hiding there, he’d need my help. I decided to follow him.
As soon as he was gone, I sneaked to the front door in my slippers. I opened it a crack and saw him disappear at the turn of the landing. I darted into the stairwell and stood with my back to the old wallpaper. I could still hear his footsteps and counted them as he descended. Too many steps—he had gone past Hakim and Yasmin’s door. That meant he’d lied to me. My heart was thumping so loudly I feared it would give me away. But there was no time to lose. I had to catch him before he got away from me. This time, I wanted to be by his side if anything happened. I peered round the corner to see if the coast was clear. Then I tiptoed down the stairs, following the creaks of his footsteps. My heart was racing and I hardly dared to breathe. For a second I was sure I’d lost him because the sound of his footsteps suddenly died. I was at the front door of our building now, at the bottom of the stairs, but the door was shut. That only left the stairs to the basement, but there was no light coming from there. I don’t think there even was a light down there. Suddenly I heard a sound, a bit like the squeal of wet brakes. I recognised it; I’d heard it a lot when we moved in. Father had opened the door to the basement.
It made me think of Yasmin, of the pair of us flitting around the haunted labyrinths in our old complex, following the strange smells that wafted through the walls. I wished she was by my side right now. She was far better at creeping up on people than I was. There was no way I could follow Father into the basement. The squealing door would give me away. He’d want to know why I followed him, why I didn’t trust him. He might decide to punish me by not telling me the story. It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, I had no great desire to go down into the dark, dank basement where you could easily trip on the loose flagstones. Undecided, I looked around. Where should I go? Back upstairs until I heard him leaving the basement? But what if he slipped out the front door instead? I had no jacket; it would be crazy to follow him outside. Should I nip upstairs and get my jacket? But what if he left the basement in that space of time? What if Mother saw me and stopped me? What was he looking for anyway? As far as I knew, all we had in the basement were flattened-out removal boxes and a few smaller boxes storing stuff we didn’t need all year round, like Christmas-tree baubles, straw angels, and old crockery. I decided to wait, trusting that I’d be quick enough to react according to the situation. The light in the stairwell timed out, and I was left waiting in the dark.
It didn’t take too long. Ten minutes maybe. Ten minutes of sitting anxiously near the front door while my eyes got used to the dark. Then I heard the squeal again and Father closing the basement door behind him. This time I even heard the key turn and the lock click. I was already on my feet. The light came on again; he had pressed the switch. Once I heard him make his way upstairs again, I was certain that he wasn’t going to leave the house, that he’d come back to our flat. So I withdrew quickly and silently. This time Father did stop outside Hakim’s flat. I heard him knocking on the door. I peered cautiously round the corner. He was standing beneath the weak light bulb waiting for someone to open the door. In his two hands he clasped a rectangular object wrapped in black cloth. I couldn’t see his face because he was looking down at what he had in his hands. I hadn’t the faintest idea what was under that cloth. A gift to apologise to Hakim maybe? He knocked again. I heard steps and saw the door opening. Hakim was in his pyjamas, looking like a ragged seabird that’s come through a storm. The two men exchanged a long look without saying a word. Then Hakim nodded silently and stepped aside.
If you sit in one spot for a long time, you see things you never noticed before. You wonder how this can possibly be, since you’ve passed this spot a thousand times. I noticed for the first time the fine structure of the wallpaper in our stairwell. It was made up of lots of little joined-up diamonds that looked like they’d been embroidered. I’d never noticed the big grey dust balls in the corner of the staircase either. I took in every detail of my surroundings. Then the light went out. I didn’t dare turn it on again, so I started trying to identify animal shapes in the fine cracks in the wall—a squirrel, for example. But I grew bored once I realised I was only trying to distract myself. I stared at the outline of the door through which Father had disappeared. How I’d have loved to put my ear to it to hear what they were saying. Their muffled voices would have calmed me. But I couldn’t risk it. If Father found me here, he definitely wouldn’t tell me the story. And I had really earned it. I felt entitled to it. So I stayed put on the stairs, even though I’d much rather have been inside with Yasmin, under her warm duvet. I’d love to have been able to tell her she needn’t worry, that the whole thing with Father wasn’t so bad after all, and that I’d tell her the Abu Youssef story the next day. It would be very special because it was going to be about Abu Youssef’s secret treasure. I could already see her listening to me, throwing back her head and laughing at the funny bits. When she’d left our flat holding Hakim’s hand, her eyes had looked frightened and kind of sad too. She was probably wide awake in bed now, wondering what I was doing. The urge to sneak in to her was almost irresistible. But the door was closed. Yasmin was on the other side, and so was my father. There was no way I could go in.
Who knows how long I sat there. The silence was like a vacuum, an eternity. Eventually my eyelids grew heavy. I nodded off several times, waking up whenever my chin lolled onto my chest. I was neither asleep nor awake but drifting in half-sleep, until the murmur of voices filtered through. I woke with a start and opened my eyes wide. I clenched my fists and tensed my muscles, ready to sprint upstairs. I recognised Father’s voice, talking to Hakim. It was interrupted occasionally by what sounded like a short question; then Father’s voice again, firm and insistent. Eventually, the door opened a crack, though no one came out. Instead, I thought I heard a sob.
“Promise me,” I heard Father say, followed by louder sobs. The door opened a little wider. Now I could see the two of them. They held each other in a long embrace. Then Father took Hakim’s face between his hands, and his old friend looked at him with tearful eyes.
“Promise,” whispered Father.
Hakim nodded.
They looked at each other as if it was a staring contest. Then Father turned away. Hakim, tears creeping down the creases on his cheeks, hesitated on the threshold before closing the door. I saw Father rub his eyes, straighten his shirt, and press the light switch. He must have left whatever he’d been holding in Hakim’s flat. He looked up the stairs and took the first step, but by then I was well gone.
Back in my room, I stripped off my clothes and jumped into bed all out of breath. There was no sign of Mother. I could hear Father’s heavy steps, then the sound of the front door closing. I forced myself to breathe slowly. Father took his shoes off in the hall, then opened the door of my room enough to stick his head in.
“Samir?”
“Yes?”
“You OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Are things OK with Hakim again?”
“Yes. All sorted. Are you still awake? Do you still want the story?”
“Of course I do.”
Father smiled.
“OK. I’ll be with you shortly.”
He came back a few minutes later wearing pyjama bottoms and a soft sweater. I moved over so he could sit on the edge of my bed. I looked at him and tried to tell from his eyes whether he’d seen me out there, whether he knew that I’d followed him. There was no indication that he had.
“Why did it take so long?” I asked. When I saw him flinch, I added, “To finish the story?”
The light from my bedside lamp was reflected in his eyes.
“Good stories take time,” he said, “I had to do a lot of thinking about Abu Youssef.”
“So
