They went on outings which she organised. They went on a boat trip, a picnic in the forest, they visited the camel market. In each of these outings, they were accompanied by her brother, her sisters, her nephews and nieces, her girlfriends. They were never alone. He remembered Michael in The Godfather, climbing the hills of Italy with his fiancée and the unforgettable soundtrack, surrounded by armed guards and her numerous relatives. It was like that but without the guns. And instead of rolling hills, there was flat scrubland, the edges of a desert. He watched her, how she carried a nephew, how she smiled, how she unpeeled a grapefruit and gave him a piece to eat, how she giggled with her girlfriends. He took lots of photographs. She gave him strange fruit to eat. One was called doum and it was brown, large as an orange, almost hard as rock, with a woody taste and a straw-like texture. Only the thin outer layer was to be gnawed at and chewed, most of it was the stone. Another fruit was called gongoleez, sour, tangy, white chunks, chalky in texture to suck on and throw the black stones away. Tamarind to drink, kerkadah to drink, turmus, kebkebeh, nabaq. Peanut salad, stuffed aubergines, moulah, kisra, waikah, mouloukhia. Dishes he had eaten before in the Nile Café, dishes that were new. She never tired of saying to him, here, taste this, it’s nice, try this.

Can’t we be alone, just for a bit?

My family are very strict, especially because I’m divorced, they’re very strict, she said, but her eyes were smiling.

Try and sort something out.

Next week after the wedding, you’ll see me every day and get tired of me.

You know I can’t ever get tired of you.

How can I know that?

She could flirt for hours given the chance. Now there was no chance because it was not clear whether her uncle, eyes closed and head nodding forward, was dozing in his armchair or eavesdropping.