‘You never told me what she did.’
I fought the urge to steal a smoke from her. I couldn’t believe Jordan was doing this to me. I’d never smoked in my life, although my father did. When he left, my mother threw out all the ashtrays and suddenly smokers weren’t welcome at home. Smoking never bothered me, one way or the other, although I tended to avoid smoky rooms just because of the smell it left on you. And I’d avoided smoky girls because it is, when you come down to it, just like kissing an ashtray. Which got me thinking about kissing Aisha and so I blew it and took one of her cigarettes with a shaky hand.
‘She’s a lawyer.’ I said as I lit up. Aisha raised an eyebrow, but I shook my head. ‘Contract law, not criminal stuff so no, I haven’t told her about the court case. She’s very good at it.’
‘Did you live together?’
‘Now you’re just being nosy.’
The spark was back in her eyes and she flicked her hair back. ‘You’d know about that, wouldn’t you, ya Brit?’
I winced. ‘Okay, yes, we lived together but not, well, not quite like that, not at first. She was my landlady and things sort of developed. But I still paid her rent up until I left her. I mean, left England.’
Aisha’s face was serious. ‘Do you love her?’
Did I? Anne the golden girl. Anne of the fiery temper and the ‘yah set’ friends. Anne the determined career girl with the Saab Aero and a flat in Balham pronounced ‘Barm.’’ Bling bling Anne. Anne the lover who liked to be on top. Anne of a million years ago, another continent. Anne who hadn’t changed since I left England, while I was becoming another person. Anne who didn’t belong in this life of mine, this new life. Dreams of Anne and home drifting away.
I scanned the busy bar. Three guys in open-necked, square-patterned shirts stood by the beer taps smoking cigars; a group of six girls two tables away looked through a photo album, shrieking with delighted laughter; a big, boisterous table at the other side of the room chattering, two young men standing up and slanging each other in loud, laughing voices, their body language exaggerated as they accused each other of being liars.
I looked back at Aisha and nodded. ‘I think I did, yes.’
I walked Aisha home. It was getting chilly and her heels tapped shorter steps than mine on the uneven pavement. The plastic bag bumped against my leg and I folded it around the little picture to hold it in the crook of my arm. She spoke into the cold distance ahead of us.
‘You asked me if Hamad was revenging my father.’
I started to interrupt her, to tell her I didn’t want to know anymore, but she silenced me by taking my arm.
‘No, it’s all right. I want to tell you. Hamad took my father’s death badly. I don’t mean that any of us took it well. It was a very bad time. But Hamad was always an angry man and his reaction to baba dying was furious. I think he learned how to focus his anger into hate. He was always very religious. He won prizes for reading Koran at school. My father was never strict like that, but he was a quietly devout man in his way. Hamad became more explosive as he got older, more…’ She paused as she searched for the right word. ‘In Arabic we say borkan ghadab. More than a, volcano, yes? He was angry always. He would go a lot to the East of the city, he had friends there. My father used to worry about him. After father’s death he used to be away from home for days on end. He drove my mother half-mad with worry, but he would always turn up in the end, usually in a very bad state, half-starved. He wouldn’t talk to Mum about himself, but he was always close to Daoud. He lost a lot of weight over that time.’
Aisha stopped walking and pulled her cigarettes out. She lit one and offered them to me. I hesitated but took one. We stood together and Aisha gestured down the street towards her house, her eyes shining in the sodium light.
‘I heard them arguing one night, out in the garden by the olive trees. Daoud was telling Hamad to stay away from someone or something and he was hissing back at Daoud. They were arguing in whispers, but of course they became louder as the argument became fierce between them. After this, Hamad was gone for a month. Daoud used his business contacts to try and keep track of him. But Hamad had disappeared. Daoud heard he was in Lebanon and finally he drove up through Syria and across to Lebanon to look for him. It’s not a long drive. We have some business in Lebanon and the people there tried to help Daoud, but of course it was too late. Hamad was in the south and had gone across the Israeli border.’
‘You don’t have to go on,’ I said, as gently as I could. ‘I’m sorry for asking you in the first place. You know that.’
‘No, no. It’s actually good to talk about it.’
She reached into her handbag, smiled up at me and dabbed at her eye with a tissue. I felt awkward, wanted desperately to put my arms around her and tell her it was all right. I didn’t because I come from a cold place and the coldness was deep in me. Because I didn’t want to betray Anne with my body as I had already betrayed her with my mind.
Aisha’s heels clicked as we walked. ‘He killed himself. They had strapped a bomb to him. He was wearing a green headscarf. He left a video dedicating his life to father and God.’
Yes, I know. I watched it. She couldn’t see me blushing in the darkness, thank God.
Aisha wheeled around, her face shadowed by the streetlight, her hands balled into tight fists and her voice tight. ‘My father didn’t want his life, Paul. And I don’t think God did either. I don’t think God wanted the lives of the twelve Israelis on the bus with him, the lives of the little children. But he took them all to God with him.’
I reached out to her and put my arm around her shoulder. I squeezed, feeling her arm warm around my waist.
We rounded the corner of the street to Aisha’s house.
‘What did Daoud do?’
‘The Mukhabarat, the secret police, arrested Daoud at the Jordanian border. They imprisoned him. It was two days before Ibrahim could get to him. They beat him. Ibrahim had him released.’
She looked up at me defiantly. ‘There were no charges. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But he’s been different since then. Quieter, more intense. More driven. He’s never told us what happened to him in there. But Daoud is a good man, Paul.’
We walked up to the front door together in silence. Aisha turned to me in the light of the doorway, her troubled eyes looking into mine. ‘I don’t think you can ever properly understand. I don’t even think it’s fair to expect you to.’
I shook my head. ‘No, you might be right. I suppose I can at least try, but it’s a different world to the one I’m from, isn’t it?’
She nodded, her lips tight. ‘When Anne has left, after your court case, will you come to the farm in Palestine with me? I’d like to show it to you. You never know, it might help you understand.’ She grimaced then smiled apologetically, ‘If you want to, I mean. I have no right even asking you to try to understand us.’
‘Yes,’ I said, and in one word confirmed life after Anne. ‘Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.’ An unwelcome thought hit me like a bucket of freezing water, sucking the warmth and pleasure out of me. I stuttered as I spoke, looking down at the stone steps. ‘If the court leaves me free to, of course.’
‘You will be free, Paul. I know it.’
She smiled and I wanted to kiss her for her smile, for everything behind it, the sadness and pain in her. For her bravery and beauty. Our eyes locked together and in that instant I saw the certainty I was feeling mirrored in her eyes. A thrill, a delicious sensation of falling and joy went through me as I looked down at Aisha’s beautiful face, raised to mine. Her lips were slightly parted.
The front door clicked open as the porch light came on, leaving us blinking and disoriented. The moment fled and I tried not to look guilty as hell and failed. Daoud’s face was impassive.
‘Hello, Paul, nice to see you. Aisha, you’re out late.’
Aisha smiled, a little nervously I thought, but then she was probably going through the same as me – trying not to look guilty because we weren�
��t, but knowing it hadn’t looked good when Daoud saw us.
‘Paul walked me home. It’s okay.’
‘Come in, both of you.’
I decided to do the decent thing and run for it. ‘No thanks, Daoud. I’d better get going myself. I just wanted to make sure she was home safe.’
‘Of course. Thanks, Paul.’ Four words and Daoud managed to make them say ‘You lying bastard.’
I scrabbled around for something, anything to say to him. Daoud spoke first, ‘Another time, maybe.’
I forced a smile to my face. ‘That’d be great.’
I tipped a finger to my forehead and had turned to leave when I heard Aisha call out to me. ‘Paul.’
I turned back. ‘Aish?’
‘Thank you for tonight. You will come to the farm, won’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes I will.’
Aisha pulled the door closed behind her as she stepped down to meet me and kissed me with a suddenness that took my breath away. She was back in the house before I could react, leaving me with the fleeting memory of her light, soft lips pressed on mine and her rich scent wrapping me in its warmth.
I walked away down the dark street, pulling my coat around me against the cold. I wondered how I was going to get through Anne’s visit now I knew with absolute certainty I loved someone else.
ELEVEN
Anne’s flight landed on Saturday afternoon, halfway through the Jordanian weekend. I’d taken the week off work, the first issue of the magazine having gone to the printers and the Web-formatted content alongside a neatly laid out online newsletter duly placed in the hands of the Ministry’s digital team.
Robin didn’t know about the extra effort I’d gone to. I saw no reason to tell him.
Anne didn’t have the ten Dinar visa fee I had warned her to have ready for immigration and so she had to change money and queue again, by which time the queue had doubled. The airline lost one of her bags and she waited by the carousel for an hour before reporting it missing, tracking it down just in time to walk into a bored customs officer who spent an enjoyable half an hour rooting through her underwear and personal effects.
By the time she came around the corner of the partition in arrivals, red-faced and scowling, I had spent two hours nagging the BA duty officer to death. A wave of relief, tenderness and sheer delight washed over me and I ran to her and scooped her up in my arms, laughing and talking gibberish. We pushed her trolley, arm in arm, to the car park.
Anne slept in the car as we drove back to Amman and I took care not to wake her until I switched off the engine outside the house. She glanced around, disoriented. Her skin was pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She put her hand on my arm, as if to steady herself, and peered up the steps to the house above us.
‘Is this it?’
‘Certainly is. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.’
It was an unusually warm day for autumn and Lars sat in the garden taking in the rays with a couple of friends from work, a French guy from the phone company and a Canadian consultant working with the Ministry of Information and Communications Technology.
Lars got up, grinning and held out his hand to Anne. ‘Hey, hey, hey. You must be the famous Anne. It’s nice to meet you.’
Anne glanced sharply at me before taking his hand. I had never mentioned Lars. ‘Sorry, Annie. This is Lars, we share the garden. He lives on the first floor.’
Anne smiled dutifully. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lars.’
Lars’ expression was mock rueful. ‘Paul’s been keeping me a secret, obviously. He’s too scared I will steal away your heart. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. At least now he’ll have to behave and stop being drunk, coming home late from the clubs and keeping us responsible citizens awake all night with his parties.’
Lars was obviously under the impression that he was being hysterically witty and had earned himself a sharp bark of laughter from the French guy, but Anne wasn’t looking amused. I hefted her bags again.
‘Well, thanks for the character reference, Lars, but we’re going to get Anne settled in. Maybe we’ll catch you later.’
Lars let go of Anne’s hand, to her obvious relief, and we went inside. Anne frowned as we walked through the house. ‘What was all that about clubs and parties?’
‘It’s just Lars’ sense of humour. He’s okay, but he can be a bit Scandinavian sometimes. And his English can be odd.’
‘But you said you’d been working late all the time.’
I turned to face her and took her hands in mine. ‘And I have. Look, this is the bedroom.’
I opened the door and followed her in. I had spent all morning preparing my bower and it was a vision of terracotta, wood and white linen. I had even put some twigs in a vase in the corner. The dappled sunlight streamed through the French windows, splashing highlights across the bed.
Anne barely glanced around the room before turning to me. ‘So why would he make so much fuss about drinking and parties?’
‘I don’t know, Annie. Sarcasm. Swedish humour. I don’t know.’
Anne passed her hand over her tied-back hair, frowning at me. ‘And who is he anyway? You’ve never mentioned anyone called Lars on the phone.’
‘Haven’t I? I suppose because he’s not really very important.’
‘He seemed to know you pretty well.’
‘We’ve been out together a few times, is all.’
‘Drinking and going to parties.’
I let her bags drop. ‘Why’s it such a big deal, Annie?’
She had wandered over to the window and was looking out to the garden, her arms crossed. I heard something bump upstairs.
‘Anne?’
Her voice was small and tight. ‘Oh, nothing Paul. I suppose I feel a little disconnected and I’m very tired. Where do you want me to put my things?’
I showed her the cupboard and the bathroom, then went to the kitchen to get a coffee while she freshened up. When I eventually went back to find her she was in a dressing gown, curled up asleep on the bed.
Later on, I cooked dinner and we went to bed. I reached out to her but she murmured, ‘No, not now,’ and turned away from me.
I woke late to the sound of my phone. It was Robin telling me about an advertisement holding up the magazine at the printers. He wanted me to sign off the machine proofs and make sure everything was okay. Anne went into the bathroom as I whined to him. I went to tell her we would have to go down to the press on our way out sightseeing but she’d locked the door. I shouted out to her but she didn’t want to visit any printing presses, so I went alone.
I came back three hours later, the magazine duly saved, to find Anne watching the news. She glanced up as I walked into the living room, but didn’t smile. She wore jeans and a white blouse, her feet tucked under her on the sofa. I sat down beside her, stroking her leg.
Her voice was listless. ‘Did Lars call you? He came looking for you earlier.’
‘No, I’ll call him later. Look, I’m sorry, Annie. There was nothing else I could do, they’d screwed up the pagination and everything. It’s done now. Come on, let’s go and see the sights of glorious Amman.’
She shook her head, her straight blonde hair flicked over her right shoulder. ‘It’s too late to go out, Paul. Let’s do it another time.’
‘Nonsense. There’s a couple of hours at least before sunset. We can go up to the Citadel and watch the sun over the city. Come on, Annie.’
She turned the television off but talked at the screen. ‘No. I said no. I don’t want to go out now.’
I didn’t really know where to go next. I got to my feet. ‘We could go down to the Wild Café and watch the sunset over a drink?’
Anne smiled tightly up at me. ‘No, no thanks.’
‘Anne, it’s not my fault I had to go out today. Why take it out on me?’
She fiddled with the remote control in her hands. ‘I’m not, Paul. I just don’t want to go out.’
A wave of unreasonable irritation to
ok me, then: a hot surge of anger. I stood over her. ‘So what the hell do you want to do?’
She sat back on the sofa, her hands gripping her arms. ‘Who is Aisha, Paul?’
I must have gasped. I certainly stepped back. ‘What the hell kind of question’s that?’
‘Who is she?’
‘She’s a girl who works at the Ministry. What’s she got to do with anything?’
‘I just asked you who she is, Paul. What’s the big deal?’
‘Well, I suppose I’m a bit confused as to why some girl at the Ministry would come up right now when I rather thought we’d be going out somewhere.’
‘We’re not going anywhere, Paul. I told you I didn’t want to go out. Why didn’t you tell me about Aisha?’
I had turned away but now I rounded on her. ‘What about her? What the hell’s got into you, Anne? She’s just a girl who works there. What would I tell you about her?’
Anne got up from the sofa and struck out towards the bedroom. She paused in the doorway. ‘Lars said she had found this house for you and that it belonged to her family. There’s a picture in the kitchen signed Aisha. Is she the same person?’
‘She helped me to settle in here. I’m sorry, but I don’t get your problem with that, Anne.’
But Anne had closed the door. It was almost nine o’clock before she came out again, taking me by the hand and leading me back to the darkness where she made silent, desperate love to me. After a time we both stopped trying and I felt her tears dropping onto my face.
I got up as silently as I could to avoid waking Anne. The sunny weather had held and I went outside to drink my coffee and read the newspaper. I listened to the susurration of the city below. Lars had left a packet of cigarettes and a disposable lighter on the table the night before. The pack was damp but the moisture hadn’t penetrated to the Marlboros and the lighter worked, so I lit one and luxuriated in my coffee and the perfect morning. I gazed at the blue tendril of smoke rising lazily from my cigarette.
Olives Page 9
