Page 54 of Never

Fatima looked irritated. ‘Correct.’

Kiah wondered whether Fatima could be trusted. She was a woman, which was a point in her favour, though not decisive. She was undoubtedly painting an attractive picture of the job she was offering, but that was natural and did not make her a liar. Kiah liked the frank speech and the undoubted glamour, but under all that she detected a hard vein of ruthlessness that made her uneasy.

All the same, she envied the single girls. They could escape from the lakeside and find a new future in the city. She wished she could do the same. She thought she would be a perfectly good waitress. And she would be saved from the dreadful choice between Hakim and destitution.

Except that she had a child. She could not even wish for a life without Naji. She loved him too much.

Zariah said eagerly: ‘What’s the uniform like?’

‘European clothes,’ said Fatima. ‘A red skirt, a white blouse, and a red neck scarf with white polka dots.’ The girls made appreciative noises, and Fatima added: ‘Yes, it’s very pretty.’

Noor asked a mother’s question. ‘Who is in charge of these young girls?’ It was obvious that sixteen-year-olds needed to be supervised.

‘They live in a little house behind the restaurant, and a lady called Mrs Amat al-Yasu looks after them.’

That was interesting, Kiah thought. The chaperone’s name was Arabic Christian. She said: ‘Are you Christian, Fatima?’

‘Yes, but my employees are a mixture. Are you interested in working for me, Kiah?’

‘I can’t.’ She glanced at Naji, who was in her arms, staring in fascination at Fatima. ‘I couldn’t leave my little boy.’

‘He’s beautiful. What’s his name?’

‘Naji.’

‘He must be what, two years old?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is his father handsome too?’

Salim’s face flashed in Kiah’s memory: the skin darkened by the sun, the black hair wet with spray, the folds around the eyes wrinkled from peering into the water looking for fish. The unexpected reminder filled her with sudden sadness. ‘I’m a widow.’

‘I’m so sorry. Life must be hard.’

‘That’s true.’

‘But you could still be a waitress. Two of my girls have babies.’

Kiah’s heart leaped. ‘But how is that possible?’

‘They spend all day with their children. The restaurant opens in the evening, and then Mrs Amat al-Yasu watches the babies while the mothers are working.’

Kiah was startled. She had been assuming she was not eligible. Now suddenly a new prospect opened up. She felt her heart racing. She was excited but intimidated. In her whole life she had been to the city only a handful of times, and now she was being asked to move there to live. The only restaurants she had ever entered were small cafés like the one in Three Palms, but she had been offered a job in a place that sounded terrifyingly luxurious. Could she make such a huge change? Did she have the nerve?

She said: ‘I need to think about this.’

Noor asked another motherly question. ‘Those girls who have babies – what about their husbands?’

‘One is a widow, like Kiah. The other, I’m sorry to say, was foolish enough to give herself to a man who ran away.’

The mothers understood. They were a conservative group, but they had been flighty girls once.

Fatima said: ‘Think about it, take your time. I have other villages to visit. I’ll pass through here again on my way back. Zariah and Kiah, if you want to work for me, be ready by mid-afternoon.’

‘We have to leave today?’ said Kiah. She had thought she could consider the offer for a week or two, not a few hours.

‘Today,’ Fatima repeated.