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''Mustapha?" He had been trying to read, but his attention kept wandering away. Kuku said again, "Mustapha…Mustapha…"

He smiled at her.

"Hello, my love."

"Hello," she reached across and pulled the blanket over him. "Enjoying your book?"

"I suppose so. I keep forgetting who's who, that's the trouble."

It was the medications, she thought. They had slowed him down a lot. He had become very thin too, after the last treatment. Aversion therapy, they called it. They fed you pills and drink, and the pills made you so terribly sick you wanted to die. You would actually think it was the drink causing so much discomfort. He had missed Stella's divorce. That was one mercy. She would never forget the shame and misery of those press reports. Stella had done her best to disgrace her. Kuku appeared before the world as a woman without morals or conscience, cheating her best friend. It had been a frightful ordeal. After the case was over and Mustapha returned from the clinic, they planned a one-month trip to Dubai. Afsat decided it was best they stayed at Lake Alau, under the watchful eye of the family. Anaya ignored Kuku, talking to her only when she needed to, preferring to spend a majority of her time with 'her girls'. Only Jubril was kind: kind and sympathetic. Only Jubril made an effort to treat her normally. He chatted and talked about the trip they were planning.

Now, they were exiled in Dubai for a month, until the scandal was forgotten. Jubril had made sure the press knew about the trip. It stopped every speculation of divorce. Oddly, they were happy. She didn't trouble him; he was too weak. Within a few days, she had a companion at their hotel. The rest of the time, she nursed Mustapha and kept him company.

"It must be dull for you…staying indoors," he said slowly.

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"Thank you for coming with me, Kuku." He reached over and clasped her hands. "Thank you for sticking with me."

"I'm the one to say that," she said. "After what happened, anyone else would have thrown me out. Thank you."

He nodded. "I can't read this book," he said. "What's the time?"

"Nearly five." She had arranged to meet her young friend at six-thirty. "It's time for your pill."

He shrugged. "Okay."

Kuku squeezed his hand. He had been so handsome, she thought sadly. Now, he was haggard and had sallow skin, with great pouches under his eyes.

He looked over fifty. "Come on. Take your pill and try to sleep. When you wake up, we'll watch 30 Days in Atlanta. You loved it when we went for the premiere, remember?"

"Yes," he said to please her. But he had no memory of seeing any film. Very little memory of anything.

She helped him lie down, and, bending, kissed him tenderly. "Try and rest, darling."

Later, she slipped out, leaving him to sleep. The young man was waiting for her in his room. He was used to having women on vacations like these. Women itching to make quick wealth to pose with it in their home country and girls struggling to make ends meet. He'd had them all but never a bed mate like Kuku. If he wasn't careful, she'd leave him for dead.