Gus takes out his wallet and removes a piece of paper folded into many squares. He unfolds the document and hands it to Bouchra.
Bouchra frowns. The scribbles jump before her eyes. She thrusts the document back at Gus. ‘This could be anything. How do I know it’s what you say?’
‘Please, Bouchra, just get Mohammed or Baba. They can read it. They’ll know what I say is true.’
Bouchra sneers at her sister-in-law. ‘You’re not welcome in this house, Hanane. You’ve destroyed us. Go back to Marrakech with your devil.’
She steps back into the house and the door slams. Its tinny echo stabs into Hanane’s heart.
Chapter Sixty-One
The Sahara Desert, Morocco – June 2009
Addy’s peeling an orange at the long dining table when she spies Omar slipping into the tent with Mohammed. The two men edge around the tables and head towards a group of drivers and guides eating lamb tagine at a wooden table at the back of the tent. A trio of young blonde German women waves at them as they squeeze past the women’s table. The women call out ‘Kommen sitzen’ with an enthusiasm that darkens Addy’s mood still further. The giggling tourists cluster around Omar and pose for photos as Mohammed makes a show of pouring out hot mint tea into their tea glasses.
‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’
Addy freezes, her fingernails embedded in the orange rind.
Nigel squeezes onto the bench between Addy and Philippa.
‘Fancy meeting you here, girls. Small world.’
Nigel’s tanned and rested in khaki shorts and a loose white linen shirt.
‘What the … How on earth …?’ Addy glares at her sister. ‘Did you do this?’
Levering herself off the bench, Philippa grabs her hat and loops her Prada purse over her arm.
‘If ever there was a cue to find the loo, this is it. And no, Addy, this has nothing to do with me.’ Philippa grimaces at Nigel, who’s grinning at them like it’s all a great joke. ‘You’re starting to look desperate, Nigel. It’s not becoming.’
Nigel’s grin deepens. ‘I’ve had a good teacher. If anyone knows about desperation, it’s you, Philippa.’
Philippa sets her fuchsia mouth into a hard line and leans over to Nigel’s ear.
‘Bastard.’
‘I know, I know, words can’t express the joy you feel at seeing me again, Del.’
Nigel grabs a water bottle and a tea glass from the middle of the table. He splashes the water into the glass and drinks it down in thirsty gulps.
Addy glances over at Omar. His amber eyes are fixed on her like those of an injured hawk.
‘What are you doing here, Nigel?’
‘I couldn’t very well leave things the way they were when you ran out this morning.’ Nigel tears off a hunk of bread and dips it into the greasy gravy congealing in the clay tagine pot. ‘I didn’t even have a chance to tell you what a lovely time I’d had.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, last night.’ He pops the gravy-soaked bread in his mouth. ‘It was just like old times. Magical.’
Addy buries her face in her hands. How will she ever explain this to Omar? What must it look like? Like she’s a liar, and a cheat and a two-timer. She drops her hands and glares at Nigel’s amused face.
‘You’re lying. Nothing happened.’
Nigel raises his eyebrows. ‘How can you say that, Del? I’m genuinely hurt. Don’t you remember? You seemed to be enjoying yourself last night. I know I did.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Addy glimpses Omar’s blue gown as he moves along the edge of the tables, out into the night.
‘Addy, for God’s sake, come on. You can’t just go to bed and mope. To hell with men.’
Philippa holds back the flap of the tent and peers into the darkness. Addy’s huddled, fully dressed, under a layer of blankets against the chill of the desert night. The beat of African drums and sound of off-key singing filter into the tent from the campfire.
‘How can I possibly go out there, Pippa? My life’s a mess.’
‘Oh, forget about them. Life’s too short for shit. That’s my philosophy, anyway.’
‘You’re not exactly what I’d call a mentor.’
‘Look, they’re not out here. Mohammed isn’t around, either. Probably passed out in a sand dune somewhere.’ Philippa waves a bottle of vodka. ‘Come on. Fuck the lot of them.’
The light from an outside lantern traces a gold outline around Philippa’s shadowed body. Maybe she’s right. Fretting here in the tent is doing her no good. Every time she closes her eyes, she’s haunted by Omar’s wounded look. She kicks off the blankets and sits up on the lumpy mat.
‘You’re right. Give me a minute. I’ll meet you at the campfire.’
Addy stumbles over to the tent flap and out into the chilly night air. A yellow glow emanates from the campfire out near the dromedaries. Black shadows of bodies huddle around the fire, swaying and clapping to the rhythm of the drums. The mournful voice of a Tuareg guide sings a lament into the desert night.
As she approaches the campfire, she glimpses Philippa’s face reflected in the glow, where she sits beside Addy’s caravan guide. Philippa grips an animal skin drum between her knees and she mimics the guide’s movements as he drums in accompaniment to the singer. Addy edges around the group and kneels in the sand beside her sister. Then she sees him, on the other side of the fire, his face glowing yellow in the firelight.
‘Vodka’s just there.’ Philippa nods towards a bottle of Absolut Vodka sticking out of the sand. ‘There’s a can of Coke, too.’
‘I thought you said he wasn’t here.’
Philippa looks across the campfire to Nigel, his head wrapped in a turban, who’s sharing cans of Heineken with the German women.
‘He’s just arrived. I think he’s drunk.’
Addy catches Nigel’s eye. He lifts up the can of lager in a salute.
‘I can’t do this.’
Addy makes a move to get up, but Philippa grabs the sleeve of her denim jacket and pulls her back.
‘Just ignore him.’
Addy sinks into the sand. ‘I feel so tired, Pips. I’m tired of my life. I want a new one.’
‘Oh, do me a favour, Addy. Get some booze down you.’
‘No, no alcohol. I’m still paying for last night.’
‘Have the Coke. Then go, if you want to wallow in misery.’
Addy takes the can of Coke out of the sand. The flat, warm liquid rasps along her throat.
Philippa sets the drum in the sand in front of Addy. ‘Have a go on the drum, Addy. Abdul will help you. It’s easier if you wrap your legs around it so it doesn’t fall over.’
‘I don’t think …’
Philippa grabs the Coke out of Addy’s hand. ‘Exactly. Don’t think. Just do.’
Abdul shifts behind Addy. She’s enveloped by his warmth and a light scent of sweat as he reaches his arms around her body to the drum. His blue gown flashes through the air as he beats out a hypnotic rhythm.
‘You put your hands on mine,’ he says into Addy’s ear. ‘You follow me.’
‘I’m not sure—’
‘For God’s sake, Addy,’ Philippa says. ‘Just do it. Relax.’
Addy glances at Philippa then rests her fingertips on Abdul’s and closes her eyes. Her hands fly across the drum skin on top of Abdul’s. His breath brushes her cheek like a feather. He’s careful not to touch her body, although she sits within the circle of his arms. They’re connected only by her fingertips on his hands. His skin is smooth and warm. She smells the musky scent of his skin. Her heart beats in her ears. But as Abdul leans over her, all she can think about is Omar.
‘Ah, there’s your handsome landlord.’ Philippa waves at Mohammed and beckons him over.
Addy makes out Mohammed’s bald head lit by the moon’s silver light. He waves at Philippa and picks his way around the huddled tourists towards them.
‘You know he’s married, Pippa.’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes, Addy. He has two wives, actually. He told me all about them at supper last night. “They don’t understand me” and all that rot. Don’t worry. I have no intention of becoming Mrs Demsiri the Third.’
‘I don’t know how you can even speak to him, knowing how he treated Hanane.’
‘We weren’t there, Addy. You have the word of someone who was a child at the time. Maybe Hanane was … Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Maybe Hanane was what? Loose? A gold-digger?’
‘Well, why else would the whole village want to cover it up? She was obviously an embarrassment to them.’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying this. She’s our brother’s mother. Our father loved her.’
Mohammed sweeps his arms towards the full moon. ‘Phileepa, the moon of the universe shines on the desert where you sit.’
‘Hi, Mo. Have a seat. Shove over, Addy.’
Addy sticks the empty Coke can into the sand. ‘I think I’ll call it a night.’
‘Already? The party’s just getting started.’
Addy glances across the campfire, but there’s no sign of Nigel. No sign of Omar either. She sighs and rubs her aching forehead. She’d come to Morocco to escape her problems, but she just seems to have created more. Her whole life is a disaster.
‘Addy.’
Addy turns towards the voice. The drums and singing murmur in the desert behind her. A shadow emerges from behind one of the tents, the moonlight throwing silver highlights over the folds of the turban.
‘Nigel?’
Her ex-boyfriend moves towards her, his feet unsteady in the sand.
‘Looks like your goatherd has dumped you, Del.’
‘Can’t you leave me alone?’
Nigel sighs. ‘Oh, Delly, Delly. Can’t you see? I love you, hun. I want you back.’ He thrusts his hand at the black dunes beyond the tents. ‘I’ve hauled my ass all the way to the bloody Sahara for you. Isn’t that proof that I’m serious?’
‘I don’t know what to think, Nigel. It’s like you’ve become my stalker. It’s creeping me out.’ Addy shifts her feet in the sand.
Nigel’s in front of her now. Taller than she remembers. Or is it just the shadows making him seem taller?
‘You’re imagining things, hun.’ He reaches out his hand and brushes his fingers against her cheek. She pushes his hand away. ‘Del, what’s the matter? You seemed to like it well enough the other night.’
‘Nothing happened.’
He drops his hand onto Addy’s shoulder. ‘But you’re not really sure, are you? I’m truly hurt and sorry you can’t remember. If you did, we’d be back in Marrakech by now, having a grand old time at the Mamounia Hotel on my expense account. You see, I’ve seen the error of my ways. You’re absolutely right. I got caught up with my work and I neglected you.’ He gives her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Let me make it up to you. We can start over. Clean slate. What do you say?’
Addy steps away from him and folds her arms across her body. ‘You’ve got a great imagination, I’ll give you that.’
‘Del, I feel sorry for you. I really do. This Omar wanker doesn’t love you. He’s buggered off with one of the tourist girls. I saw him. He’s playing you.’
Pain slices into Addy’s gut as real as if Nigel had stabbed her. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Nigel leans towards her. She smells his hot, beery breath.
‘It’s true. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ He staggers in the sand as he runs his finger across his chest and pats his heart.
Addy backs away. Her foot catches on a tent peg and she stumbles. Nigel reaches out and grabs her arm.
She brushes Nigel’s hand away. ‘You’re drunk, Nigel. You don’t know what you’re saying.’
Addy’s heart pounds in her chest. Bile rises in her throat and she swallows, the bitterness burning into her stomach.
Nigel rubs her arm. ‘I understand. You’re upset. He probably does this kind of thing all the time. Just forget about him.’
Addy looks Nigel square in his eyes. ‘Okay, tell me what really happened the other night. We need to be honest with each other, don’t you think? If there’s any chance.’
‘Nothing happened, Del. I swear.’ He holds up his right hand like a Boy Scout. ‘You passed out and I let you sleep. That’s it.’ He brushes her cheek with his knuckles. ‘More’s the pity.’
Nigel grins and pushes her against a tent post. He leans into her and kisses her neck.
Addy pushes against his chest. ‘No, Nigel.’
‘You don’t really mean that.’
She tries to twist her head away, but he digs his fingers into her hair, anchoring her against his body. ‘Come on, Del. I know you want it. I know you.’
Addy forces herself to relax into his embrace until she feels his hold relax. Stepping back, she lifts her foot and stamps down hard on his instep with the heel of her shoe.
Nigel grasps at his foot. ‘Del! You bloody bitch.’
‘You don’t say that to her.’
Omar stands beside the tent, his body outlined by the moonlight. The tail end of his tagelmust is drawn across his face, only his eyes visible.
‘Omar!’ Addy stumbles across the sand and wraps her arms around him, but Omar makes no effort to hug her. She steps back, confused.
‘So, Addy beats you well. She’s a strong lady.’
Nigel rubs his lips. ‘She tastes nice, too.’
The words are barely out of Nigel’s mouth before he’s lying on the sand, black blood streaming out of his nose. Groaning, he presses his hands against his face.
‘You bloody bastard!’
Omar moves towards Addy like a silver spectre in his gown and tagelmust. He grabs her hand. ‘Come.’ He pulls her along behind him, past Nigel writhing in the sand, past the tents and the dromedaries, out into the vast desert.
She stumbles after him up a towering dune. ‘Where are we going?’ she pants. But he says nothing.
When they reach the top of the dune, he tears the tagelmust from his face.
‘Why is he here?’ His words come out like nails driving into a wall. ‘You invited him?’
‘No.’ She gasps for breath from the climb. ‘I had no idea Nigel was here.’
‘You love him?’
‘No!’
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? He say you been with him in the hotel. You told me you were with your sister that night.’
Addy’s feet sink into the sand. She’s drowning. But she won’t go without a fight.
‘I love you, Omar. Only you. Nothing happened, I swear it. You heard him. He admitted the same thing. You can believe me or not. I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t tell you because … because I was a coward. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand. I barely understand it!’ She rubs her forehead. ‘You always said it was fate that brought us together. Maybe it did. Can’t you see it? We’re both part of a bigger story. A story that started the day my father met Hanane. Only God, or Allah, or the universe knows what the bigger picture is. Our story isn’t finished, habibi. It’s only beginning. Unless you end it. If you think I’m a liar, end it. I won’t.’
Omar stands on the dune, his eyes boring into her. ‘I won’t. I can’t, habibati.’
Addy flings her arms around his neck and kisses him. They’re alone on a desert island in a sea of sand. The moon hangs in the diamond sky above them in their desert Eden.
Omar pushes Addy into the sand. He kisses her until her lips burn. She pulls his body hard against hers. Wanting all of him in a frenzy of arms, lips and legs. She yanks at his jeans and he thrusts into her. The sand is cold and the moon is an enormous white orb above his head. She wraps her legs around his body and opens herself up to him.
When they’re finished, Addy watches him as he kneels astride her, rearranging her clothes. He glows above her in the moonlight like a ghost. She’s calm. All the dust and debris of doubt has been sucked away, until there’s nothing left but stillness.
They lie side by side on
top of the dune. Addy stares at the luminous moon. Omar’s hand is warm against hers and she feels the pressure of his foot where it rests across her ankle. They drift on top of the dune as if they’re the only living souls in the sea of sand.
‘It’s a strange world that brought us together, habibati.’
Addy turns her head. Omar’s also staring up at the moon. ‘Sometimes it feels like a dream.’
‘But it’s not a dream, is it? It’s our life.’
She gazes up at the star-sprinkled sky, seeking out the familiar shadows of the Man in the Moon. ‘How do you feel about that, habibi?’
‘I’m happy for it, darling. Sometimes I’m sad for it, too.’
‘Why are you sad?’
He reaches for Addy’s hand and plays with her fingers. ‘You gave me the key to a big world. I want to be in the world with you beside me and me beside you.’ He slides his fingers between hers, closing them around her hand. ‘But sometimes I’m lonely for my life before I met you.’
Addy’s heart sinks in her chest. How can she tell him she understands? That she feels the same way? ‘Chalk and cheese’ her mother would call them, in her practical Canadian way. She wants to wrap them in a blanket of hope, here on this island in the sandy sea. But with every movement, the sand shifts and she sinks deeper into its cold depths. She wonders if their relationship is, ultimately, doomed.
‘My life was more simple before I knew you, Adi. I knew my path well. I made a plan to find a lady to marry, to have children, to do guiding well, to save money, to make a tour business. Only I couldn’t find the lady.’ There’s an edge of regret in his voice.
Addy looks over at his strong profile, illuminated against the black sky by the moonlight.
‘I never meant to complicate your life, Omar. I never meant for anything to happen.’
Omar looks over at her. ‘What about this man from England? He came to Morocco for you. He must love you yet.’ His eyes watch her, searching for the truth. ‘Maybe you love him still.’
Addy rolls her head from side to side in the sand. ‘No. I told you, it’s over with him.’ She takes a deep breath and steels herself to tell the full truth. ‘We own a flat together in London.’ Her mouth is bone dry. ‘He thinks it’ll be more … more financially convenient if I move back with him. But I won’t. I’ve told him that.’
The Lost Letter from Morocco Page 31