Jo takes the reins

Fatma finds me morosely sipping my drink at our lunch rendezvous. “What’s going on?” she asks as she pulls out the chair opposite mine and sits down. I look up towards her, preparing to start my story of woe – and I am so instantly shocked when I look at her that I sit back in my chair, mouth open, for a few seconds.

Fatma’s eyes have such deep, dark bags around them, she could carry a few things in there. She’s lost weight – and that’s scary because it’s only been about a week since I last saw her, and I shouldn’t be able to notice any weight loss. She’s also not dressed as well as she usually is. I stare for a few minutes, aghast, thinking how utterly selfish I am for thinking that the world revolves around my problems.

“Oh my goodness, Fatma, are you ok?” I ask her, looking at her bony shoulders from which her drab dress hangs.

She shrugs and smiles mirthlessly. “I just lost my husband to my best friend’s assistant who just gave birth to his child when I have been unable to give him one for years. How do you think I am doing?”

I feel like I have been slapped – and I am not upset. I really should have known better than to ask the obvious question.

“I’m so sorry Fatma,” I say. “I should know better.”

DEVIL HIMSELF

She sighs and signals a waiter, and when he comes she ask for a glass of sugar cane juice. “Are you going to eat?” I ask. She shakes her head.

“No appetite,” she says. I can see that.

“So I spoke to Steve today-,” I cut myself off when I see her wince. “Do you want me to not talk about him?” I ask her gently.

“He won’t take my calls,” she says, so calmly and evenly that it is completely at odds with what I imagine is happening inside her heart. “I have tried calling to see if he and the baby need anything. He won’t speak to me. Won’t even reply my text messages.” She takes a short, laboured sip of her juice. “Not even a yes or a no.”

I sit there quietly, not sure what to say to not hurt her even more. Eventually, she looks like she comes back to me when the vacant stare in her eyes focuses on me. “You were saying.”

“Yea, um… He, um… He broke up with her.”

“You spoke to him?” her eyes light up in a fiery way and she leans toward me urgently. I don’t know what will happen if I tell her that he’s been taking my calls and not hers.

“No…” I mumble, “I spoke to her.”

“Oh.” She slumps back in her chair. I shake my head. Oh, Steve. He’s managed to completely ruin two women I love – Fatma and Louise – in the space of a couple of weeks. Both of them are pale shadows of themselves. If there ever was a case for the existence of the devil, I would say he is it.

“So, um… What can I do to help you?” I ask.

Fatma shakes her head. “I’ll be fine,” she says unconvincingly. “You said you had some stories for me.”

FIRST LOVE

I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to whine about my significantly minute stories, but I attempt to give her a good laugh by telling her all about my weekend with Gabriel.

Lunch passes quickly – I decide to order some samosas instead of a full meal to keep it short – and Fatma and I soon part ways. But as I walk back to the office, I dig my cell phone out of my handbag and call Jo.

“I am so worried about Fatma,” I tell her, and then I explain the source of my worry. Jo sucks her teeth as she listens to me tell her about our failed lunch and my feelings about Steve.

“I wish that man had never come back into her life after the first time he left her,” Jo says bitterly.

“He’s like her first love. He’s not going anywhere. Not even now, after all he has done,” I point out. “And I am also worried about Louise… gosh, Jo, what do we do?”

Jo keeps quiet for a few seconds while she thinks. And then: “I think the first thing we should do is visit Louise and make sure her baby is ok.”

“She kicked me out the last time,” I say.

“Don’t worry, I know what to do,” Jo says. “Just give me her address and I’ll take care of it.”