I settled down to read this novel on a three-hour train journey from Marrakech to Casablanca. As a huge fan of fluffy, romantic novels I’d been hoarding it like a birthday party bag since discovering it in a London bookshop. After a few miles of unremarkable Moroccan farmland it seemed like the ideal time to dive in. So, the disappointment was that much keener when it turned out to be…not particularly good. Maya, a thirty-year-old Bengali Brit has proposed to her best friend Jhanghir. With a penchant for the dramatic, Maya hasn’t just pulled him aside one day and confessed her undying love, she’s flown across the Atlantic (he lives in New York), derailed his engagement to a family friend and proposed to him on stage at an awards ceremony in front of family and friends. It’s hard to root for a relationship based more on desperation than emotion. Wow, she must really love him, you assume. Hmmm, not so much it turns out as Maya’s overriding concern is not love but her fear of …