Page 72 of The Last Postcard

They stopped on the nearest corner.

‘Well.’ For the first time, Zahrah seemed awkward. ‘I will see you later.’

‘Wait!’ he called before she had even taken a step. ‘Can I walk with you, for a while? Where are you headed?’

‘To the library.’ She glanced at his face. ‘It’s not on your way, but you can walk, if you like.’

They set off together. Abruptly, Sam felt more real than he had for weeks. The sun that shone into his eyes and made his headache worse was today’s sun, not yesterday’s, not the sun of five decades ago. He glanced over at Zahrah, smiling foolishly. She caught his look.

‘Now what?’ she asked, as they passed into the shade of an alleyway.

‘Nothing. I was just wondering whether you are as secretive as Ale.’

‘I’m not secretive,’ she said coolly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Have you always lived here?’

She shook her head. ‘I was born in Melilla. You know where that is?’

‘Isn’t that a Spanish city, down the coast?’

‘An enclave, yes.’ She quickened her step as they passed a group of men who sat smoking on a doorstep. ‘My father was Spanish. He was a soldier in the Legion.’

‘And your mother?’ He had to hurry to keep up with her.

‘She was from the Rif. They were not married.’

‘Oh.’ He glanced at her, but her face was unreadable as she navigated her way out of the casbah. ‘Where are they now?’

She shrugged. ‘My father is probably back in Spain. I’m not even sure of his name. My mother couldn’t read or write. She left me at a mission when I was a baby. That’s all I know.’

He shook his head, his cheeks burning.

‘It must have been hard,’ he said, idiotically.

She let out a breath of laughter. ‘Being on my own was harder. I left the mission when I was sixteen. They found me a job as a child-minder in Tetouan. It didn’t work out.’ She looked away from him, into the bustle of the medina. ‘So I came here. I thought there’d be more work. But I didn’t know anyone, and my Darija wasn’t very good.’

The market was in full swing, not only with its fruit and spice and food, but with people at the fringes scraping money from stolen goods and scavenged items, with children who watched and hustled for cash, with women who never moved from one spot all day, too tired to lift their hands from their laps. Abruptly, he remembered what Abdelhamid had once said – that there was always more money for an American like him. He hadn’t meant physical cash, Sam realized, but the presence of safety. Even when he claimed to have nothing, there had always been that ticket back to the States, where four walls and a bed and a meal on the table would be waiting. However hard he found it at home, however much he tried to outrun it, it was safety.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered to Zahrah.

She only shook her head at him, knowing, as he did, that the apology was of no use.

‘So when did you meet Ale?’ he asked, trying to push away the feeling of guilt.

She smiled at that. ‘In a café in the Petit Socco, one night about five years ago. I thought I saw an old foreign man, an easy mark. Eventually I realized my mistake, but we were talking by then. Ale spoke English and Spanish and somehow, I ended up spilling everything. Then, Ale bought me a glass of tea and offered me a deal.’ She stopped at the edge of the medina. ‘I could live and work at Dar Portuna. In exchange, Ale would teach me things, help me study. I only had to promise one thing.’

‘What was that?’

She looked at him, her face serious.

‘Loyalty.’

None But the Brave

Take a jigger of brandy and half a pony of Pimento Dram. Add a dash of Jamaica ginger, a dash of fresh lemon juice and a dash of powdered sugar. Shake with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. A drink with a lasting and bitter allure.

Were we brave, back then? Hilde and I had raised our masks a little, and glimpsed each other’s real faces. There was a bravery in that, I suppose. The hours that followed our talk passed in a sort of heady gladness. For the first time since Ifrahim died, I had made the first steps towards what might be a friendship with another person. But soon, the gin wore off and I was left with reality: Langham would return, and I would have to face him, I would have to tell a truth that might mean the end of my time at Dar Portuna.