Rosewater and Soda Bread Read Free Page A

again?”
    “Here we go,” moaned Layla. “Miss Worrywart.” She plopped down at the round table in the corner and unzipped her knapsack.
    Bahar continued, ignoring the barb, “You know you can't drive the van without Marjan sitting next to you. I'm going to be left to fend for myself. At teatime no less,” she added testily.
    “The weekends are my only time with Malachy, and I want to make the most of them. Besides, he hasn't seen me with my L plates yet,” Layla replied absently, referring to her learner driver's status. “I want to surprise him.”
    She ruffled through the knapsack, retrieving a small leather-bound volume of Shakespeare's
Much Ado About Nothing
, her favorite play She opened the musty little book and breathed in its pulpy scent.
    “You don't see
me
complaining when you disappear every other afternoon.”
    “My free time is none of your business,” retorted Bahar. She tore off Fiona and Evie's order and pinned it to a silver carousel in the middle of the wooden island.
    “Where do you go exactly on your breaks, anyway? Got some
lover
you're not telling us about?” Layla winked at her sister, teasing her with a smile.
    Bahar stared hard at her younger sister. She opened her mouth but closed it just as quickly again on second thought. With teeth clenched, she turned to the island and began to prepare a plate of rose petal jam and breads for the two hairdressers' breakfast, her shoulders stiff with silent fury.
    Layla exchanged looks with Marjan.
    “Hey, I didn't mean that, Bahar,” she began, softly. Bahar continued her buttering in silence. Layla bit her lip. “Bahar. Come on. We're only going to be gone a few minutes.”
    Bahar paused. She swiveled slowly on her heels, her left eyebrow arched high. “What, no necking on Clew Bay Beach?” Her lips twitched devilishly. “I expected more from you, Layla Am-inpour!”
    “Oh!” Layla grabbed the gingham towel and threw it across the kitchen at Bahar. “Cheeky!”
    Marjan, who had been anticipating another row between her sisters, was happy to return to the harmony of her chickpea dough.

    THE ANGELUS RANG on time as always, the bells in Saint Barnabas's tower pealing the six o'clock hour. Evening, and time for rest.
    Marjan wiped the island with a tea towel and placed a jug of golden chrysanthemums squarely in its center. She could hearthe Victrola playing Billie Holiday in the front dining room, interspersed with the television upstairs. Layla must have been done with her homework. At least Marjan hoped that was the case.
    She gave the kitchen one last look and sighed. It was still a mess. The piles of dishes left from teatime were waiting for a wash, and the brick oven had to be brushed of its ashes one more time. The countertops sparkled from her rosewater spray—a cleaning solution that smelled absolutely glorious—but the wooden floor planks were still grimy from the lunch and tea rush. Her shoes made sticky sounds as she crossed to the round table.
    She had to resist taking the mop to the floor herself. Cleanup always belonged to Bahar, after all. It was her duty to see that there were plenty of dishes clean for every turnover throughout the day, and to make sure the floor and counters were spotless by the ringing of the six o'clock prayer bell. That was the arrangement. Without it, the café would soon turn into one chaotic mess. Bahar knew this.
    In fact, she usually liked nothing better than a good scrubbing—and pruned hands to prove it—at the end of a long working day. For as long as Marjan could remember, her sister had been a stickler for getting things spick-and-span, even obsessive in her quest. She never had to be asked twice to take a sponge to a crumby counter.
    At least, that was how Bahar used to react to mess.
    It was a rare sight to see the kitchen clean by this time of evening nowadays. Their tidy system had been in flux ever since Bahar began taking her afternoon breaks. Often, Marjan found herself doing double