As Luck Would Have It

by Zoe May

  As we’re talking, I notice a familiar flash of colours peeping out from under one of the Berber’s scarf.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing to the half-obscured logo on his chest.

  He pulls his scarf back. ‘This is the hotel where we work. We are chefs there,’ he says. ‘We’re coming back to visit our family.’

  I gawp at the logo: Marrakech Palace.

  ‘Oh my God! That’s where we’re staying!’ I tell the man.

  ‘What?’ His face lights up. Even his quiet companion’s expression brightens. ‘You are staying at Marrakech Palace?’

  ‘Yes!’ Will and I both reply enthusiastically.

  I shield my eyes with my hand and squint at his face, spotting the mysterious jagged scar across his cheek. Suddenly, I recognise him from Amira’s kitchen.

  ‘I saw you the other day!’ I tell him. ‘Amira was making me some tea.’

  He frowns for a second, before his face dawns across his face. ‘Yes! I remember. You were looking at Amira’s wedding picture,’ he recalls.

  ‘Yep, that was me,’ I reply.

  ‘And you are lost? Shall we call the hotel? Or you can come with us,’ he suggests. ‘Our village is not far. We can take you on a tour.’

  I look at Will. He grins. He looks like he’s unable to believe our luck.

  ‘I think that sounds great, what do you think, Natalie?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah!’ I agree, taken aback by the whole coincidence. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You want to?’ the man clarifies, looking between me and Will.

  ‘Thanks. That’s such a kind offer. We’d love to,’ Will says.

  Both of the men seem happy we’ve accepted and within seconds, they’re disembarking from their camels and offering them to us. We both object in our polite English way, but they insist. They even let us have a drink from the flasks of water they keep in pouches around their necks.

  The men walk alongside us, steering the camels with a rope over the sandy dunes. The camels bob up and down with each step, their huge hairy feet leaving footprints in the sand. The older man, who seems to be the chatty one, tells us that his camel – the one I’m riding – is called Bob Marley, while the camel behind me – the one that Will’s on – is named after Jimmy Hendrix. It turns out that the men are brothers and have lived in the mountains their entire lives but spend a couple of weeks per month working at Medhi’s hotel to support their family. They tell us how they’ve never left the area and have no plans to.

  ‘Why would we leave?’ The older man, Hamza, says, gesturing across the desert, which glimmers in the golden sun. ‘We live in paradise.’

  I smile. He’s right. It is beautiful. It’s heavenly. Why on earth would they want to leave? As I gaze out over the stunning landscape, I’m struck yet again by the colours. The shimmering gold sand, the azure blue sky, the warm orange sun and the faint wisps of pale white cloud across the horizon. I turn and look over my shoulder at Will and smile. This may not have been the day trip we were meant to be on yet somehow, it’s almost turning out better. We’re riding on camel-back through the desert, and instead of being surrounded by other tourists, we’re with local Berber guys! Now I know what Will means when he says he likes adventure travel. This may have seemed a disaster at first but now it feels like an adventure. It feels incredible. I can barely believe I – Natalie Jackson – am traveling on a camel across the Moroccan desert on a camel called Bob Marley. With Will Brimble of all people.

  I look over at him, chatting amiably with the brothers, and smile

  Chapter 20

  When Hamza and his brother said they were heading to their village, what they actually meant by village turns out to be three caves where they and their extended family live. Not that I’m criticising. They seem to have everything they need. The caves aren’t like regular caves. They’re not dark or gloomy. They’re proper homes, with bedrooms, kitchens and bathrooms, but they just happen to be set within mountains. They’re really remarkable. They’re embedded in a rockface overlooking the desert and the view is spectacular. Hamza, and his brother, whose name is Sajjad, presented us to their family as though we were long-lost cousins. The whole family were all incredibly excited by the arrival of two Westerners and even though they can’t speak much English, they immediately started fussing over us. They gave us water and freshly-baked bread, and then Hamza took us out on a tour of the mountains on camel back. The scenery and the views were spectacular. He even took us to the most beautiful tumbling waterfall in a red-rock gorge. Will and I took so many pictures, unable to believe our luck to be shown such extraordinary sights.

  Now we’re back at the camp, where Hamza’s mother, Salma, makes tea over an open fire, placing a metal teapot on a stove over the flames until it starts bubbling. The smell of burning wood drifts on the languid desert breeze. The sun is beginning to set and a chill sweeps across the sandy dunes. Hamza’s father Abdul goes into the cave and retrieves a blanket that has a musty, burning wood smell as though it’s frequently brought out for gatherings around the fire. He drapes it over mine and Will’s shoulders.

  Will and I thank him in our awkward, effusive way, making sure he doesn’t need the blanket, but he simply smiles and gestures that it’s no trouble. Unlike Hamza, who explains that he’s picked up English from working at the hotel, neither of his parents speak much English so they communicate with us through gestures and the occasional word. But somehow, the language barrier doesn’t matter. Their intentions are clear through the warm look in their sparkling eyes. Even though if Will had told me last night that we’d end up in the middle of nowhere around a fire with a family I barely knew, I’d probably have freaked out, I feel completely relaxed. I feel completely comfortable.

  The teapot boils and Salma pours the steaming mint tea into a mug. She tips it into the cup from a great height, and the boiling water reminds me of the waterfall as it crashes into the cup. She hands the steaming mug to Hamza, who hands it to Sajjad, who hands it to another relative, who passes it along to Will. Will then hands it to me. There’s no one left to pass the mug to, so I thank everyone, particularly Salma and bring the tea to my lips, taking a sip. It’s minty and delicious. Salma smiles broadly. She’s lost several of her teeth and her face is lined. I try to picture her on the streets of London, but the image simply makes no sense. She looks like someone from a completely different century, because, I suppose, she’s living the lifestyle of another era. A century without dentists or high street shops or anti-ageing cream. And yet even though her haggard toothless face is somewhat strange to my Western eyes, she seems so kind and warm. So giving.

  She passes mugs of tea around until we all have one, then Abdul emerges from the cave with a tin.

  ‘Sugar,’ he says, with a toothy grin, presenting the tin to us with a spoon, before sitting down and taking a steaming cup of tea from his wife. We pass the sugar around, spooning it into our cups and then we just sit there, around the fire, sipping the tea. Hamza makes conversation, asking us questions about England and our jobs, while relaying information back to his parents in Arabic, who nod and smile. The gulf in our worlds is huge and I don’t even begin to go into detail about the kind of work I do. It feels a bit embarrassing to admit that I spend most of my time promoting superfluous treatments like vajazzles and semi-permanent eyebrows. I don’t think these people even frequent the dentist, what on earth would they make of getting glitter tattoos on your lady parts? Definitely best to keep that to myself. Will avoids telling the family he’s a journalist, and just describes himself as a writer. He doesn’t mention that he writes about politics – it would probably ruin the mood – and instead says he writes about football, which he does write about from time to time. I think I saw an article about a Spurs player by him a few years ago. Hamza laps this information up and starts listing football teams.

  ‘Manchester United!’ he says proudly, scratching the scar on his cheek, which was apparently from a run-in with Bob Marley. ‘They are very good.’
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  ‘Yes, yes they are,’ Will laughs, even though I know he supports Arsenal.

  ‘And Liverpool. Chelsea.’

  ‘Yes, yes, very good teams,’ Will agrees.

  Abdul places his cup down and heads back into the cave. Will and Hamza continue trading football team names, before moving on to discussing the Morocco football scene. I tune out at this point, my attention waning, until Abdul brings out a tray loaded with bread and dishes. He asks Hamza to bring over a small table and then places the down. There’s a bowl of something that looks like a tomato sauce or soup, glistening green olives, hummus and tabbouleh. It looks delicious. Will and I tell him that he shouldn’t have and tell him how grateful we are, but he doesn’t seem to have a clue what we’re on about and simply smiles and heads back to the cave to retrieve some plates.

  We give up attempting to thank him and just enjoy the meal. The tomato sauce turns out to have a sharp, tangy flavour and tastes absolutely delicious mopped up by the fluffy bread. The olives are salty and succulent. I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was until I tuck in. Bread has never tasted so good and I tear a hunk off my roll and savour it, dipping it into the sauce while gazing out over the desert. I smile to myself. This is truly incredible. The food, as well as the scenery and the sense of connection. Hamza and his family have taken us in with such a spirit of warmth and kindness that it makes me glow with happiness. People can be so divided. Nations are so fractured and there’s so much hostility in the world and yet here we are, strangers who lead completely different lives coming together in a moment of kindness, hospitality and humanity. I feel so grateful and content as I finish the food, accepting the second roll that Abdul encourages me to have, and I know that I’ll cherish this memory. I’ll remember it for a long time.

  We have a second roll of bread and finish off the meal with another cup of the delicious minty tea and crumbly Moroccan biscuits, which Abdul brings us in another tin. The sun starts setting over the desert. It’s taken on a darker, reddish tone and makes the sand dunes glow an almost orange shade. It’s so profoundly beautiful watching the colours change as the sun dips below the skyline that conversation slips away. Hamza stops listing football teams and Salma and Abdul stop fussing over us. Instead we all sit by the fire which crackles and flickers, the wood singing and splintering in the flames and we watch the sunset together, silenced by the insane beauty of it.

  I cosy up to Will under the blanket. He gives me a questioning look as though to check I’m okay with the intimacy. I nod and smile encouragingly, thinking of what Lars said: Life hurts. But life can also be brilliant, thrilling, funny, surprising and joyful. Sometimes you have to risk getting hurt to experience all the other good stuff. He was so right. Will wraps his arm around my shoulders as we gaze at the view. It’s truly magical and it strikes me that tonight is the most romantic, inspiring and memorable night of our trip. It just goes to show that you don’t need five-star hotels or money to be content. Sometimes, happiness and beauty can be found simply in nature, adventure and people. Will and I keep exchanging these sweet, affectionate looks and it’s as though finally, now that we’ve dropped the act of faking being together, our hearts are free to actually feel something.

  The light gradually darkens as the sun dips below the horizon. Soon after, the light rapidly changes from an amber glow, greying around the edges to a dark impenetrable black. The kind of blackness that neither Will or I are used to. Night-time at home is never truly dark, there are always streetlights and shop signs and houses or offices with the lights on. This plain, unbroken darkness is new to me. It’s impenetrable – you blink, expecting your eyes to adjust but the darkness is thick and dense. The staggering landscape we were admiring just minutes earlier is now nothing but a vast dark void, the only light is that of the fire, which is beginning to fade. The pieces of wood have burnt up and shrunk from slabs to small chunks, almost embers, burning bright orange. Soon they’ll burn out and there’ll be no light at all.

  My thoughts turn to bedtime and I can’t help wondering where Will and I will be sleeping. Abdul insisted earlier that we stay but are Will and I going to sleep in the cave? Do they have space? Will it be awkward? What is the Berber bedroom etiquette? I start to feel a little nervous about it when Abdul comes over and gestures for us to follow him. He leads us into a tent by the cave.

  It’s lined with Moroccan rugs and throes in dark red shades with blankets and a paraffin heater glowing in the corner.

  ‘You can sleep here,’ he says, gesturing towards a mattress, made up with blankets and pillows.

  ‘Really?’ I ask, hoping we’re not depriving him of his bed for the night.

  ‘Yes, this okay for you?’ he asks, a hopeful look on his face.

  ‘Of course, this is more than okay. This is perfect!’

  I turn to Will, who looks as surprised and delighted as I feel.

  Hamza come in and shows us how to turn on the small paraffin heater in the corner of the tent. He hands us towels for the bathroom – a small shed-like outbuilding with a shower, toilet and sink. Then he brings us a bottle of water before bidding us goodnight. Will and I are both insanely grateful, but we don’t try to protest or get awkward and English about it anymore. It’s clear that the family are just really kind nice people, and feel tickled and excited to have guests, especially ones from the hotel where their sons work. I can’t imagine it happens often. It’ll probably be the kind of thing they’ll talk about for years. The strange English couple they found sweating on a boulder in the middle of the desert.

  Will and I thank them and settle in for the night, stripping down to just our underwear and T-shirts. We get under the blanket. Unlike the massive king-sized bed at the hotel, it’s not possible to lie down without touching and bodies brush against each other’s.

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ I comment as I get in under the blanket. It smells a little musty but it’s thick and warm.

  ‘I know.’ Will shakes his head, unable to believe his luck. ‘This is quite something. That sunset.’

  ‘That sunset, that tea, that bread, the olives, the mountains, the waterfall, the camels. It’s just been … wonderful,’ I enthuse.

  ‘It really has. Beats the tourist day trip, eh?’ Will says, adjusting his pillow.

  ‘Oh yeah! They’re probably at some boring touristy campsite right now having an early night. So inauthentic!’ I scoff.

  ‘Totally inauthentic. Not like this.’

  ‘Nothing like this,’ I reply. ‘What a night.’

  We spend a while going over how extraordinary our evening has been and trying to wrap our heads around the beauty of the landscape and the kindness of Hamza and his family. We speak in hushed whispers, although we’re both speaking over each other, over-excited and invigorated by our adventure.

  ‘And now here we are,’ I comment.

  ‘Yep. The middle of the Moroccan desert. Unbelievable,’ Will replies.

  ‘No, I was thinking, here we are. You and me. Back in a tent. Together. Sixteen years later. It’s almost like we’re picking up where we left off,’ I comment, gazing into Will’s eyes in the weak light. He looks back at me with an unsure expression in his eyes, as though not quite sure where he stands.

  ‘I know I freaked out at the hotel, Will, but I do really care about you.’ I lace my fingers through his.

  His eyes widen in surprise.

  ‘I still have feelings too and I’m willing to give us a shot. Sixteen years on, I think we should try again,’ I say, my stomach full of butterflies – a combination of excitement and nerves.

  Will traces his thumb against mine, his gaze intensifying. ‘Are you sure?’ he says.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, feeling completely confident that I’m making the right decision. It may be scary for me to get close to a man again, but Will isn’t just any man, he’s Will: he’s my first love He’s still the gorgeous, interesting, adventurous, funny, charming man I fell for so many years ago. The man who deep down, I’ve always adored.
And even though things didn’t work out between us the first time around, it strikes me that perhaps they were never meant to. Perhaps, despite all our flaws and all the things we’ve been through, the timing is perfect right now. We’ve both matured and even though we both have a bit more baggage than we once did, we also have a lot more sensitivity and wisdom. Maybe now, things might actually work out between us.

  ‘I don’t want you to feel pressure,’ Will insists.

  ‘Honestly, Will, I’m sure,’ I tell him.

  Will smiles. Our eyes lock in the darkness and my heart pounds in my chest, as we draw closer together and finally, we kiss.

  Chapter 21

  A year later

  It’s a beautiful sunny day and I’m sitting in the park.

  Not a strange park with a beautiful hidden lake, like the park Will and I found this time last year in Marrakech, but my local park in Chiddingfold. Yep, I’m still in Chiddingfold, but thankfully, I’m no longer living in my childhood bedroom with its Take That poster and Beanie Babies. I’ve swapped my bedroom for a small terraced house, but my living situation isn’t the only thing that’s changed.

  ‘Cake!’ Hera cries, reaching for a cupcake.

  Will laughs and hands her one from the delicious picnic spread we’re having in the sunshine to celebrate our one-year anniversary.

  I gaze at him, adoringly. It still takes me by surprise just how well everything’s worked out. When Will and I got back from Marrakech, despite being totally smitten with each other a part of me was still worried the whole thing might lose its sparkle once real life set in, but things just got better. The more time Will and I spent together, the deeper our feelings became. My anxieties and worry over giving my heart to a man again disappeared as I fell deeper and deeper in love and saw what a kind-hearted person Will is, realising how vastly different he is to Leroy. Unlike Leroy, he’s invested so much time and energy into not only our relationship, but Hera too. He dotes on her, like a father would. She’s even started calling him, ‘Daddy’. It still surprises me that one holiday could have changed everything and that one silly blunder in a raffle could have transformed our lives so much.