’d kicked him out. Would she accept the situation, as she’d accepted his marriage to Miranda, or would this be beyond the pale? What a bloody mess. Exasperation filled her. Why did Portia have to spoil everything? And then affection for her sister flooded through her. Portia would never knowingly hurt anyone. As she’d got to know her better these last few days she’d discovered a kind and caring person. One who made her laugh.

  When she got back upstairs, Portia had lit the candle, revealing her puffy face and swollen eyelids. ‘Jules, I am so sorry. I’ve really fucked it up, haven’t I?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘I’m going. Today. I’ll go to a hotel until I can get a flight.’

  Juliet sat down beside her. ‘I suppose—maybe it’s best, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘It won’t be the same without you. I’ll miss you.’ She stroked Portia’s hand, saw the bruises which had blackened. ‘Couldn’t you stay? Keep out of his way?’

  Portia shook her head.