Rosie Thomas 2-Book Collection One: Iris and Ruby, Constance. Rosie Thomas

Nafouz’s friend; she would have much preferred to be that now rather than the possessor or otherwise of a few Egyptian pounds.

      ‘How much?’ she muttered, in shame.

      Nafouz was equal to the moment. ‘Twenty bounds,’ he said brightly.

      Mamdooh clicked his tongue but Ruby rummaged under her shirt for her purse as the two young men watched with interest. She took out a note and Nafouz whisked it away. He winked at her.

      ‘You take a tour? I show you Cairo. Special Cairo, my brother and me. Not tourist places. Real city.’

      Ruby hesitated. She would have loved to pile into the taxi and go cruising through the streets with them. She could smell cigarettes and the plastic seats of the car, and feel the hot diesel-scented air blowing in through the windows.

      Mamdooh had already mounted the steps and produced a key for the blue door.

      ‘Another time, maybe,’ she said lamely. There were priorities, other matters she had to deal with first.

      The younger brother came round to Nafouz’s side of the car.

      ‘I am Ashraf.’

      ‘Hi.’

      The door was open, Mamdooh was waiting with the basket of vegetables at his side. The brothers were waiting too.

      ‘My name’s Ruby.’

      Their faces split into identical white smiles. ‘Nice name.’

      ‘I’ve got to go now. But I’d like to take a tour, yeah. Have you got a …’ She made a scribble movement in the air for a pen, but Nafouz dismissed it.

      ‘We find you.’

      ‘Miss?’ Mamdooh said, holding the door open wide. His forehead was serrated with disapproval once more.

      ‘See you, then.’

      Ruby marched up the steps. The taxi noisily reversed down the street in a cloud of acrid fumes.

      In the cool hallway Mamdooh blocked her way. ‘It is important to have some care, Miss. You are young, in this city there are not always good people. Not all people are bad, you must understand, it is just important that you make no risks. Do you understand what it is I am saying to you?’

      He was treating her like a child. In London, Ruby did what she wanted. Lesley and Andrew didn’t know what that involved, nor did Will and Fiona who were Andrew’s brother and his wife. She was supposed to be their lodger, but – well, after a while they had given up on telling her what to do and what not to do. That was because of Will. Even though Fiona didn’t know about him, the three of them had ended up in this kind of silent contract, where nobody saw anything or said anything in case it led to somebody seeing and saying everything. That was how Ruby summed it up for herself, at least.

      And there had been some bad interludes. Ruby had seen and once or twice done things that she didn’t like to remember. The memories came back anyway, in the night, and they made her sweat and feel sick. The memories had a way of changing and speeding up so that they were like horror films of what might have happened to her. Her skin crawled, and she would twist and turn under the covers to try to make them stop and go away. She even wished for Lesley to come and tell her it was all right and she was safe.

      But usually in the end she fell asleep somehow, or the daylight would come and she’d wonder what she had been so afraid of. The important thing to remember was that she had survived. Going back to people’s places when she shouldn’t have done. Doing too much stuff, or just drinking. Not knowing where she was or where she had been. Feeling like nothing, less than nothing. But that happened to plenty of people, didn’t it? Not just her.

      Luck or cunning, Jas had said. That’s what you need to survive, in this day and age. It was important to have both. She could just hear his words, see him breathing out a snaky ring of blue smoke as he spoke.

      So Ruby was sure she understood exactly what Mamdooh was saying and was certain that she could deal with whatever might happen to her here. She was impressed by her own cunning and her luck wouldn’t desert her.

      ‘Yes,’ she said stonily. She stood and faced him, giving no ground.

      Mamdooh tucked the handles of the basket over his arm.

      ‘Mum-reese resting now. Later, she will speak to you.’

      And order her home. Ruby knew what he meant her to hear, but she gave no sign of it.

      Left to herself, she wandered through the house.

      It was less opulent than it had looked in last night’s incense-scented darkness, and even more neglected. The great lamps that hung from the vaulted roofs were thickly furred with dust, and more dust lay on the stairs and on the broad sills of the windows. Cobwebs spanned the dim corners. The rooms were barely furnished with odd, unmatching chairs and tables that looked as if they had been brought in by an incoming tide and just left where they landed. There were no books, ornaments, or photographs – none of the cosy decorator’s clutter that Lesley arranged in her own house and those of her clients. There was nothing, Ruby realised, that told any stories of Iris’s past. Nothing accumulated, even after such a long life. She was quite curious to know why.

      This morning, Iris had told her that she was becoming forgetful. She had made a swimming movement with her old hands, as if she were trying to catch fish. And there had been tears in her eyes.

      Didn’t framed photographs and bits of china and books help you to recollect?

      Ruby frowned, trailing her finger through the grey film on a wooden chest and recalling her grandmother’s words. She had said something about capturing what you can’t bear to be without. It was the word capture that resonated.

      When she was small, Ruby distanced herself, she had felt all wrong. She couldn’t read and write as well as girls in her class, and she was endlessly in trouble. A way of making sense out of her confusion had been to collect and keep things. By piling them up in her room she could make herself bigger than they were, so even if what she collected represented only a strand, a tiny filament of the world’s appalling abundance, it had still seemed to offer a measure of control. But shells and beetles were inanimate. In that, in the end, collecting had disappointed her because the world was so swarming, inchoate and threateningly living, and it had bulged and gibbered and danced outside her bedroom window, making her boxes of beetles seem nothing more than childish detritus.

      ‘Growing up is so very hard to do.’ Jas had yawned when they talked about this.

      But if you wanted to capture memories that threatened to swim away like fish? How would you do that?

      An idea came to Ruby. It was a very neat, simple and pleasing idea that would solve her problem and at the same time be valuable to her grandmother. It was the perfect solution and she was so taken with its economy that she ran up the nearest of the house’s two flights of stairs towards the door that she had worked out must be Iris’s. She hovered outside for a moment, with her ear against one of the dark panels.

      Then she tapped, very gently. When there was no answer she rapped more loudly.

      ‘Auntie? Mamdooh?’ Iris’s voice answered.

      ‘It’s me. Ruby.’

      There was a long silence. Then the voice, sounding much smaller, said, ‘You had better come in.’

      She was sitting in the same low chair as last night. There were pillows behind her head, a rug over her knees. Ruby read bewilderment in her face.

      She stooped down beside the chair and put her hand over Iris’s thin, dry one.

      ‘Am I disturbing you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I went shopping with Mamdooh. I think I got in the way of his routine, but it was really interesting. He told me there’s been a market there for seven hundred years.’

      ‘Yes.’

      The