narrow shops and piled barrows here were all crammed with plastic toys and knick-knacks. Dolls’ pink faces leered at her and dented boxes containing teasets and miniature cars were piled in teetering pyramids. Two men had a tray of toy dogs that yapped and turned somersaults and emitted tinny barking noises. As Ruby tried to squeeze past, two of the toys fell off the tray and landed on their backs with their plastic feet still pawing the air. A trio of small boys bobbed in front of her, shouting hello and holding up fistfuls of biros. ‘Very good, nice pens,’ they insisted, jumping in front of her when she tried to dodge them. The crowd was dense, choking the alley in both directions. The stallholders began calling out and holding up their goods for her attention.
A man blocked her path. ‘This way. Just looking, very cheap.’ When she tried to edge past him he caught her elbow and she had to shake him off. He yelled after her, ‘Just looking, why not?’
She felt like shouting back that she didn’t want a plastic teaset, that was why not, but the effort seemed too great. Music pulsing from a tier of plastic and gilt transistor radios was so loud it was like walking into a solid wall. She pushed past the people immediately in front and a wave of protests washed after her. She turned hastily right and then just as quickly left, at random, trying to get away from the toy vendors and the people she had just trampled.
In this area of the market the stallholders and shopkeepers were selling clothes and shoes. Barrows were stacked high with Adidas nylon tracksuits and white trainers, and the walls were festooned with racks of shiny blouses and pairs of huge pink knickers and bras with bucket-sized cups. There were more women shoppers now, all with their heads and throats swathed in grey or white scarves, all with long-sleeved tops and skirts that hid their legs. The tourists she had noticed yesterday were conspicuously absent. Ruby was sure that everyone was staring at her. She felt increasingly grotesque. Her hair obscenely sprouted and frizzed in the damp heat and her arms and breasts seemed to swell and bulge out of her tight T-shirt and her sweaty trousers bit into her waist and hips. She was too tall. Her skin was too pale and she was clammy with heat and rising panic.
She was also very thirsty but there was nothing as far as the eye could see except mounds of shirts and shoes, and bolts of synthetic fabric that made her drip with sweat just to look at them. She pushed forward, telling herself that somewhere not too far away there would be someone selling bottles of water. The shouts of the vendors and chipped quarter-tones of loud fuzzy music banged in her head.
She was gasping for breath as she stumbled out into a square that looked familiar. It was familiar – it was where Mamdooh had come yesterday, to meet his friends. There was the same coarse, dusty foliage and a pair of sun umbrellas rooted in pitted concrete cubes.
A group of men was gathered at an empty tin table. They weren’t eating or drinking – that was because of Ramadan, Ruby knew that now. But they weren’t talking either. They just sat in a horseshoe, looking out into the hot white light. Looking at her.
She walked forward, thinking she could ask for help because they had seen her with Mamdooh. But none of the faces betrayed even a flicker of recognition. She hesitated, not sure now whether these really were Mamdooh’s friends. Maybe it wasn’t even the same square. She detoured a few steps to the murky door of the café, intent on buying some water, but when she peered inside she saw only men’s faces turning blankly towards her. A waiter wearing an apron looked on, absolutely unwelcoming.
Ruby turned tail, even though her throat was now painfully dry. She paced back into the sunlight in the middle of the square and turned full circle, trying to work out which of a half-dozen alley mouths to make for. She had no idea.
Her glance passed across someone leaning against a wall a few yards away, then jerked back again.
Here was a face she recognised. Where and when had she seen it before?
Yesterday, that was it. It was Nafouz’s younger, handsomer brother.
He was slouching, one knee bent with the foot pressed against the wall behind him. He was also openly watching her.
Ruby marched up to him.
‘I’m fucking glad to see you,’ she said, trying to hide just how relieved she actually was. ‘I’m completely, totally bloody lost.’
He looked slightly shocked at her language, but also pleased and – surprisingly – rather shy.
‘I think you are lost,’ he agreed, his nice smile showing his good teeth.
‘Are you following me?’
‘Why would I do that?’
He was still smiling so that she didn’t know whether it was a straight question or a mocking one.
‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘You swear very much for an English girl, Ruby.’
‘D’you have a problem with it?’
‘It is not problem for me, no.’
‘Right. Look, now you’re here, can we go somewhere and buy a drink? I’m really thirsty.’
He pushed himself away from the wall. ‘Of course. Please come with me this way.’
They made their way together down a thin passageway with the old walls on either side leaning inwards so they seemed almost to touch at the top.
Ruby said, ‘Um, I’m really sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘It is Ashraf. You can call me Ash.’
‘OK, then, Ash. Where are we going?’
‘To a place the tourists like.’ His smile flashed at her over his shoulder. He was definitely mocking her now, but she was too thirsty to bother with a response. They walked in silence for a few minutes. The gathering threat had subsided, Ruby noticed. Either she had been overreacting, or she had become less conspicuous because she had an escort.
After a few more corners of the maze she was about to protest, but then they came to an entire lane that was filled with rickety chairs and tables, spilling out of the open doors of a café. Waiters with trays held at shoulder height threaded between the tables, plonking down cups and bottles and bills. Ash had been right about the tourists, because almost all of the people crammed into the alley were Westerners with cameras and bags of bazaar purchases. Mucus-faced urchins and Egyptian women with dark faces and glittering eyes worked the tables, trying to sell purses and lighters and packets of tissues. Ash took Ruby’s hand and towed her through the crowd to a just-vacated table, well-placed on the threshold of the café itself. Peering into the gloom inside, Ruby saw the glint of huge, fogged mirrors covering the walls.
A waiter was already looming over them as she sank into a chair. She asked for a bottle of water and a cup of coffee and some yoghurt and then gestured to Ash.
He shook his head without speaking.
‘Sorry. Forgot,’ Ruby sighed.
When the water came she tore off the plastic top and downed half of it.
‘Why are you in Khan on your own?’
Ruby told him.
‘I am sorry for your grandmother’s illness,’ he said. ‘She will be well soon, inshallah.’
‘Yeah.
