Fortress

84

When he got back to the flat, Nasima was in the bathroom.

He went into the large bedroom, where they had spent such a wonderful night. Her small case was open on the floor as before. And on the bedside table was the locket she always wore round her neck.

He sat down and glanced into the case. There were a few clothes, a spare pair of shoes, a small bag of makeup. He didn’t want to intrude, let alone snoop, but there was so much he didn’t know.

Last night he had tried quizzing her again. And again she had told him that her family story was not a particularly happy one, and that she didn’t want to spoil the mood by going over it. ‘I try to keep facing forward, living in the moment.’

That, he had agreed, was well worth doing, especially when the moment was as good as this.

He glanced again at the locket on the table. Surely looking at that wouldn’t be wrong. He picked it up, his pulse racing. He opened the clasp. Inside was a tiny oval photograph: a picture of a man in his sixties with a full beard.

Then he looked up. She was standing in the doorway, a towel round her, holding out a smartphone, a different one from the one she had had yesterday. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ she said, her face a blank mask. She looked as she had that first time they had met on the doorstep in Sheffield, as if last night hadn’t happened.

‘There’s a video from your brother.’ She passed him the phone.

He touched play. Karza seemed less distressed but his beard was more unkempt, and he looked really quite sick. This time the appeal was addressed directly to Sam.

‘Brother, thank you. Thank you for saving me. I’ll never forget you. I will be in your debt for ever. I love you, man.’

Tears filled Sam’s eyes. He couldn’t remember a time when either of them had ever said anything to each other about love. And now he felt overwhelmed, remorseful, too, for having been such an inattentive brother. He played it again, studying the image more closely. The ripped and soiled mattress lay on a damp, pitted concrete floor. The walls were the same. The room was tiny. Was he in a cell? It looked like it.

Nasima held out her hand for the phone and took it back.

‘So he knows?’

‘He knows that you are going to free him.’

Her eyes flicked to where she had left her locket. He had dropped it on the bed when she appeared.

He held it up. ‘I’m sorry. It’s unforgivable.’

He was covered with embarrassment. She looked blank. It was impossible to know if she was annoyed.

‘Can I ask who it is?’

‘It’s my father.’

‘Where is he?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Is he dead? I’m sorry for asking.’

She reached out for it. ‘He’s building a mosque. And he’s going to dedicate it to me.’

She looked at the picture for a few seconds with no reaction, then snapped it shut. Her eyes had that faraway look again. He turned to her, flushed with relief after his invasion of her privacy. ‘Nasima, we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives.’

‘Until we die?’ she asked, in a clear voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t think of anything that would make me happier in all the world. You’ve made my life complete.’

The light came back into her eyes.

‘We will make our lives worthwhile. And Karza will be safe.’

She let the towel drop to the floor. She was naked, standing in front of him like a perfect statue. He was mesmerized.

Her eyes shone. ‘Do you know my favourite Western song, by David Bowie, “We can be heroes”…?’

He smiled.

‘“… Just for one day…”’

She climbed on the bed and pulled him towards her.

‘“For ever and ever.”’

‘“For ever and ever…”’