‘I know. I saw his photo before.’ Omar gestures for Nigel to sit on the banquette. ‘You might be hungry. My mother made a good breakfast, so enjoy.’
‘Thanks, mate.’
Nigel pats Omar on his arm and sits on the sofa beside Addy. A whiff of sweat, perfumed with sandalwood. He rests his hand on her knee. Addy sees Omar’s eyes dart to Nigel’s hand. His jaw’s tight and the vein jumps in his temple. She shifts her knee and edges away from Nigel.
‘I put the luggage in your house, Adi,’ Omar says flatly.
‘Omar, I—’
‘I must go to work. I’m a professional guide and there are many tourists here. I must earn well for my family. So, you should enjoy your family.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Zitoune, Morocco – June 2009
‘Pippa, what were you thinking?’ Addy paces the polished concrete floor in her cottage, clutching a striped cushion to her chest.
Philippa sits on the banquette under the front window, her legs neatly crossed. A dew of sweat gleams on her forehead.
‘You’ve no idea how much Nigel’s been suffering since the incident.’
‘The incident? He cheated on me. When I was having chemo.’
‘Addy, please. Nigel will be back from the service station at any moment. You’ve said yourself that he was in a state of shock about your cancer diagnosis. He feels terrible about everything. He really wants to make it up to you.’
Addy throws herself onto the banquette. ‘Since when have you become Nigel’s best friend?’
‘Look, he contacted me. Me! The woman who’d made his life a living hell after he left you. He blocked up my bloody inbox with his messages. Nigel’s turned his life around. He’s been made an associate at the law firm. He’s quit drinking. He’s going places, which is more that you can say for—’
‘Which is more than you can say for …?’
‘You can’t be serious about this Omar person.’
‘Why not?’
‘He lives in a bloody mud hut. Have you seen the toilet? I mean, honestly.’ Philippa gets up and strides across the concrete floor to the kitchen.
Addy watches her sister stamp around the tiny kitchen. If she chooses to be with Omar, she may damage her relationship with her only living relative. But then, does she even have a relationship with Philippa to ruin?
‘Damn it, Addy.’ Philippa slams closed a cupboard door. ‘What do I have to do to get a proper cup of tea in this godforsaken place?’
A clink of ice on glass. ‘Here, Della.’
A sluggish breeze wafts up to the veranda from the river, doing little to take the edge off the evening’s heat. Addy looks up from her notebook at Nigel.
‘Where’s Pippa?’
‘Off to bed. I think the shock of breakfast in a mud hut was too much for her, not to mention fending the monkeys off dinner at the restaurant.’ Nigel offers Addy the cold glass. ‘A G & T. Ice and all. God bless duty-free.’
Addy eyes the fizzy drink. A fat green lime slice bobs among the ice.
‘C’mon, enjoy it, Del. It’ll take the edge off this ruddy heat.’
‘Where’d you get ice?’
‘Froze some of your bottled water this morning in a plastic bag, then mashed up the ice with my shoe.’
‘Huh. Very resourceful.’ She takes the glass. ‘Thanks.’
Nigel flops into a chair and props his feet on the railing. Pristine beige suede loafers. No socks. White linen shirt and trousers. Has somebody been polishing him up?
‘Pippa said you’ve quit drinking.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He jiggles the ice against the glass. ‘It’s soda. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I promise you, I’m a much-improved model.’
Addy sips her drink. ‘Nice shoes.’
Nigel knocks the toes of his loafers together. ‘Tod’s.’
‘Who chose them for you?’
‘Del, c’mon. Life’s good. Alistair’s made me an associate at the firm.’
‘So Pippa said.’
‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’
‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf.’
Nigel swings his legs off the railing. ‘You look great, Della. I like your hair short like that. It suits you. You look about twenty-five.’
His tan brings out the green in his eyes. Handsome. She grits her teeth until an ache spreads along her jaw. Why is her heart jumping around in her chest like a circus acrobat?
‘What are you doing here, Nigel?’
He reaches over and cups his hand over hers. ‘I miss you. I thought, maybe, you could give me another chance. I probably don’t deserve it, I know. I’m sorry, Del. I’m really sorry about what happened.’
Addy pushes her drink away and rises, moving to a corner of the veranda, where she plants her bare feet on the stone terrace like a soldier defending her territory.
‘What about your girlfriend? Did she finally suss you out? Is that why you’re back?’
‘We’re no longer together.’
‘Did you screw around on her, too?’
‘Del …’ He rubs his eyes. ‘No, I didn’t. Oddly enough, she seemed to think I still had a thing for you.’ His eyes are pleading. A dog begging for forgiveness. ‘The thing is, she was right.’
‘Stop it, Nigel. I’m not doing this with you any more. It’s over.’
Nigel sets down his glass and crosses the stone terrace. He reaches out and brushes a wisp of hair out of Addy’s eyes. She bats away his hand.
‘I said stop it.’
‘Sorry. You’ve every right to think I’m a wanker.’
‘Too right. So, why are you here?’
He leans against the railing and contemplates the star-filled sky. ‘I fell apart when you were going through chemo. I didn’t know how to help you. I thought you could die and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt helpless. Like I’d failed you somehow. Like I … I don’t know. I couldn’t cope. So I ran away.’
‘Just when I needed you.’
‘I’m sorry, Della. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I should’ve married you years ago.’
Her heart cartwheels. She had loved Nigel. She’d been committed. Forever. That’s all she’d ever wanted. To love someone and be loved back. To be ‘the one’ for someone. She’d thought Nigel was the one. Until she’d discovered forever isn’t always forever.
Her father’s marriage to Essie had ended in divorce. His marriage to her mother, Hazel, had ended with her mother’s death. Love always ends. Someone’s always abandoned. Maybe that’s why she’s so obsessed with Gus and Hanane’s story. Maybe she wants proof that somehow, against all odds, their love lasted. Even if they were separated by oceans and continents, she wants to know that it didn’t matter. Her father couldn’t have abandoned Hanane and the baby. She wants to believe in love. She wants proof. Maybe then she can believe in a future with Omar.
‘Del? What is it?’
She stares at Nigel as the truth she’s been hiding from herself faces her like a reflection. I don’t trust I have a future with Omar. She’s been deserted so often that she’s ready to bolt rather than be left behind again. That’s why she’s been hiding her infertility from him. It’s her get-out clause. Her excuse to extricate herself from the relationship when it becomes too real, too complicated. Abandon Omar before he abandons her. Don’t let herself be hurt again.
‘Sit down, Del. I’ll get you some water.’
‘No. I’m fine.’ Addy gulps down a breath of the warm night air. ‘Look, Nigel. There’s no point to this. You’ve wasted your time coming here.’
‘C’mon. We’re a pair. Like socks and shoes. Laurel and Hardy. Charles and Diana. No, wait. That’s not a good example.’ He runs his hand along Addy’s arm. ‘We’ve had some fun, haven’t we? We could still have fun.’
‘Fun? What fun? If you weren’t at work, you were glued to your laptop in the spare room. I don’t call the occasional game of Chinese Chec
kers a laugh riot.’
‘I thought you liked Chinese Checkers.’
Addy rolls her eyes. ‘You know what I mean. You were busy climbing the career ladder, and I was busy trying to get my photo studio off the ground. Sure, when we first got together we had fun. But, over time our life changed and I didn’t notice. Not until I had cancer. Then I noticed, especially when you went AWOL when I was having chemo. And there was the drinking.’ Addy shakes her head. ‘No, Nigel, I’m done. The cancer changed me. I’ve realised I’m mortal.’
‘We’re all mortal.’
‘But I know I’m mortal. I don’t trust that I’m going to live to a hundred any more. I’ve got things I want to do. Write this travel book. Exhibit my pictures in a gallery. Find a way to make a living as a travel photographer. Embrace new experiences. Isn’t it time you got on with your own life?’
Leaning over, Nigel kisses her. She pushes against his chest.
‘No.’
He holds up his hands in surrender. ‘Sorry. I thought—’
‘You thought what? That you could just walk back into my life? I’m sorry you had a hard time when I was sick. Poor you. My heart bleeds. But you made a big mistake walking out on me when I needed you most. No, wait, cheating on me and then walking out. It tore me apart. There’s no going back. I could never trust you again. We’re done.’
‘I’m sure my showing up like this is a shock, so I’ll forgive you for not welcoming me with open arms.’
‘What do you mean, you’ll forgive me?’
‘Calm down, Del.’
‘How dare you speak to me like that!’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m an ass. I didn’t mean what I just said.’ He reaches for Addy’s hand, but she wraps her arms across her body. ‘It’s not too late, hun. Let’s try again. We can make it work. I know you better than anyone, Del. I know what makes you tick. Look, I need you. You complete me. We complete each other.’
‘I don’t want to complete you. I don’t want to complete anybody. I just want to be my own person and figure out my life in my own way. Anyway, things have changed. I love Omar.’
‘Oh, really? The guy with the turban?’
‘Yes, really.’
The light from the living room filters through the sheer draperies, casting a glow over Nigel’s white linen shirt and trousers.
Nigel rubs his forehead. ‘Right. So, what do you suggest we do about the flat?’
The flat. Buying it together had seemed like such a good idea four years ago.
‘We’ll have to sell it.’
‘There’s the thing, Del. This recession has killed the market. We’d be lucky to break even if we sell now. Lose money, more like. People are caught up in negative equity all over Britain. That’s if we could even find a buyer. I’m up to my neck in debt. The clothes, the car … it’s all on credit. It’s bloody expensive keeping up appearances now that I’m a partner. And because of this bloody recession I got the promotion but no raise. Still on my associate salary which doesn’t cut much mustard in London, I can tell you. I need to make as much money out of the flat as I can. No doubt you do, too. It doesn’t look like your Moroccan friend’s rolling in dough.’
‘What are you saying, Nigel?’
‘I’ve moved back into the flat.’
‘You what?’
‘I own half of it. I’ve every right to live there.’
‘Are you suggesting that we live together until the market recovers? That could be years.’
‘Del, we don’t have a choice. Look, we own the place together. Why don’t we just try to work things out? It’d be easier all around.’
How could he think this was even an option? Nigel hadn’t come to Zitoune to declare his undying love to her. He was here because he was desperate – he didn’t know how to live without a woman to shore him up, and in his mind she was the easiest target. The flat was the link that kept them chained together. The flat and the past. But the past was dead and the flat could burn down for all she cared. She’d happily be the one to light the match.
‘You’re sweeping me off my feet.’
Nigel sighs and runs his hand through his hair. ‘Well, you could always buy me out.’
‘You know I don’t have the money to do that.’
Nigel looks at Addy and shakes his head. He strolls over to the table and picks up Addy’s drink. He swivels it in his hand, the ice clinking against the glass. ‘So, what are you going to do? Ask your mountain guide friend for the money? Doesn’t it usually work the other way around?’
‘That’s enough!’
Nigel drains the glass and sets it down on the table. ‘At least you’ve been getting some. No harm to have a little diversion every once in a while. But it’s time to get back to reality now, don’t you think? C’mon. It’s me, Nigel. Nigel and Addy. We belong together.’
Addy feels the heat rise in her face. ‘You should go. Find a hotel. Better yet, go back to London. We’ll deal with everything when I’m back.’
He looks at her, his eyes hard green stones. ‘He’s a pretty boy at least. You haven’t changed that much, Del. You’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face.’
In the morning, Addy wanders out of her bedroom towards the kitchen. A jumble of sheets on the thick multicoloured rug, an empty gin bottle, a dirty glass and a note on the table are the only signs left of Nigel’s recent presence. She pads barefoot across the cold concrete floor and picks up the note:
You win, Del. For now.
PS: I’ll warm up your side of the bed.
N xxx
Chapter Forty-Six
Zitoune, Morocco – June 2009
The June day is hot and dry. Addy spends the morning in the Zitoune souk with Philippa, watching her sister haggle with the shop sellers for rugs and trinkets for her clients. They stop at Mohammed’s restaurant for lunch.
‘Has Omar been here with the tour group?’ she asks Mohammed when he comes over to collect their empty plates.
‘No, nobody see him today.’
‘Where’s Amine? Has he gone missing, too?’
Mohammed grunts. ‘Maybe he went to swim in the pools by the gorge. Sometimes he’s a bad boy like that when the weather is hot.’
‘Ah, the delights of playing hooky,’ Philippa says.
Mohammed cocks his head towards Philippa. ‘Hooky?’
‘Running away from your responsibilities.’ Philippa glances over at Addy. ‘Something my sister’s very good at.’
Mohammed pockets the dirhams Philippa hands him. ‘I wish I could remember the day when I had no responsibilities. It’s many, many years ago when I was very young and handsome.’
‘Still very handsome,’ Philippa says as she dabs at her lips with a paper napkin.
Addy raises an eyebrow as she looks over at her sister. Mohammed smiles broadly, his gold teeth shining in the sunlight.
‘You are most kind, madame.’
‘Philippa. I’m Addy’s sister.’
‘Phileepa. It’s a beautiful name. Welcome in Morocco. You have a big welcome here.’
‘Thank you. Uh, I think you owe me a bit of change, twenty-five dirhams.’
Mohammed shakes his head sadly. ‘So sorry. No change.’
‘It’s only about two pounds, Philippa,’ Addy says as she watches Mohammed retreat through a blue swing door into the kitchen. ‘Consider it a tip.’
‘But I’d left a tip. It was the bloody same in Marrakech. No one has change. Who’s hoarding all the change in Morocco?’
‘Still very handsome?’
‘Well, he is. Reminds me of Telly Savalas in his Kojak days.’
‘He’s married.’
‘Aren’t they all?’
Addy sighs. ‘When did you say your plane was leaving?’
‘I didn’t. I’m having such a fun time buying all this tat for my clients that I think I’ll stay around a while longer. The whole trip’ll be tax deductible. My accountant’ll love me.’ She fans her face with the end of her Hermès scar
f. ‘It’s bloody hot. I think I’ll have a lie-down when we get back to the house. I’m absolutely bloody knackered.’
Addy approaches the building site. She needs to ask Omar about her father’s book. Explain about Nigel. Understand what’s going on.
She spies him sitting on the concrete block wall staring at the foundations, his blue turban a stab of colour amid the dull green of the olive trees and the piles of grey gravel and concrete blocks. Her shoes crunch on the gravel. Omar turns and watches her as she weaves around the mounds of stones and sand towards him.
‘I missed you at breakfast at your mum’s this morning, habibi.’
‘I been busy.’
Addy sits beside him on the concrete block wall. ‘I’m really sorry about Nigel. It’s a crazy situation.’
‘I can see the situation well. Be well with your boyfriend, Adi. I’m just a rubbish Berber guy to fuck, full stop.’
‘Don’t say that! Nothing’s going on with Nigel. I didn’t invite him here. It’s over with him. I told you that.’
‘You have to know you are like the white flower I waited for in my garden. One day it came and I’m so happy for that. It made my heart be as big as the sun. Then somebody came and stole it, and now it’s finished for me.’ He presses his lips together and stares at the olive grove.
Everything is stacked against them. Their ages, their cultures, their religions, the fact they live on different continents. How could their relationship possibly last? Then again, it hardly mattered. It was enough that they loved each other now. Isn’t now all anyone has? Why hasn’t she ever said the words?
‘Omar, I … I love you.’
Omar jolts his head around and looks at Addy. ‘You never said it before. I notice it well.’
‘I was afraid. I’m still afraid.’
Omar reaches for her hand and holds it in his like a precious gift. ‘Why are you afraid, habibati? I would never hurt you.’
‘I’m afraid that you’ll regret being with me. Maybe not now, but one day. You’ll look at me and think “she’s old”, or “I made a mistake”, or … “I don’t love her any more”. That would destroy me. I’m not able to give little pieces of my heart away. I give all of my heart. That’s not always a good thing. It tears me apart when things go wrong.’
The Lost Letter from Morocco Page 24