'That must be good for business,' I replied.
'We get by.' She glanced towards her husband.
'Was that Arabic you were speaking?'
'I'm not very fluent,' she said modestly, 'but our customers appreciate the attempt.'
'It must be hard for someone with your background.'
'I need to learn it anyway, in order to study the Qur'an.'
'Is that what you're studying at college?'
'No. I converted. It's part of the faith to understand the words of the prophet.'
'To Islam?'
'No, Buddhist. Of course to Islam. I converted so that we could get married.'
I looked over at the man behind the counter. He was trying to talk to one of the young men and watch us at the same time.
'Jealous type, is he?'
'Jealous? Ahmed? Don't be daft.' The way she said Ahmed was soft, like a sigh.
'He hasn't taken his eyes off you since you sat down.'
'He thinks you're going to steal me away, take me back to my family.' She looked up. 'Are you?'
Her eyes were grey, at odds with the Muslim dress and Arab cafe, but they held my gaze, waiting for an answer.
'No. I'm not here to take you back.'
'Did Mum hire you?'
'Hire me?'
'You're a private detective, aren't you? That's what people like you do, isn't it? Dig around in other people's business.'
It was my turn to laugh. 'A detective, me?'
'What then? You're not church and you're not a copper either. They've been and gone. The police won't interfere now that I'm eighteen and the vicar only came to check up on me for Mum. You're not a fisherman and you move like a fighter. Ex-military? Private security?' It was her turn to watch me.
'I have done some security work,' I admitted. I liked this girl. She had spirit and intelligence. She knew what she wanted and it sounded as if she was working hard to get it. The contrast between her and the soft resignation of her mother was stark.
'I saw your mother this morning.'
'What did she say?'
'Very little. I asked her whether she'd given up hope and she told me she hadn't.'
Karen looked back towards the counter.
'She said if you wanted to come back then all you had to do was pick up the phone.'
She stirred the mint tea slowly. 'Was my sister there?'
'Shelley? Yes.'
'She should be at school. What was she doing at home?'
'She said she was ill.'
Karen looked up from her tea.
'She didn't look ill,' I said. 'She looked like she'd blagged a day off.'
'She should be at school,' she repeated. 'But maybe my parents think education is not such a good thing any more, when you can have ideas, friends of your own, people from outside.' She looked again at Ahmed. 'What did my dad say?'
'Your dad wasn't there.'
'Did he call Ahmed a wog again?'
'He wasn't there, Karen. I only met your mother.'
'Pity.'
'I didn't come to persuade you to come back either. Only to find out what happened to you.'
'Did Mum ask you to do this?'
'No. Your mum said that if you meant to come home then you'd find a way.'
'Then who?'
'I came on my own. Greg Makepeace told me where I might find you.'
'The vicar? What for? What does he get out of this?'
'He wants me to leave it alone, to stop looking for missing girls. I think you were meant to persuade me to let sleeping dogs lie.'
'That still doesn't give me a reason.'
'Sorry?'
'You still haven't told me why you came looking for me. If it wasn't for anyone else then why?'
'I'm writing a story, if I can find enough material. It might sell to the Sundays, or a magazine.'
'A journalist?'
'Perhaps – when I'm not doing private security.'
She looked again at Ahmed. 'It's not much of a story. I met my husband at college. Everyone else wanted to get in my knickers but Ahmed saw me as a person. We talked and spent time together, we got to know each other. We were friends long before anything else. Last year his father died, suddenly. An aneurysm, they said, leaving him and his mum to run the cafe. I started helping out and we got to know each other better.'
'You helped in the cafe, and he asked you to marry him?'
'You make it sound mercenary. It wasn't. He told me that if he could, he would ask me to marry him, but that it could never be. He had the cafe, his mother, his religion. There were too many barriers. I didn't hesitate. I said yes, even though he hadn't asked. We had to wait until I was eighteen and I'd converted, but the answer was always yes.' She hadn't taken her eyes off him the whole time. I didn't need to ask whether she loved him.
'And your family don't approve.'
'You're joking, aren't you? Little brown grandchildren?'
'You're pregnant?'
'No. We'll wait a while; not too long, but a little.' She smiled wistfully. 'So that's my story. Not exactly Anna Karenina, is it?'
'It might make part of a larger piece, if I can get your parents' view.'
'I wish you luck. They won't even talk to me. My father won't have my name spoken in the house.' She retied the knot on her headscarf. 'It doesn't matter now. I have a new name, Zaina, and a new life. Ahmed said it means beauty. Will you change the names for your story?'
'I can if you want me to. I thought you didn't care what your parents think.'
'Ravensby's a small place. Everyone knows everyone else. I don't see why I should be a source of amusement for them.'
'I thought you were proud to be where you are? Shouldn't they be allowed to know that there is happiness in the outside world, beyond the harbour and the call centre?'
'As in Christianity, pride is a sin for Muslims. And I don't want to be held up as an example for anyone else. I love my husband, but I still miss my family. Even my dad.'
'Do you want me to carry a message to them?'
She stared at her tea for a long time. Then she lifted her eyes to mine. 'No.'
I drank down the remaining tea and stood, collecting my umbrella from beside the chair.
'Sure?'
'Too much has been said already.'
'As you wish. Thanks for the tea. Please give my apologies to your husband. I didn't intend to provoke him.'
I turned and nodded to Ahmed, who watched me to the door. She stood to clear the glass teacups and crossed back to the counter.
As I was closing the door, she called back to me, 'Please?'
I put my head back around the door.
'Tell my sister I miss her.' There was a pensive tension in her expression. I think she would have said more if
