‘I know,’ I tell her. ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it? We’ll have to find a nice quiet beach to take you to so we can do some paddling. We can buy a bucket and spade and I’ll make you a giant sandcastle fit for a princess.’
I feel a sense of buoyancy at having walked this far and made it to the corniche under my own steam. Although much of the city is shabby and dilapidated, seeing the beach and the expanse of sparkling ocean lifts my spirits. Perhaps I can get used to life in this new place after all. I remind myself how lucky I am to live in such an affluent area and to have the help of Alia in running my new home. I don’t feel completely comfortable with the luxury of having a housekeeper, but she seems to take a pride in keeping the house neat and tidy and to enjoy the cooking she does for us, so I suppose she likes her job. I’d thought I’d be ill at ease having someone I hardly know in my home each day, but with Tom working such long hours it’s actually nice having the company.
I watch the waves washing on to the shore and find I’m unconsciously swaying in time to their rhythm, rocking Grace in her sling as she gurgles happily.
I settle my sunglasses back on my face and rearrange the shawl protectively over Grace’s downy head as we turn for home. I’ve walked for miles already and I’m conscious that the sun is climbing steadily overhead, its rays becoming fiercer by the minute. My feet are sore and swollen from the hot, hard pavements and my trainers pinch my toes. The noise of the traffic makes my head ache and I begin to hurry, feeling exposed out here, longing for the sanctuary of the townhouse with its shaded rooms, and a cool glass of water from the fridge. If I had a few dirhams I could flag down one of the little red taxis that speed through the city streets and be dropped at my door, but I’ve come out with no money. The glare of the sunlight reflects from the white walls around us, seeming to redouble in intensity, and I curse my stupidity. Grace shouldn’t be out in this heat – what was I thinking? She begins to whimper, sensing my anxiety. Distress rises in my chest. In desperation I duck into a narrow alleyway, hoping it’ll provide a shadier shortcut through the medina. But it’s all corners and angles between whitewashed walls and I quickly become disorientated. The urge to get back to the safety of home is overwhelming. I’m half running now; panicking; lost. My breath comes in short gasps. The alley twists and turns and heads swivel to watch me pass, hands reaching out to tug at my shawl, begging for money, urging me to buy something. The clamour of voices overwhelms me as children run by kicking a football, shouting to one another, and merchants pushing handcarts call out their wares. A boy on a motorbike swerves past, too close for comfort, the roar of his engine making me jump. In my alarm, I almost trip over a goat as it grazes on rubbish in the gutter and it turns and looks at me with a disconcertingly blank gaze. A man with a face like tooled leather opens his mouth in a toothless grin and offers me a strange-looking wizened root from the battered ebony box he carries. I swerve away from his outstretched hand, recalling the warning in the booklet May gave me: walking through the medina without a guide is not recommended; beware of pickpockets.
And then a woman steps out from a doorway just in front of me and I stumble into her, apologising. She turns to look at me, her eyes widening in concerned recognition beneath the neat folds of her headscarf.
‘Alia!’ I gasp, almost weeping with gratitude.
‘Mrs Harris, are you all right? What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been out for a walk, but I lost my way.’
She smiles, momentarily resting a reassuring hand on my arm. ‘Well, you’re not far from home. Come, I’ll show you, I’m on my way there now. We can walk together.’
My heartbeat slows to a more normal pace as she leads me out of the medina, through a narrow keyhole-shaped arch in the ancient walls, and suddenly we’re back on the broader, art deco streets of the nouvelle ville. I spot the bakery on the corner and we turn into the Boulevard des Oiseaux. My hands are still trembling a little as I fit the key into the lock, but Alia stands back respectfully, giving me space, so I’m not sure she notices.
Relief floods my body as I step across the threshold. I ease off my trainers and heave a big sigh of relief as my aching, swollen feet meet the smooth coolness of the mosaic floor in the entrance hall. Alia closes the door behind us, shutting out the fierce glare of the sun. ‘I’ll bring you some iced water with lemon, shall I?’ she says.
I nod gratefully. ‘Please put it in the drawing room. I’ll be there shortly.’ I hurry upstairs to the nursery to soothe Grace, scrubbing my hands three times over before I change her and wipe her face with a cool cloth, settling her for her morning nap. The pounding of my heart gradually slows and now that I’m back in the safety of the house I feel a little calmer as the sense of being overwhelmed recedes. How could I ever have thought I’d be able to navigate this new city – this new life – on my own?