‘I’m not surprised and am very pleased I wasn’t there. Did he puke in the car?’ How mortifying, but there was no sign—or smell—when Kai dropped me off.Eww.
‘So you should be, and he managed to hang on until the driver pulled over, or there’d be a huge bill to pay back at the hotel. Speaking of which, the driver wouldn’t accept any money, your man must’ve paid the fare already. We’ll owe him for that.’
I shake my head briefly, not sure where to begin. The car obviously belongs to Kai and not the hotel. I guess the driver is his, too.
‘English is he, and why aren’t there any blokes like him at my school?’
Taking a deep breath, I begin to explain Kai’s mixed heritage, as well as the fact that he might, on some level, be sort of my boss.Or not. I also mention his hotel-come-home-away-from-home. As I do so, Niamh’s face flickers with a range of emotions, none of them particularly positive looking. I begin to regret mentioning the hotel.
‘But, oh. My. God! The man’s freaking sex on a stick!’ I gush, hoping to lighten the mood, plus it also happens to be true.
Placing her cup against the table, a dour look darkens her face as she covers my hand with hers. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful, babes.’
‘What? Oh,be careful.Don’t want to end up in the clink for being pregnant!’ There are no unmarried mothers in Dubai. Not free ones, anyway. ‘I’m on the pill and he was erm... careful, too. I might be a bit of a latecomer to the casual side, but I’m pretty sure I can manage that.’
‘That goes without saying.’ She frowns. ‘I mean guard yourself. Emotionally. These men, they’re only out for a good time.’
I pick at the muffin’s remains, not sure where her change in tone has come from. Gleeful a minute ago, and now she’s warning me, but against what?
‘Local men, Kate,’ she qualifies in a grave voice. ‘They’re only out for a shag. They won’t marry you.’
I inhale muffin crumbs. Following that, I choke. It’s not a good look, or something I’d recommend.
‘You’re winding me up! Marry me—I’ve spent one night with him. Who’s getting hitched?’
‘That’s not what I mean. I’m not explaining myself well. I suppose I’m not talking about marriage exactly, either.’ Her words fall in a rush, hands pulled now into her lap.
‘Thank Christ for that. I thought for a minute there you were going to pull out one of those bracelets, you know,What Would Jesus Do?’
Irreverent humour is usually well received by Niamh, but not today.
‘Dubai could do with a Jesus,’ she says. ‘There are enough feckin’ lepers, for sure. Awhat would Niamh dopin might be better for you, and what Niamh would do is be very careful. These guys, they’re only interested in getting into your knickers. They’ve no long term plans.’
‘Niamh, I’ve only known him five minutes, and probably four of those I had no undies on. Weren’t you the one telling me this was a good idea? To get out, get laid. Move on.’
‘I know, I’m just saying don’t get involved. Men out here, especially the local ones, everyone knows they mess girls around. They’ll date you, wine and dine you, maybe buy you a few gifts, but it’s all in an effort to get you into the sack.’
‘Isn’t that the same with guys from wherever?’ I interrupt. ‘Their gifts of persuasion just closer in value to a bottle of wine or a few cocktails? What am I missing here?’
‘If you like, all men are the same.’ She makes this sweeping statement with a flourish of her hand. ‘But one day, some bloke who’s trying to get you to part with your panties willalsofall head over heels in love with you.’
‘Who says romance is dead,’ I interject but she ignores me, resolutely carrying on.
‘He’ll want to be with you, he’ll think of nothing else but you. The sado will even convince himself he wants you for the rest of his life. He might even propose, but you can be sure it won’t be Kai. Or anyone like him,’ she adds. ‘So don’t fall in love. Sure, they all have plans to marry eventually, it’s expected culturally or religiously, or some such thing. But it’ll be to someone their mother or sisters have found to avoid diluting the gene pool, despite it needing a feckin’ expansion.’
‘What?’
‘They tend to keep it all in the family. Marry distant cousins, women from the same tribe and the like. Not a woman like you.’
‘Mate, thanks for the vote of confidence. Why does it have to be so different just because he’s Arab or whatever?’ I feel a little sad having this conversation. I know Niamh, and this doesn’t sound like her at all. ‘And you seem to forget, Iwason the marriage track. And look where that got me.’
She reels back in her chair as though slapped before her hands slide across the table, reaching for mine. ‘You’ve got it arseways. I’m not trying to put you off him. I think it’s great that you’re moving on, so long as you can see the implications. Just think about it for a minute, he lives in a hotel, for feck’s sakes. Probably to avoid awkward questions at home. And then there’s the money aspect, he’s obviously loaded and that kind of dough creates a whole different... mentality.’
‘Again, I’m not getting involved. And who knows, he may not even call.’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Her tone is so defensive, I sort of snort-laugh, her shoulders relaxing in response.
‘No one wants to be used for sex, babe.’
