In the Interlude

Epilogue - Part 2

Marrakech
30 December 

"Are you ready?" asked Aïcha, slipping on her Perfecto and the scarf with the little head skulls she always carried with her.

Mia laughed and hugged her mum. "It's okay, it's not like I have never spoken to him before."

Aïcha tucked a strand of Mia's hair behind her ear and smoothed her fingers over her daughter's face – the dark brown brows, the small nose, the round cheeks. A face that reminded her so much of Idriss. Mia smiled, the dimple at the corner of her mouth coming to life – the same dimple at the corner of Aïcha's mouth.

They had been in Morocco for a week now, spending Christmas together under a sky full of falling stars and waking to the golden sun rising over the edges of the sandy hills. The immensity of the Sahara desert beneath their feet and the infinity of the sky above their head never failed to ground them and give them a sense of peace and acceptance, something they both craved.

Now they were in Marrakech and a new chapter in their lives was about to begin.

Aïcha exhaled through her nose. "I know darling," she said softly. "But this is the first time we'll all be meeting, Tom, you and me. I want this to be good."

"He's special to you. I get that. And he seems nice enough to me from the few times we spoke on the phone." Mia shrugged then added, "Don't worry, mum. It's going to be fine."

Aïcha could still remember when she finally told Mia about Tom.

She had tried to prepare herself for the conversation by reading countless books and articles and even consulted with a psychologist. They all agreed on a certain set of rules – rules she instinctively knew. No introductions before the relationship was solid. Be open and honest with the kids without giving away every detail. Take into account the kids' feelings without letting them dictate the narrative. Recognise their need to build a relationship at their own pace. Bla Bla Bla.

But Aïcha had to find her own words and master her own courage to have the conversation with Mia – a conversation she had dreaded very much. The prospect of it had triggered her usual insecurities. Was Mia ready for a new man in her mum's life? Would she see him as a rival, or as an unwelcome replacement of her father, or maybe both? What impact would this have on Mia? Was it worth taking the risk of jeopardising her kid's stability?

Those damn gremlins.

Ultimately, it all came down to one question. Could she contemplate a future without Tom in the picture? The answer was a resounding no.

Comforted with this knowledge, Aïcha sat down with Mia one Saturday morning at their favourite restaurant for lunch. She told her how she had met Tom in London, and later in Paris then Marrakech and Casablanca. She told her they dated during the summer, broke up before getting together again. She told her she loved him like she didn't think she could ever love again, and that it didn't replace the love she still had for Idriss. That the wedding albums were not moving to the basement, that their pictures with Idriss were staying put, that their memories of him as a father and a husband were always going to be there.

Mia remained silent during all this, looking intently at her mother. Her eyes teared up, but she quickly swept away her own tears. "I was ten when dad died but I remember the pain I felt. It's still here," she said, pressing on her chest. "It's here every day. Every time something new or exciting happens and I would think of daddy, and what he would have said."

How could she not, Aïcha told herself. She did the same.

"But I also remember how broken you were. And I was sad because I couldn't help you feel better. And I have seen how happy you looked lately. You started to put on some make-up, you sing in the shower, you wear pretty dresses. Sometimes I could hear you giggle on the phone when you're in bed in the evening. And it makes me happy to see you happy, mum."