In the back of her mind, she wondered if she was making history. Perhaps for the first time ever, the words of the Qur’an were reaching this particular part of the earth. Perhaps one day, to her credit, coastline, machair and sandstone would bear witness to what they had heard her recite. Long after Moni, with her faults and story, was gone and forgotten.
Submerged in the text, it was only when he came quite close to her and directly passed her that she looked up and saw him. Iman’s husband. Ridiculously young, scurrying down the path towards the castle. He kept his head down and didn’t greet Moni. He knew who she was and yet he did not stop and greet her. He did not greet women he was unrelated to. He did not speak to them unless he had no choice. With a mobile phone in his pocket, he did not need to ask Moni about the whereabouts of his wife. Therefore, he did not need to speak to her.
Moni smiled. She had always moved in fairly liberal circles and Ibrahim’s strictness amused her. There was something ridiculous about it, over the top. It almost flattered her. Since the birth of Adam, her self-esteem had hit rock bottom and never recovered. She no long considered herself attractive or even thought of herself as feminine. And yet Ibrahim, married to a beauty, would not look her in the face lest she tempted him with impure thoughts. She laughed out loud.
Her laughter and a glance upwards made her notice the catering van. It was near the car park, but she must have missed it when they got out of the car. The walk up the steps was not as gruelling as she had feared, now that her spirits were higher, and the reward of a meal was awaiting her. Slowly, at her own pace, she made it to the top. The smell of burgers and soup made her feel hungry. She stood in front of the van and looked at the menu. There was no point in texting Iman with an invitation for lunch. Iman was with her husband. As for Salma, she might as well make the most of the entrance ticket she had paid for. Moni would eat all by herself.
She had never done that. Never sat in a café alone. Back home, lone women eating in public were inviting attention, exposing themselves to trouble. She studied the menu, needing time to figure out what she wanted, what she could realistically finish, what would be good to eat.
Eventually she ordered the Scotch broth. Originally served in winter, the sign said, but now can be enjoyed all year. When it came, she poured salt and pepper onto it and appreciated the accompanying piece of bread. Picnic benches were arranged around the catering van and Moni found an empty one. She always found it easy to ignore her surroundings. Cracks in the wall or paintings were one and the same. This lost her plenty of experiences but at times was a useful asset. A place could be ugly, noisy and smelly and she would be oblivious. Awareness was not her strong point. When people were rude to her, she simply didn’t notice.
So she continued to sit at the table, even after she finished her soup, dessert and coffee. She continued to sit even as others joined her at the table, expecting her to make way. She was thinking about Adam, imagining being with him. A queue formed of people waiting to be served and then waiting to be seated and still she sat staring straight ahead at them without feeling the need to move. It was the children who caught her eye. A toddler held by a harness. Two little girls holding hands. Healthy, moving, standing, talking to their parents. They were the same age as Adam, but they had swept past him, developed and progressed. For Adam, time was different. For Adam, time did not bring new skills or better understanding. She had forgotten what was natural, forgotten what normal children were like, what they were capable of doing and saying outside of the cocoon of Adam’s world. Moni sat and stared at a little boy in a green rain jacket pulling at his father’s hand. At the girl in flowery jeans, hopping from foot to foot, asking to be taken to the toilet. Moni stared at them as if they were strange and it was Adam who was normal.
Iman was down in the cove when Ibrahim found her. She had spread out her coat on the sand and was lying on it. Above her, the jutting stone was like a ceiling. She thought Ibrahim would lie down next to her. She wanted him to, but he was flustered, obviously upset. She sat up and crossed her legs. He refused to sit down and instead paced to and fro, kicking pebbles out of his way.
‘My father is here,’ he said. ‘He is here with my mother and older brother . . .’
She knew about this. It was why Ibrahim had changed his mind at the last minute and allowed her to go on this trip with Salma. At first, he had said no, three women travelling on their own was not a good idea. Normally, he was possessive about her,
