Iman said she was not too warm. She did not know where the costumes she had worn earlier in their visit had gone and she was not interested in finding out. Cleopatra, the princesses, Cinderella – she had passed that stage. Now it was Padmé Amidala, the White Witch and other warrior figures. The choice was either to wear these new costumes or her own clothes. It seemed a long time since she had worn her own clothes. She wondered how Ibrahim would react if he saw her dressed like Padmé with a lightsabre in hand, her hair cut short in a bob. Conjuring him up in her mind, she found her sadness turning into anger.
Salma looked out of the window and suddenly asked, ‘Shall we brave the rain and go for a walk? We need to practise for when we visit Lady Evelyn’s grave on Sunday.’
‘Better wait a bit,’ said Iman. ‘It might clear up.’ She turned to look at Moni.
Moni hesitated. Perhaps if they now went out for a brief walk in the rain, it would substitute for a long and potentially exhausting one in good weather. Instead she said, ‘Being in the cottage is part of the holiday, we paid for it. It would be a waste not to enjoy it.’
‘All right,’ said Salma. ‘Iman wants to stay so we’ll stay.’ She smiled at her younger friend.
‘I can’t believe you just said that.’ Moni’s voice rose. ‘I also said we should stay. Salma, why are you acting as if I hadn’t spoken?’
Salma turned towards her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I agree with what you said. The cottage is part of the holiday. We’ll stay.’
‘That’s not the point,’ said Moni. ‘Why do you treat Iman like a child? It’s not helping her. She’s a grown-up, perfectly capable of fending for herself. Yet you pamper and infantilise her. Like a pet. You don’t even do that with your own kids!’
‘I’m here, Moni,’ said Iman.
‘I know you are.’
‘But you’re talking about me as if I’m not here. I’m perfectly capable of talking for myself.’
‘That’s what I mean,’ said Moni. ‘Why this special treatment as if you’re delicate china about to break. There is nothing physically wrong with you.’
‘You don’t know,’ said Salma. ‘You don’t know everything that Iman went through during the war.’
‘No, I don’t know,’ said Moni. ‘But surely her dependence on you isn’t solving the issue.’
Salma spoke in a calm voice. ‘I think you’re jealous, Moni. Because you don’t have a special friend. Or any other special relationship. You’re aloof with everyone. You keep your distance. Don’t want to get too close, don’t want to get involved, don’t want to get your hands dirty . . .’
Moni gave a small tight laugh. ‘So this is about your phone, then. Because I banished it, you’re now saying all these mean things to me.’
‘They’re not mean. You look at Iman and instead of compassion, you’re all self-righteous.’
‘I’m not. I’m just pointing out that you’re holding her back, Salma. If you want to be a true friend, then help her stand on her own two feet. That’s what you need to be doing.’
To Salma’s surprise, Iman blurted out, ‘Salma, I do want to tell you something. I’ve changed. I do want to stand on my own two feet, like Moni says. I want to know where I’m heading. And you don’t guide me, Salma. You’re just happy for me to stay as I am, keeping you company, listening to your problems.’
For a minute Salma was lost for words. She turned from Moni to Iman.
‘She treats you like a pet,’ said Moni to Iman. ‘I see it every day . . .’
‘Stop,’ said Salma. ‘What’s going on? I’ve known Iman longer than you have. Don’t come between us, Moni. Stay out of it.’
‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to move people about. Maybe you mean to be helpful and you are sometimes, I won’t deny it, but you sure are bossy.’
‘You’re interfering too,’ murmured Iman.
Salma, her body rigid with surprise, wondered where all this, this insubordination was coming from. ‘How dare you speak to me like that! The both of you. I will leave you. I will take the ferry, get in MY car, MINE, as you seem to have forgotten, and drive back without you. Then you can be stuck here if you’re so keen on independence.’
She knew she sounded ridiculous even as she spoke. Moni laughed out loud. Iman giggled. Trying to remain in control, Salma forced herself to smile as if she had been joking all along and the outburst had been in mock anger. But some of it she meant. The reminder that the car was hers, that she had driven them here and they were dependent on her to get them back. It was lame, she knew. This need to assert her authority, to remind them and put them in their place. She was squirming now and wanting the comfort of her phone, the messages from Amir. Through him, and with him, time had different proportions so that her life back home – yes, home in Egypt – became long and eventful, her life in this country short and flat. All the married years, the children growing up, condensed into a single episode, one that was busy but minor, full of details and events that all had the same colour.
She started to walk to the kitchen, to retrieve the phone from its banishment. Enough was enough.
‘Don’t you dare bring that stinky phone in here,’ said Moni.
‘You’re hallucinating, my dear. I’m sorry to tell you this. The smell is all in your imagination.’
‘Iman smelt it too.’
‘By suggestion. From you.’
Moni turned to Iman for a defence. Iman said nothing. Emboldened, Salma said, ‘I will take my phone all the way to the monastery where the signal is strongest. A bit of
