At breakfast, Salma explained to them again that the forest trails were graded by difficulty and time. Left to her own devices, she would have opted for the longest, most challenging route that involved a high climb. Iman too was quite willing to make the attempt. But it was tricky enough persuading Moni to go on any walk, let alone one that was anything but short and basic. ‘We can compromise,’ Moni said. ‘I could go with you half the way and then come back. You two can then do the rest of the walk.’
‘That’s fine.’ Iman gave her usual indifferent shrug. In the past she would have then looked at Salma to confirm the final verdict. Now she just turned and walked up the stairs to get dressed.
Salma, disappointed in her, turned to Moni. ‘That’s a good idea. Maybe you will change your mind and keep going with us. You might surprise yourself.’
Moni made a face as she stood up. ‘I’ll get some snacks ready and make a few sandwiches.’ She no longer spoke of her plan for the three of them to set up a massage clinic when they got back. It had appealed to Salma more than she had let on. Iman as the receptionist, Moni the business manager, and she free to concentrate on the clients. It could work. She could visualise it being successful. Or, more precisely, it could have worked. A deep sense of loyalty to Iman stopped her from initiating the kind of conversation in which Moni might cruelly say, ‘I don’t want her working for me without her hijab.’ So, Salma did not mention the clinic, though she continued to think about it as the brake to prevent her from sliding further towards Amir, an alternative that would make her present life more appealing and, by extension, save her marriage.
When they opened the door of the cottage, it was as if they were setting out into a new season. The rain of the previous days had given way to washed sunshine, clean air, satiated earth and plants. They walked in silence, with Iman a little ahead, as if she was leading the way, claiming the forest as familiar territory. Salma matched her pace to that of Moni’s. Moni was walking as fast as she could, but for Salma it felt like a warm-up.
‘You will tire out,’ she warned Moni. ‘We can go more slowly.’
When they did, the distance between them and Iman grew. ‘What’s the hurry?’ Moni panted.
The question did not require an answer. That first day at the castle, Iman had hurried to the spot where Ibrahim would later repudiate her. She had rushed towards an appointment with pain. It must be a human instinct, pondered Salma, this running towards what would ultimately destroy, this headlong trajectory towards death. ‘Iman,’ she called out. ‘Slow down!’
Iman stopped and turned towards them. She was wearing camouflage, the grey-green of a soldier, not as tight as Tomb Raider but the same colours. Her hair, darker and wavier, was tied back in a Lara Croft style but with a shorter ponytail. Was that who she was trying to emulate? Her body language said impatience, indifference, independence. In other words, I don’t need you any more. Where was this strength coming from? Salma wondered. From taking off her hijab? Or was it the other way round? Salma wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the triviality of it all or to feel sad.
To walk as a group, their pace must match the slowest. To walk as a group, Salma needed to curb her enthusiasm, Iman to become more patient, Moni to exert a bit more effort. It occurred to Salma that the best tactic would be to engage Iman in conversation. In that way, Moni could concentrate her efforts on the walk itself while Iman could be distracted from the need to hurry.
‘You haven’t sung to us for a long time,’ she said to Iman.
Previously whenever Salma made this observation or some variation of it, Iman would break into song. Now she was silent.
‘What’s wrong?’ Salma could not hide the nervousness from her voice. She reminded herself that Iman was the same person, with or without her hijab; nothing had changed, nothing could change. She needed these reassurances.
Iman shrugged. ‘You didn’t stand up for me. You didn’t take my side.’
Salma was taken aback. ‘When?’
‘In every situation I can think of.’ Iman lowered her voice. ‘When Moni was mean to me in the car, you were silent.’
Salma could not remember Moni being mean to Iman in the car. The whole car journey seemed a long time ago.
‘See, you don’t even remember,’ said Iman. ‘It’s nothing to you.’
Salma was lost for
