She shrugged. ‘My father is probably back in Spain. I’m not even sure of his name. My mother couldn’t read or write. She left me at a mission when I was a baby. That’s all I know.’

He shook his head, his cheeks burning.

‘It must have been hard,’ he said, idiotically.

She let out a breath of laughter. ‘Being on my own was harder. I left the mission when I was sixteen. They found me a job as a child-minder in Tetouan. It didn’t work out.’ She looked away from him, into the bustle of the medina. ‘So I came here. I thought there’d be more work. But I didn’t know anyone, and my Darija wasn’t very good.’

The market was in full swing, not only with its fruit and spice and food, but with people at the fringes scraping money from stolen goods and scavenged items, with children who watched and hustled for cash, with women who never moved from one spot all day, too tired to lift their hands from their laps. Abruptly, he remembered what Abdelhamid had once said – that there was always more money for an American like him. He hadn’t meant physical cash, Sam realized, but the presence of safety. Even when he claimed to have nothing, there had always been that ticket back to the States, where four walls and a bed and a meal on the table would be waiting. However hard he found it at home, however much he tried to outrun it, it was safety.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered to Zahrah.

She only shook her head at him, knowing, as he did, that the apology was of no use.

‘So when did you meet Ale?’ he asked, trying to push away the feeling of guilt.

She smiled at that. ‘In a café in the Petit Socco, one night about five years ago. I thought I saw an old foreign man, an easy mark. Eventually I realized my mistake, but we were talking by then. Ale spoke English and Spanish and somehow, I ended up spilling everything. Then, Ale bought me a glass of tea and offered me a deal.’ She stopped at the edge of the medina. ‘I could live and work at Dar Portuna. In exchange, Ale would teach me things, help me study. I only had to promise one thing.’

‘What was that?’

She looked at him, her face serious.

‘Loyalty.’

None But the Brave

Take a jigger of brandy and half a pony of Pimento Dram. Add a dash of Jamaica ginger, a dash of fresh lemon juice and a dash of powdered sugar. Shake with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. A drink with a lasting and bitter allure.