‘No.’ He shook his head. None of this was Zahrah’s fault. Or Madame Sarah’s. He met his landlady’s eyes. ‘It’s OK. I know I’ve been a terrible lodger. You deserve better.’ He gathered up the few remaining coins on the bedside table. ‘I can’t pay in advance for another week anyway. Here, this is all I have.’ He straightened up, looking around at his few scattered possessions. ‘I’ll be gone as soon as I’ve packed and tidied up. I don’t think it’ll take me very long.’

Zahrah stood behind him, holding the papers.

‘Can my friend wait with me?’ he asked. ‘Then we’ll go.’

‘Yes,’ Madame Sarah said, interrupting her sister’s refusal. She hesitated, before holding something out to him. It was the writing case. ‘This is yours.’

He smiled as he took it, and she gave him a small smile in return. Then she was taking her sister’s arm and steering her towards the stairs, ignoring her furious whispers.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Sam muttered, once they were gone. ‘Do you mind waiting? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

He began to stride around the room, grabbing odds and ends. A creased paperback, a useless sock, his other shirt, left on the floor. He dragged his duffel bag out and began to shove things in haphazardly.

‘Was that the truth?’ Zahrah asked, watching him. ‘About the money?’

He nodded, face burning to the tips of his ears. ‘I gave everything I had to the police as a bribe. Didn’t work.’

‘Then what are you going to do?’

‘Honestly?’ He stuffed a t-shirt into the bag. ‘I have no idea. My parents said they would pay for a one-way ticket home. I guess it’s time for me to telephone them.’

‘But you said you had no money, so how can you telephone?’

Was that a hint of mockery in her voice? He carried on packing, not looking at her.

‘I’ll ask my friend Abdelhamid,’ he said quickly. ‘I sold him my typewriter. He might be able to get me a phone call. Or maybe I could sell back …’ He stopped, looking down at the writing case. The police must have seized it when Ale was arrested, he realized. They must have filed it away as evidence, left it forgotten on a shelf for thirty years, until the building was emptied, until Mouad bought it and took it back to the shop, where it had sat, waiting for him.

He held it out. ‘You should have this,’ he told Zahrah. ‘It was never really mine.’

She took it, and slowly opened the lid. The smell of the past was released into the room once more, drowning them, taking them back.