The House in Fez Page 17

  ‘Sorry, my love, no idea what you’re saying.’ She sat beside her on the bed and opened the napkin filled with food. The child snatched up a piece of bread and crammed it into her mouth, then, with cheeks bulging, stuffed in more.

  ‘Hey, slow down, you’ll choke yourself.’ How good it was to see her appetite. At this rate she’d be fighting fit in no time. But then what would happen when she had to return to that room and work again, not have good food three times a day? How soon would she be back to skin and bone?

  I can’t let her go to that place. There must be something I can do.

  Maybe if she made an effort to pacify Samir and Zina, built a few bridges? It might work, but it could only ever be a short-term solution because she herself would return to England and Fatima would be abandoned.

  She stopped breathing. Why should she go back? She didn’t want to stay married to Gavin, didn’t even want to see him again, and being here—despite a few hiccups—was making her part of a family for the first time ever and she loved it. Loved Juliet, loved Fatima and Hasan, and she had even drawn a little closer to Miranda. There was the slight problem of having the hots for Samir, but she had no intention of going anywhere near him again. What had her mother said? “Stay forever if you want.”

  Excitement bubbled up inside her. There’d be enough money from a divorce settlement to keep her and Fatima for a good while—Juliet, too, if she could persuade her to stay—and maybe she could find a way to work here. She was a qualified accountant, after all.

  She whisked Fatima off the bed and danced around the room with her, and the child gurgled with laughter. She wouldn’t say anything to Juliet just yet; she’d think it all through, make a plan.

  For three days she got away with it. Juliet kept watch while Portia took food and milk upstairs and brought a brimming pot down to empty in the bathroom. Fatima played happily all day with the colouring books and crayons they’d bought in the medina, and slept peacefully through the night. On the third morning the bedroom door burst open as Portia was combing the child’s hair. Zina.

  She pointed at Fatima. ‘Samir. I tell.’ She spun around and ran from the room.

  Portia raced after her along the balcony, then grabbed her arm. Zina struggled, spat Arabic words at her, broke free and lost her balance. With a splintering crack, the balustrade gave way. A shrill scream filled the air, followed by a sickening crunch as Zina’s body crashed onto the tiles in the courtyard.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JUNE 10th

  Juliet

  She didn’t know what it was at first. All morning there had been noise in the courtyard as the workmen brought sacks of rubble out of the Yellow Room and dropped them with a thud by the medina door ready for the donkeys to be loaded. But the noise she just heard sounded different. More of a crump than a thump. Still clutching a half-peeled potato she came out of the kitchen, squinting in the strong sunlight.

  On the ground before her lay Zina, one leg bent beneath her, blood running from her head and pooling around her. The world tilted. As though in slow motion her legs took her to Zina’s still body. Don’t touch her. Don’t move her. She opened her mouth to shout for help. Nothing came out. She tried again.

  ‘Samir. Samir. Samir!’

  He came running from the Yellow Room. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Then he saw his wife’s body and the colour drained from his face. Kneeling beside her, he felt for the pulse in her neck. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She—I think she fell,’ Juliet whispered.

  They looked up and saw the broken balustrade, and Portia with her hands over her mouth. Samir took his phone out of his pocket, tapped in a number, then barked out instructions. When he’d finished, he gently took Zina’s hand in his as blood soaked into the pale blue denim of his jeans.

  Juliet dropped to her knees beside him.

  ‘The ambulance will be here soon.’ His gaze did not leave Zina’s face.

  ‘Will it get through the medina all right?’

  He stared at her blankly for a moment. ‘Yes, there will be no problem.’

  ‘And…’ she swallowed hard, ‘how far is the hospital?’

  He brushed a hand across his eyes. ‘It is not too far. The University Hospital. It is excellent and…’

  Zina’s eyes opened. He leant over her, stroked her face, and murmured soft words. Her eyes closed again and Juliet watched her skin whiten still further. Please help her, God, don’t let her die. She’s my friend.

  ‘What can I do, Samir? How can I help you?’

  ‘Nothing. Yes, please, my mother needs to know.’

  Juliet tapped on Lalla’s door, waited a moment, then rapped again more loudly. After what felt like an age, she heard the sound of rustling. Lalla opened the door, yawning widely, her scarf slipping from her head.

  ‘Zina,’ Juliet said, taking the woman’s hand and pulling her out of the room.

  Lalla let out a piercing scream when she saw Zina. Samir spoke to her and she began to moan and rock from side to side.

  ‘Juliet?’ Samir dragged his gaze away from his wife. ‘Will you collect Hasan from school later?’

  ‘Of course, but he’ll wonder where Zina is. What shall..?’

  ‘My mother will tell him.’ He spoke rapidly to Lalla, who hadn’t yet stopped rocking and moaning.

  ‘Ask her… Ask her not to frighten him, to tell him gently. Please.’ She looked at Zina’s lifeless figure. Was she going to die? Was she dead already?

  He nodded, then jerked around at a banging on the medina door. ‘Please,’ he said urgently, ‘let them in. Run.’

  It seemed intrusive to watch Zina being strapped to a stretcher, so Juliet went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water. The china clattered against her teeth as she drank. She stood, unseen, in the shadowy doorway and saw the medics, with infinite care, wheel Zina away, followed closely by Samir. When the medina door had closed behind them Juliet came back out to see Lalla returning to her room, hunched over and still wailing.

  Feeling a great weariness Juliet trudged up the stairs and opened the bedroom door to find Portia sitting on the bed, shaking. ‘Is she dead?’ she whispered through white lips.

  ‘No. No, she’s still breathing. What happened?’

  ‘She just burst in—she must have guessed Fatima was still here. She said she’d tell Samir. I only wanted to stop her, talk to her. I didn’t mean…’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’ Juliet put her arms around her. ‘Of course you didn’t. This place is a death trap, bits falling off all over the place.’

  ‘Will she die?’

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t know. She didn’t look too good. Oh Lord, poor Fatima.’

  The child was cowering in a corner. Juliet released Portia, walked over to the child, then picked her up and cuddled her. ‘Shush, shush now. Everything’s all right.’ She soothed the child, all the time casting anxious looks at her sister’s tear-streaked face. ‘It was just one of those things, Portia. Could have happened at any time. You know what a state this place is in and—’

  ‘But it happened because of me. Because I didn’t…’ She covered her face with her hands and wept.

  ‘Stop it now. You’re scaring Fatima. Come on, get a grip.’

  She waited until Portia calmed herself, then thrust the child into her arms. ‘Here. Concentrate on Fatima. I’ll have to go shopping and collect Hasan.’

  From the doorway, she looked back. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  Portia nodded.

  That afternoon while Lalla watched over a tearful Hasan, Juliet boned and chopped meat and vegetables in the kitchen. She couldn’t get her mind off Zina, wondering how things were going at the hospital. Every few minutes she looked outside to see if Samir had come back. There was no need, she would hear the door, but she couldn’t settle, had to keep darting backwards and forwards all through the hot afternoon. And then, at last, he appeared at the kitchen door looking totally exhausted, dark rings under his eyes and h
is skin grey. He didn’t seem to see her as she approached. Fearful, unable to put the question into words, she put her hand on his arm.

  ‘She is alive. A broken leg and a skull fracture.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘And the baby is gone.’

  Portia

  When she heard the bang of the medina door, she raced down the stairs and across the courtyard to Samir. ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t mean…’

  ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘How did she come to fall? Did you see?’

  Colour rose in her cheeks as she shook her head.

  ‘She knew the balustrade was not safe,’ he continued. ‘I told her many times.’

  His gaze shifted to something behind her. His eyes blazed and he clenched his fists. ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘What?’ Startled, she spun around to see that Fatima had followed her down the stairs and was standing behind her sucking her fingers.

  ‘I told you to take her back.’ His voice sounded all the more menacing for being little more than a whisper.

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘Do it now, Portia.’ He took a step towards her and she backed away.

  ‘She’ll do it.’ Juliet pushed between them. ‘Come and sit down, Samir. Let me bring you a drink and something to eat.’

  ‘Not until nightfall. You forget, it is Ramadan.’ He glared at Juliet, but did not move her aside. ‘I am now going to see my son and by the time I return…’ He jabbed a finger into Portia’s face, then strode to Lalla’s room.

  ‘Take her back, Portia. Now,’ Juliet urged.

  Defeated, Portia trailed up the stairs to collect Fatima’s sleeping bag, her change of clothes, and the colouring books.

  Fatima hung on to Portia’s hand as she struggled through the surge of bodies in the alleys, the child’s few belongings under her arm. The children looked up as she pushed the door open, their little faces falling when they saw she had brought no food for them.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I promise I will bring you something tomorrow.’

  She spread out the filthy blankets in the corner to form padding underneath the sleeping bag, then tucked Fatima’s spare dress and colouring things inside where she hoped they would be safe.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, kneeling in front of her. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.’

  Fatima regarded her solemnly for a moment, then flung her arms around her neck and hugged her tight. Portia held her tiny body for several minutes, then tried to pull away, eventually having to prise her little arms loose. She thought her heart would break. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said, her voice thick with unshed tears, ‘tomorrow I will come back.’

  Maybe I should have left her alone. Maybe I shouldn’t have given her a taste of a more comfortable life.

  But she might have died, and now she was well. Surely it couldn’t have been wrong to interfere?

  She left the sweatshop and wandered blindly through the lanes, which were strangely silent and deserted, everyone in their homes waiting for absolute darkness so they could break their long fast. Stopping, she leaned back against a wall and closed her eyes. What a useless person she was. She couldn’t maintain help for a child who needed it, had caused a blameless young woman to lose her baby and almost her life—just what use was she to anyone? Nobody needed her, and she didn’t enrich anyone’s life by being on this earth.

  From inside the houses came the clatter of pans and dishes as people ate their long-awaited dinners. When a boy darted past her, she called him back and offered him a handful of dirhams to take her to the riad. He stared at the money in apparent disbelief for a few seconds before snatching it up and beckoning her to follow. She didn’t particularly want to return to the others, but neither did she fancy spending the night in an alley.

  ‘Thank God you’re back,’ Juliet said. ‘I was getting worried.’ She gave her an expectant look but Portia didn’t answer.

  Samir wasn’t sitting with the others. He stood beside the table, pushing food into his mouth.

  ‘He’s going back to the hospital,’ Juliet said in a low voice.

  ‘Will he take Hasan?’

  ‘I think he should so he doesn’t imagine the worst but—’

  ‘Samir’s refused?’

  ‘Yes. He says she’s got tubes and all sorts and it would scare him.’

  ‘But surely…’ She looked at his tear-stained face as he sat in front of a plate of untouched food. ‘Wouldn’t it be better..?’

  Juliet’s fingers dug into her arm. ‘No, Portia. Keep out of this. Don’t interfere anymore.’

  ‘You think I’ve done enough damage already. Is that it?’ She pulled free.

  ‘That’s not what I said, but—’

  ‘But you’re thinking it, aren’t you?’

  ‘For the love of God, Portia, this isn’t all about you.’

  Samir kissed the top of Hasan’s head, went to the door, and put on his shoes. Portia saw the child’s face crumple and took a step forward, then stopped as Juliet picked him up and rocked him in her arms.

  Lalla continued to stuff her face with chicken and olives.

  Portia ran to Samir and caught his arm as he reached for the door handle. ‘I’m so sorry—please tell Zina I’m sorry.’

  He shook her off and left.

  She stared at the closed door. Above her, in the night sky, a bat squeaked. Behind her, Lalla slurped her food, and Hasan cried quietly in Juliet’s arms. She turned and walked towards the kitchen. Inside, she picked up the knife used for filleting meat, examined it for a moment, then slipped it up her sleeve.

  Juliet

  She set the alarm clock for five. That should give her enough time to prepare breakfast for Samir to eat before the sun rose. The candle flame gave a small hiss as she pinched it out with a spit-wet finger, then she lay down. Sleep proved elusive as the day’s events ran through her mind like a newsreel on a loop; the sound of Zina’s body hitting the courtyard, the pool of blood spreading, growing, Samir’s anguished face.

  Sometime during the night she heard Portia crying. Should she go to her? What could she say if she did? How could she make her feel better about what had happened? Was Fatima all right in the sweatshop? Was she safe? Had poor little Hasan cried himself to sleep? And Zina? Had she regained consciousness? Would she pull through?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  JUNE 11th

  Juliet

  A persistent bleeping jolted her awake. Flapping her hand in the direction of the clock to silence it, she knocked it over and it fell to the stone floor. ‘Sod it.’

  Portia didn’t stir, although she must have heard the crash. Eyes gritty with lack of sleep, Juliet sat up and groped in the darkness for her clothes, then pulled them on and felt her way out onto the balcony. The light above the medina door shed a faint glow and, averting her eyes from the accusing stretch of broken balustrade, she went downstairs to the bathroom, yawning.

  The cold shower shocked her awake—why was there no hot water?—and she felt more alert as she went to the kitchen and turned on the light. The movement and papery rustling sounds made her shudder. She closed her eyes until the last of the cockroaches had scurried into the dark corners, then put eggs on to boil and heated water for coffee.

  ‘Good morning, Juliet.’ Samir loomed in the doorway. He looked as though he’d had no sleep at all. His unshaven cheeks accentuated his haggard appearance.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked gently. ‘How was Zina last night?’

  ‘Much the same.’ He rubbed his face and it rasped. ‘I will eat, then I will go back to her. Hasan—will you take him to school?’

  She hesitated. ‘Should he… maybe he should stay at home?’

  He shook his head. ‘It is better to keep things as normal as possible.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Steam rose from the mug of coffee she handed to him.

  ‘Thank you. I’m sorry, but he has wet his bed, I think. Can you… is it possible you could change the sheets for him?’

  ‘Don’t wo
rry. I’ll see to it. Poor little mite. It’s hardly surprising.’

  ‘And there will be food to prepare also. I am so sorry, Juliet, all of this work and you were meant to be having a holiday.’

  ‘It’s no problem at all, I promise you, Samir. You are—we are—all family now.’

  His face softened. ‘You are such a good person, Juliet. I can never thank you enough for all you are doing.’

  ‘No need for thanks. I’m happy to do it.’

  ‘I could ask Miranda to come back? Shall I do that?’

  ‘No. Leave her to sort things out at home.’

  He drained the mug of coffee, then snatched up bread and dates. ‘I must go to Zina. I will eat this in the car.’

  ‘It’s not enough. You have to last all day—here, the eggs are boiled enough, they will be hot, so mind.’ She fished them out of the pot and put them in a dish for him.

  ‘Thank you. Juliet, the workmen will be coming to do the plastering today.’

  ‘Do you want me to keep an eye on them? Make sure they’re not curled up in a corner sleeping?’

  He almost managed a smile. ‘Yes, please.’

  She stood in the cool of the courtyard as a pale band of light began to climb and fill the sky. If Samir hadn’t eaten his food by now it would be too late. Right, enough relaxing, she needed to see to Hasan.

  He lay on his bed watching her, eyes dark and solemn. The acrid reek of urine filled the room.

  ‘Marhaba,’ she said.

  He murmured something and then buried his face in the pillow.

  Where would she find clean clothes for him? She looked around the room. The only possibility was a red-painted wooden chest under the window. She raised the lid and the smell of mothballs battled with that of the wet bedding.