The House in Fez

by Dianne Noble

  ‘I’ll go out in a bit and buy her some clothes,’ Juliet said. ‘Shall I get a sleeping bag like Fatima’s, d’you think?’

  Portia felt a pang of loss. ‘She’ll be all right on the floor with those.’ She jerked her head towards the blankets. ‘They’re thick and probably a great deal better than she’s used to.’ She felt Juliet’s gaze on her but wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘Portia?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t be angry because Samir sent Fatima away and—’

  ‘I’m not, Jules.’ A wave of affection for her sister washed over her. ‘Truly, I’m not.’ She grinned. ‘That woman—would you really have battered her to death?’

  That evening Halima sat on Juliet’s knee as they ate dinner. Portia winced to see the way she snatched at anything nearby, and crammed the food into her mouth with both hands. Hasan watched her in seeming fascination. He didn’t speak, other than to address a couple of questions in Arabic to his father, but he rarely took his eyes off Halima.

  From the medina, strains of music drifted through the air, but inside the courtyard the mood felt sombre. Only the muted clatter of crockery and an occasional belch from Lalla broke the silence. Portia felt edgy, uneasy. Was she the only one who sensed an undercurrent? She looked around the table; at Samir who neatly folded a piece of flatbread around a chunk of meat, at Miranda pouring a glass of water, at Juliet stroking Halima’s hand and whispering to her.

  A shrill ringing split the air. Samir snatched up his phone, then glanced at the screen and tore upstairs. Portia and Juliet exchanged glances. It must be the hospital to make him run like that. The whole riad seemed to hold its breath as they waited. Then they heard a joyful shout and looked up at a jubilant Samir.

  ‘She is coming home! Zina is coming home tomorrow!’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  JUNE 16th

  Juliet

  The sound of whimpering awoke her. Halima. She groped her way through the bedroom’s thick blackness, found the child’s tiny body trembling inside the bundle of blankets, and swept her up into her arms. ‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘You can sleep in my bed with me.’

  Halima snuggled down and Juliet curled her body around her, listening to Halima’s breathing begin to slow, to adopt a gentle rhythm. Sleep eluded her though, as thoughts flashed across her mind. How long would Samir let the child stay? Only until the cut on her head healed? Longer? Surely he wouldn’t send her back to the certainty of future beatings? But what else? Where else? Easing away from the sleeping girl, she turned onto her back and stared up into the darkness, wondering if Miranda was also awake. She’d fallen quiet after Samir’s joyful announcement about Zina and had refused all offers of help with clearing away the dishes and washing up.

  In the morning she struggled to open her eyes, and her head ached. Raising herself up on one elbow, she looked down at Halima who had burrowed down into the bedclothes. Her eyes were closed and her little chest rose and fell.

  ‘Have you got her in bed with you?’ Portia sat up in bed and pushed the hair out of her eyes.

  ‘She was crying. Portia?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I don’t want to go home again. Not ever.’

  Portia blinked. ‘What about Darren?’

  ‘I’ll have to tell him.’ The thought filled her with dread, made her heart ache. How could she do it to him when he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it? But there was no alternative—she would have to fly back to England and face him. It would take every ounce of courage she could muster.

  ‘Jules,’ Portia said urgently. ‘Have you thought this through? What… how..?’

  ‘If I stay here,’ Juliet said, looking her in the eyes for the first time, ‘…if I stay here, I’m sure I could persuade Samir to let me keep Halima.’

  ‘This isn’t all about her, though, is it?’

  ‘No, she’s just part of it. I feel at peace here and—’

  ‘You’re deadly serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Portia looked stricken. ‘I’ll miss you so much. I’d thought that back in England we could maybe—’

  ‘You stay too.’

  She stared at her for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not? You don’t want to go back to Gavin, you’re well qualified. Maybe you could start up a practice here…’

  ‘I know all that. Don’t think I haven’t gone over and over it in my mind.’

  ‘Then what?’

  She twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. ‘It’s Samir,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I couldn’t bear to see him every day with… his wives.’

  Juliet swallowed. ‘I am so sorry, Portia. I had no idea.’

  ‘I’d hoped it would pass, but…’ She chewed her lip. ‘Still, there it is,’ she said briskly. ‘Come on, let’s get this day started. Looks like your little protégée is stirring.’

  Halima struggled into a sitting position. The cut on her head had scabbed over, but the haircut had left clumps of hair sticking up here and there in black tufts. She resembled a tiny bird that had not yet grown all its feathers. Sucking a finger, she gazed up at Juliet.

  ‘I bet you’d like a nice drink of milk, wouldn’t you?’ She stroked Halima’s cheek. ‘Stay there while I get some clothes on.’

  As she pushed a leg into yesterday’s crumpled trousers, she thought again about her mother. ‘Portia?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How d’you think Miranda will feel about having Zina back?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she’ll be pleased she’s on the mend, but it’s going to put her nose out of joint. She’s probably enjoyed having Samir to herself.’

  ‘And Zina’s going to need a significant amount of help to just get about, without anything else. I can take Hasan to school, but she’ll still need a lot of fetching and carrying.’

  ‘I guess traditionally those duties fall to the other wives, so it will be down to our mother. I can’t see Attila getting off her arse.’

  ‘The bloodstain—where she fell.’ Juliet shivered. ‘Miranda’s scrubbed and scrubbed but it still shows.’

  After lunch, Juliet tried to leave Halima with Portia while she visited the medina to buy her some clothes, but she screamed so much that Miranda came running down the stairs to investigate.

  ‘For the love of God,’ she said on finding out what the problem was. ‘Take the child with you. I can’t be doing with all that row.’

  ‘But I’m worried that woman will see her and try to take her back,’ Juliet said.

  ‘Take your sister with you. I’m sure the two of you will be capable of beating her off.’ She tapped her foot. ‘Go on, then.’

  Portia gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Okay.’ She watched Miranda walk back to the kitchen. ‘I suppose I can call in on the children again while we’re out. Hang on here while I run up and get some money.’

  When she returned, she frowned as she caught sight of her sister. ‘Why are you humping her around on your hip? Let her walk.’

  Stung, Juliet snapped at her. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but she has no shoes.’

  Portia grabbed a tiny foot. ‘Look. Look. The soles of her feet are like leather. She’s probably never worn shoes in her life.’

  Halima let out a loud scream as she tried to pull her foot free and Juliet cast a nervous look in the direction of the kitchen and Miranda.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  It was late afternoon when they got back. In the tired, stewed heat of the courtyard they found Miranda laying the table ready for dinner.

  ‘Is Zina home?’ Juliet asked.

  Miranda wiped her forehead on her sleeve. ‘Yes, she’s resting.’

  ‘She okay?’

  ‘She looks exhausted but she’s delighted to be home.’ With a smile she added, ‘Hasan was so excited he kept running around in circles.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Portia asked, looking around at all the closed doors.

&nb
sp; ‘Over there.’ Miranda pointed to the room next to the one where they all watched TV. ‘The workmen helped move furniture and I’ve made up a bed. Obviously she won’t be able to do stairs for a good while.’

  ‘Will we see her for dinner?’

  Miranda nodded. ‘I think so. If she props her leg up on that small table…’ A hissing sound came from the kitchen and she dashed away.

  Upstairs in the bedroom, Juliet removed Halima’s headscarf then unpinned the T-shirt, before dressing her in a new frock and a tiny pair of knickers. The child looked down and ran a finger along the fabric, before looking up at Juliet with a puzzled expression.

  ‘It’s yours,’ she said, stroking Halima’s head. ‘Portia, does she need to wear that scarf? Surely kids her age don’t have to cover up?’

  Portia shrugged. ‘Depends on the father. She looks a bit of a bugger without it, though. Shall we shave off the last bits of hair?’

  They regarded the child, who continued to stroke the cotton of her new dress.

  ‘She’s suffered enough,’ Juliet decided. ‘She can wear the scarf till her hair’s grown a bit, then she can leave it off.’

  ‘That’ll take weeks. Will you still be here?’

  Juliet hesitated. ‘I hope so. I plan to be.’ She gazed at Halima for a moment. ‘First things first.’ She straightened the girl’s dress, then bent to look into her eyes. ‘You are going to look beautiful when you meet Zina.’

  ‘I think I’m going to give it a miss,’ Portia said.

  ‘What? But why?’

  ‘I just think it’s better if I keep out of the way.’

  ‘No, you must. Please, Portia. New beginnings and all that?’

  Portia

  She left Juliet fussing with Halima and wandered out on to the veranda, her eyes drawn to the broken balustrade. The builders had patched it, cobbled together various lengths of wood to make it safe, but it still stood out, a constant reminder of the day Zina had plummeted to the courtyard.

  Almost dusk now and the lamp over the medina door glowed on Samir as he left Zina’s room carrying something white in his hand. As he passed the kitchen door Miranda emerged and called him back. She lifted her face to him, smiling as she murmured something, then placed her hand on his shoulder. A lump of jealousy, solid, like food, stuck in Portia’s throat, making her want to gag. Samir spoke to Miranda, nodded, then walked on and opened the door and went into the Yellow Room.

  Portia waited. The courtyard remained deserted and silent. As though pulled forward by an invisible string, she crept down the staircase. The air felt thick and charged. Go back, go back, but she kept going, crossing the courtyard until she stood in the open doorway of the room. He was making notes on a pad as he examined the newly-painted walls. He took a step backwards when he caught sight of her.

  ‘Portia?’ His jaw tightened and he kept depressing and releasing the top of his ballpoint pen. Click, click. ‘Is there something..?’ Click, click.

  She stepped forward, then groped behind her for the door and closed it. Then she leaned against it, seeing consternation on his face.

  ‘Portia, open the door. Now.’ He moved towards her and reached around her for the door handle.

  ‘Stop being angry with me, Samir,’ she pleaded. ‘Can’t we be friends again?’

  For a few seconds he hesitated, then he shook his head. ‘No, Portia, I do not think we can.’

  He pushed her out of the way and went through the door. She leaned against the wall, then slid down onto the floor. Immense sobs wracked her body. As she angrily dashed the tears away, she wondered if she was crying from a sense of loss that he didn’t want any more to do with her, or from humiliation that she had offered herself and he had refused.

  Eventually she got to her feet, drained of all emotion, and with her mind a blank any Buddhist would be proud of. Sounds from outside confirmed the family had already gathered for dinner. There would be no way of avoiding them. She left the room and began walking across the courtyard.

  ‘Oh, there you are!’ Juliet rushed over to her. ‘I was beginning to wonder where—what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said dully.

  ‘But your eyes, your face… have you been crying?’ she whispered.

  ‘Leave it, will you?’ Looking across at the table, she saw Zina sitting between Samir and Hasan, who chattered away to his mother with animation. Lalla had already started eating, but she selected a few choice morsels of chicken, put them in a dish and handed it to Zina, almost smiling.

  ‘Come and sit down, Portia,’ Miranda said, giving her a puzzled look as they approached the table. ‘Would you like some—’

  Zina screamed so loudly Portia thought her heart would stop. Hasan and Halima’s faces crumpled, and they burst into tears. Miranda’s hand flew to her mouth. Even Lalla stopped eating, a piece of flatbread halfway to her lips. Samir put an arm around Zina and spoke soothingly to her in Arabic. She replied, a long torrent of words, then they both turned to look at Portia.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Juliet asked, trying to calm a crying Halima.

  Samir jumped up. His chair crashed to the floor. ‘She says—my wife says she can remember now what happened. She says Portia pushed her from the balcony.’

  ‘What? Is she mad?’ Everything around Portia disappeared and she stood in a deafening tunnel of wind. She saw people’s lips moving, but couldn’t hear the words. Her mouth filled with saliva and she feared she would vomit.

  And then fury filled her. ‘You are a liar! Why the fuck would I push you?’

  Zina sat back in her chair. Her gaze moved from Samir to Miranda, then she pointed a finger at Portia. ‘She… she kiss my husband. I see…’

  Samir moved to Miranda, spoke urgently to her, tried to stop her getting up. Her face had drained of all colour, the black kohl around her eyes standing out starkly.

  ‘No.’ Portia yelled. ‘He kissed me.’

  Miranda pushed Samir away and spat out the words. ‘Just what has been going on?’

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m sorry, really I am, but it was no more than a kiss. You have my word.’ She looked over at Juliet whose face was a mask of horror. ‘Tell her, Jules.’

  ‘You knew about this as well?’ Miranda said. ‘How can you both..?’

  ‘It was nothing. You have to believe me.’ Portia watched as Samir gripped her mother’s arm, whispered in her ear. What’s he saying to her? Is he telling her I threw myself at him? Did I? Was it all my doing?

  ‘I can’t believe…’ Miranda’s voice broke. Her face showed such horror, reproach and pain that Portia wanted to die on the spot.

  ‘Even if it were true—which it’s not—why would I push Zina off the balcony?’

  Miranda covered her face. ‘Because she was a witness. Because she stood in the way of you and Samir,’ she said in a muffled voice.

  ‘But there would still have been you. It makes no sense.’

  Miranda brushed Samir away and ran to the kitchen.

  Portia’s throat contracted. ‘Why would you do this to me?’ she said to Zina. ‘Why?’

  Zina looked away.

  ‘Samir, are you going to let me take the blame for—’

  ‘She says that is what happened,’ he muttered.

  ‘And do you believe her?’

  He looked down at the table. ‘Why should she lie?’

  And why should you put in a good word for me when your own back needs covering?

  ‘I think,’ Portia said stiffly, ‘the only thing I can do is leave.’

  Samir nodded, then glanced nervously at the kitchen from which came the clatter and clanging of pans and dishes.

  Her legs wobbled so much she feared they’d fail her as she walked over to the stairs. How could a day that had started so well degenerate into this nightmare?

  She looked around the bedroom where she and Juliet had confided in each other, got to know each other as they lay in bed at night, at the corner where Fatima had sle
pt in her sleeping bag. She was in the country of last times now—it was the last time she would see any of it. Blinded by tears, she snatched up clothes and stuffed them in her case, crammed toiletries into her sponge bag, then lifted the corner of the mattress and took out the knife. She turned it over and over in her hands, feeling its cold steel, then slipped it inside her bag.

  The door burst open and Juliet stood there, white-faced. ‘You’re going?’

  ‘What else can I do?’ she said bitterly.

  ‘But where will you go at this time of night? Everywhere will be closed.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Her tone was bleak. She watched Juliet twisting her hands. ‘Is there something you want to say?’

  A pause. A mosquito whined.

  ‘You didn’t do it, did you?’ Juliet pleaded.

  Numb with misery, Portia shook her head. How could her sister ask her that? How could she even think she’d be capable of such a thing? ‘No,’ she said heavily. ‘No, I didn’t. But I’m gutted, Jules, that you needed to ask me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry…’ She caught hold of Portia’s arm, but she pulled away.

  ‘Let go of me. I’m leaving.’

  The medina looked at its most mediaeval late at night when scavenging cats prowled the dark alleys and the occasional lamp cast long shadows. The streets were deserted, but the sounds of music and laughter from houses were testament to the fact that families had gathered together to celebrate the breaking of the day’s fast.

  What had she been thinking of, leaving at this time of night when there would be no chance of finding a bed in the medina? But what else could she have done?

  Her chest ached with unshed tears. How could Jules have doubted her? No point in dwelling on it, though. Trying to empty her mind, she leaned against a wall as she wondered what to do. The stone had retained the heat of the day and its warmth on her back comforted her a little.