CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

JUNE 14^th

 

Juliet

 

She lay in bed listening to the rumble of voices downstairs. Soon it would be light and she could get up. Her heart ached for Hasan. Poor little boy. And then Jacob filled her thoughts. Talking about him to Portia had made it all so real again, re-opened the wound. It hadn’t been so very long ago when a large part of her had wanted to die, when she’d viewed the world through a haze of grief and Aldi own-brand sherry.

Portia’s body formed a shadowy hump in the bed next to her. Was she really asleep or in hiding again? Last night, after Hasan had been found, she’d seemed subdued, all her earlier exuberance extinguished. What had happened to change her? Her sister had always been a person to approach with extreme caution, but these mood swings were wearisome.

Sleep pulled her back down again like a tide and when she next awoke bright sunlight was spilling through the shutters and Portia was on the edge of her bed, biting her lips and screwing her eyes closed as she unwound her bandage.

‘Let me help you,’ Juliet whispered, rubbing her face as she struggled to sit up.

‘No.’

‘Please, let me.’ She clambered out of bed and sat beside her, taking her arm in both of her hands. Portia snatched it back.

Let me in. Let me help you, let me be a sister to you.

Neither of them spoke. Juliet tried again and this time her sister didn’t struggle, although she turned her head away.

Portia inhaled sharply as Juliet unravelled the bandage. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ The smell of dried blood, its copper tang, made her want to retch so she held her breath as she gently removed the bandage and then, bit by bit and swallowing hard, peeled back the gauze. It was better than she’d expected—the wound was red, livid in fact, but there seemed to be no sign of infection. What undid her, though, was the row of scars marching up Portia’s arm, like herring bones, silvery and thin. Tears scalded her eyes. All those years she was cutting and there was nobody to help her, apart from Gavin in the early days and it sounds as though he soon gave up.

When she’d applied the fresh dressing, Portia still wouldn’t meet her eyes, just muttered, ‘Thanks, Jules,’ in a gruff voice.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Thank you for letting me help, letting me in.’

They sprang apart at a rap on the door. Juliet gave a nervous laugh as she opened it.

‘Morning, girls.’ Miranda’s glance moved between them before settling on the bright white bandage on Portia’s arm.

‘Good morning, Miranda,’ Juliet said, moving to block her view of Portia. ‘What’s new?’

‘We’re all going to the hospital this morning to see Zina. Would you like to come?’

‘Is everybody going?’

‘Yes, a family visit.’

‘What, even Attila?’ Portia asked.

‘Attila? Who’s Attila?’

‘I mean Lalla.’

Miranda grinned. ‘Yes, even Lalla.’

‘I’d love to come.’ Juliet felt a surge of joy. It would be so good to see Zina again, pick up their friendship. She turned to Portia, who shook her head.

‘Not me,’ she said. ‘Count me out.’

Miranda gave her a sharp look. ‘Okay then. In that case, would you mind going shopping? We’ve got the extended family coming for dinner tonight.’

‘To look us over?’

‘Well, to a degree, but mainly because it’s Ramadan. Everyone gets together at Ramadan.’

‘No problem. Give me a list and I’ll go. Where are they all going to sit?’

‘We can bring all the chairs and tables out into the courtyard. If there aren’t enough, we can borrow a few more.’

When Miranda had left, Portia pursed her lips. ‘She’s really entering into the spirit, isn’t she? A visit to wife number one, followed by an evening with the whole tribe.’

‘She seems happy, though. Be kind to her, Portia.’

‘I’ll try.’ She laughed. ‘Isn’t she going back to England—now she knows I wasn’t worth rushing back for?’

Juliet felt a ripple of irritation and tried to damp it down. ‘Not till things are sorted with Zina,’ she said, keeping her voice level.

‘It might have suited Miranda better if Zina had died.’

She stared at her, appalled. ‘I’m sure she never…’

‘But if she had, Samir would have needed another wife, one of childbearing age.’

What is it with her today? Why so bitter, so sour?

 

In the late afternoon, as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled a little, Juliet helped Samir carry out the tables and chairs. He looked less drawn now that Zina seemed to be on the mend.

‘Hasan was very interested in the bottles and tubes, wasn’t he?’ he said, his expression softening. ‘He did not want to leave his mother, though.’

‘You’ll take him again?’

‘Yes, I will take him every day. If we go in the afternoons he will not have to miss school. Right, I think we have enough chairs.’ He pushed the workmen’s trestles against the far wall to make more space. ‘Tomorrow the men start on another room, removing tiles, while the carpenter makes new window frames for the Yellow Room.’

‘It’s going to be so beautiful.’

‘It is.’ His eyes shone as he turned to her. ‘Juliet, I want to thank you for helping me.’

‘Oh, it’s only a few chairs…’

‘No, no, no, not just this.’ He dismissed the furniture with a wave of his hand. ‘You have been cooking, shopping, washing, looking after Hasan. I am grateful.’

Miranda bustled out from the kitchen, bearing a large platter of food swathed in tinfoil. ‘We’re both grateful. You were a star while I was away, from what I’ve been hearing.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it. I feel like I’ve been here years, not two weeks. It’ll be hard when I have to leave.’

‘You do not have to go,’ Samir said.

‘How could… I’d need a job and—’

‘Of course you would not. You could help Miranda and Zina in the house if you wanted to. We would be honoured if you stayed.’ He looked at Miranda who smiled and nodded.

‘That’s so kind of you.’

‘It is not kind at all. You are family and there will always be a home here for you.’

She looked from Samir to her mother then back again. Could she? Could she really? Was there a way to make it possible?

‘Think about it.’ Samir patted her hand.

Portia appeared when everything was done. ‘How was the hospital visit?’ she whispered.

‘She looks well considering the huge bandage around her head and a broken leg.’

‘She must be heartbroken about the baby.’

‘I think they both are. Still, they’re young enough to have more.’

Portia fiddled with the cutlery on the table. ‘And she still doesn’t remember the accident?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s going to be tricky when she comes home—she’ll have to sleep downstairs, and she won’t be able to get about for ages.’

‘When is she coming out?’

‘Don’t know. She… oh my God, look at all these people arriving.’

Wave after wave of relatives arrived, old and young, large and small. Men in freshly-pressed jellabas and women in embroidered robes. Children darted, shrieking, around the tables, a baby wailed, and Miranda rushed backwards and forwards with dishes and plates and pots. And yet, when the lamps made pools of golden light on the tables and everyone had started eating, it all felt so right. Juliet felt a warm glow as she saw the happy faces. Family. Each of these moments was a bright bead to be collected and cherished.