Sixteen

There had been toasts, and more toasts, laughter and even tears.

Hicham Omary had thanked his friends for honouring him at his daughter’s engagement. He had lavished praise on the impending union, and regrets that his wife was not alive to witness it all. As the Jajouka musicians struck up, and the guests began to dance, Ghita and her fiancé slipped away into the rose garden.

‘I was thinking of Australia for the honeymoon,’ Mustapha said.

‘The Great Barrier Reef?’

Ghita smiled.

‘You read my mind!’

Mustapha was about to reply when his mobile rang. Without thinking, he took the call, his brow beading with sweat, a hand cupped over his mouth.

‘Hi sweetie... How are you? Yes, yes. Can’t talk now. OK. Until tomorrow. Me too. Yes, OK... I promise.’

‘Who was that?’

‘It was, er, my... my... cousin... Karim, I mean Karima.’

‘And we didn’t invite her? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Oh, she’s not a close cousin.’

‘But you’re meeting her tomorrow?’

‘Just for a coffee. She needs some help with something.’

Ghita moved closer, until her lips were less than an inch from her fiancé’s ear. In a voice as cold as crushed ice, she said:

‘If you ever lie to me about another woman, my darling, I shall hunt you down and tear out your heart.’