In the car on the way back into the city, I sit quietly, scarcely speaking.
‘So, Madame Harris,’ Monsieur Habib says. ‘What did you make of our centre?’
Madame Habib turns in the passenger seat and says, ‘My husband may not be allowed inside, but he and many of the other shopkeepers help raise money to keep the centre open. The men support us in this way.’
‘I think it’s a terrible place, and at the same time a wonderful place,’ I reply. ‘It’s terrible that it’s needed, and horrendous to see those women and children so traumatised. But it’s wonderful to know there are kind people like you who give them a safe place to be and try to help them.’
Monsieur Habib nods. ‘You’re right. We shouldn’t live in a world where a place like that centre is needed. It’s a dreadful indictment on the human race, isn’t it? But to solve the problem entirely would take something unimaginable: it would take governments working together, an end to war and famine, political stability throughout the whole region. It’s not in our power to make that happen, not in our lifetime. And so, although it’s not a solution to the underlying problem, we have to do what we can. It’s impossible to stand by and allow that suffering to go on in our country. After all, we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t try to do what we can, would we?’ He’s impassioned, his English flowing more confidently than usual.
Madame Habib smiles at me. ‘Madame Harris, would you come back another day and read to the children again? It was a big help to the other volunteers today as it allowed us to spend more time with the women.’
‘Certainly,’ I reply. It seems pitifully little, but it’s all I can offer at the moment. And as Monsieur Habib said, we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t at least try to do what we can, no matter how insignificant it may seem in the face of all that those women and children are dealing with. I decide I’ll go back to the bookshop in the mall and see if I can find some more reading materials that the children might enjoy, perhaps something simpler in French that I’ll be able to read a little more easily.
Back at home, I head straight upstairs to wash my hands thoroughly before going into Grace’s room. I sit among her books and toys and watch the late afternoon light play across the faded Berber rug, bringing its colours to life, and illuminating the silver moon and stars hanging above the bed. I breathe in Grace’s familiar scent – a mixture of freshly laundered sheets and baby lotion. Then I wind up the music box and lift the lid.
The notes of the long-ago lullaby fill the air as I hold my baby daughter to my heart and begin to weep, hot tears of despair and compassion running down my face as I cry my heart out. For all the children who have got lost along the way.
Josie’s Journal – Friday 30th May, 1941
I’ve not been sleeping very well, ever since I overheard that conversation between Papa and Maman. Now that she knows he is helping Mr Reid, but she doesn’t know that I know she knows, it feels as if we are all keeping secrets from each other. The only person who remains blissfully unaware of what’s going on right under her dainty nose is Annette. That’s because she spends so much time going to the cinema and the hairdresser and out dancing with Olivier.
I know Papa and Maman want us both to have a happy time even though we are refugees from the war. I suppose they think I’m just getting on with my studies with Miss Ellis and having fun with Nina and Felix, like any other nearly-13-year-old girl. But I feel as if I’m carrying a heavy weight around with me. Pretending to be carefree is quite hard work.
Maybe if I write down the nightmare I keep having, it will help get it out of my brain and I’ll be able to sleep better . . .
In my dream, everything starts off fine. Papa and I are in the caves near Taza, exploring the tunnels that lead off from the main cavern. We hold our lanterns up and they cast stars on to the rocks around us, lighting up the darkness. The stars look like the one on my gold necklace and there are thousands of them, just like in the night sky. This part of the dream makes me feel happy. But then I notice something strange is happening. The stars start to disappear, one by one at first but then more and more fade and die. It’s very strange because the lanterns still seem to be casting enough light for me to see by, but something is extinguishing the stars. This is when I start to feel very uneasy and the ground beneath my feet seems to shift and shake. The tunnel begins to grow narrower, as if it’s closing in around us, and the ceiling presses down from above. The rocks begin to make a ringing sound, softly at first, but it grows stronger and stronger. I notice that Papa has to turn himself sideways because the walls of the tunnel are as narrow as the alleyways of the medina in Fez. But they keep on getting narrower and narrower and, as I watch, Papa begins to be crushed. I’m filled with panic. He looks back at me with that look of love in his eyes and smiles, saying, ‘I will always remember you, Josie, I will always love you.’ Even as he says the words, though, the walls close in completely. Our lanterns are extinguished and then he is gone too and I am left all alone in the darkness. The only sound is the singing of the rocks, which seems to fill the air around me so I can’t breathe. I fight against the fear and the panic and the terrible, terrible feeling of pain at losing Papa and being left alone in the darkness, and even though I struggle against it, I feel as if I’m drowning in a deep black ocean.