Fern started to draw back and excuse herself, but Tariq asked in his direct way, “Where was your father? Did he die?”
“No, um...” Fern widened her eyes like she’d stepped into unexpected traffic. “I mean...” She swallowed.
“Parents don’t always live together,” Amineh ventured, sending an empathetic look to Fern who was looking at Ra’id with deep shame, like she expected him to banish her to the edges of the earth for daring to be illegitimate in front of his daughters. Obviously she was forgetting that the girls’ mother and uncle were bastards.
“Like grandmother stayed in England, rather than live here?” Bashira asked.
“Exactly,” Amineh said, setting a hand on her daughter’s head while she flashed a long-suffering look toward Zafir.
Being the product of an unwed union wasn’t something they talked about often, and neither of them had found the best way to dig deep into the topic with their children, but it was a scar they both carried. It shouldn’t matter in this day and age, but he still faced bigotry every day from certain factions in his country, for being illegitimate and half blood, making it impossible for him to forget he was not wholly a product of his own country.
And there was Fern looking like she shared the same agony at being born on the wrong side of the blanket.
You’re in good company, he wanted to blurt, but she was rallying, mustering a smile. “Thank you again. I wish I could offer to make you some traditional English food, Tariq, but I think you’ve probably tried all of it with your grandmother.”
“She won’t let the chef make fish and chips. That’s my favorite. Sometimes Baba and I sneak out for it.”
“State secrets revealed after all,” Fern murmured, then bit her lips together. Her face darkened in the glow of the candles as she rose jerkily from her cushion and bowed to take her leave.
“No, don’t go,” Jumanah urged.
“Listen, I hear the music starting.” Fern touched her ear and pointed in the direction of the cooking area. “That means it will be your bedtime soon. But if your parents allow it, you may come to my tent and we’ll see if we can identify some of the constellations from the guide on my tablet before it loses the last of its charge.”
“Please, Baba?” the girls begged.
Tariq gave Zafir an excited, expectant look. For a boy who thought she looked like a skeleton and who was on vacation from school, he seemed quite taken with Miss Davenport. Genetics again, Zafir thought, wanting to shake his head at the irony.
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I have a travel unit with several charges left. You can use it to keep your tablet going through the rest of our stay.”
“If it’s not an imposition,” Fern said, flashing him a slightly fraught glance. It was the first and only direct eye contact of the night and burned a trail through him like a comet.
“I’ll get it,” Tariq said, leaping to his feet.
Fern’s shoulders softened with relief and she herded the children into the shadows toward her tent.
“Well, that was the height of awkward,” Ra’id said in Arabic.
“Oh, don’t start!” Amineh protested, throwing her weight into her husband.