When she went back to the cottage, she joined Moni in the garden. She sat on the grass and finished the bottle of water she had eventually managed to buy.
Moni started talking about the boy she had seen earlier but soon found herself running out of words. She couldn’t describe why he had made such a big impression on her. Besides, Salma was asking her about Iman. ‘She found coloured pencils on the shelf, next to the board games, and she’s been drawing birds ever since.’
‘That’s good,’ said Salma. There was always a tenderness in her voice when she spoke about Iman. Salma switched to talking about Lady Evelyn. She had noticed the book on the table next to Moni. ‘Are you reading it from cover to cover?’
‘Of course, how else?’
‘I keep dipping into it, bits and pieces, but it stays with me. I liked how her granddaughter said she was frail but physically tough. When she went out hunting, her tweed riding suit would get soaked because she dragged herself over the wet heather, then she would come home, have a hot bath and the next morning put it on wet again!’
Moni made a face. ‘I didn’t get to that part yet.’
Salma launched into the benefits of physical exercise. ‘You know, sitting is the new smoking,’ she said. ‘It’s just as bad for you.’
Moni was unmoved. Salma looked fit and sweaty, emitting waves of heat. She put her bottle down and pitched herself forward, face down on the grass, and started to do push-ups. Moni was vaguely impressed but felt somewhat embarrassed for her friend. Salma was acting Western. Sometimes, Moni did sense a gulf between them and became actively conscious that Salma had crossed a line Moni would never cross. Salma had married a white Christian – of course, Moni knew that David had converted to Islam, that he had done so years before he met Salma, but still she could never think of him as ‘one of us’. Besides, English was the language of Salma’s household and she often spoke and thought as if she was British and nothing else. This was all alienating for Moni but still intriguing. Despite having worked in a bank and marrying late, she was conventional and compliant. By refusing to join Murtada in Saudi, she was not in principle asserting herself or flaunting convention. She was just unable to let go of what she believed was best for Adam.
A ringing command from Salma interrupted her thoughts. ‘A walk,’ Salma was saying, looking up at her. She had rolled on her back by then, ready for crunches. ‘A brisk walk would do you good, Moni. Believe me. And not only physically. You will feel good about yourself too. Your energy would be boosted, your day-to-day chores would be that much easier. Remember, when we go up that hill to the grave, it will be four miles walking. We can go tomorrow now that we’re having today to settle. Today you really need to practise.’ When Salma wanted to persuade Iman to do something, she cajoled and flattered. But with Moni, her voice carried a patronising tone.
Not that it offended Moni. Her thoughts were of the little boy whose name she didn’t know. She stood up. ‘I will go for a walk right now.’
‘Great,’ Salma beamed.
Moni didn’t want to walk. She wanted to see the boy again. She left the cottage and walked in the same direction he had taken earlier in the day.
In the afternoon it rained heavily and none of them went out. Moni baked cupcakes, making do with whatever ingredients she could find in the cottage. Salma wasn’t pleased. ‘Count me out. I need to watch my weight,’ she said. The irritation in her voice was because she knew that she would be tempted by the smell of baking, knew that she would struggle to resist and there was a fifty-fifty chance she would give in.
Iman showed more enthusiasm over the cupcakes and even offered to decorate them. She sat at the kitchen table wearing a Cinderella costume, the brown bodice and an apron with false patches. The kerchief covering her hair and the long sleeves were similar to the clothes she usually wore. It made her look natural, almost as if she weren’t dressing up. But she was more helpful than usual, more deferential to Moni.
Navigating the still unfamiliar kitchen, adjusting the recipe to suit what was available, were challenges Moni was happy to take on. Besides, she was baking for the boy. To thank him for the umbrella he had given her when he found her walking in the rain earlier. He had appeared out of nowhere carrying it and walked with her back to the cottage, still without saying a single word. If the rain cleared up later, she would go back to where his cottage must be and take with her a batch of cupcakes.
The rain continued, and tea and the cupcakes almost replaced dinner. Salma had a tuna salad and Moni ate the previous day’s leftovers. Iman steadily ate one cupcake after the other and finished off with a glass of milk. When she complained of constipation, the other two were quick to blame her erratic eating habits.
While Iman struggled in the bathroom, Moni asked Salma the question she had always wanted to ask. How on earth had her parents ever allowed her to marry David?
Salma smiled and said, ‘It was strange. Even now when I think of it, it just seems like fate. David was in Egypt working for BP. He had a good position with a nice flat and a car. That flat was a company let and the BP employee who dealt with the housing of the expatriate staff happened
