The Lost Letter from Morocco. Adrienne Chinn

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      She’s damaged goods. How could she let him see her breast? No one has seen it outside the hospital. Not Philippa. Not Nigel. No, it’s better to stop this right now, before it was too late.

       Chapter Thirteen

       Zitoune, Morocco – April 2009

      Omar and Addy stand outside a whitewashed building beside the mosque. A hand-painted sign reading Douches Publiques hangs over the door. On the left, men sit on a covered terrace drinking orange juice and watching European football in French on a large plasma-screen television.

      ‘Wait here, honey.’

      Addy hovers in the shadows and tries to make herself inconspicuous. She lifts her T-shirt away from her soaking bra. A few of the men glance at her, but when the television commentator’s voice rises in anticipation of a goal, they quickly turn back to the screen. A collective moan when the player overshoots the goal.