And then she thought about her camels, following one another along the shore of Lake Razzaza, searing themselves into her soul. Perhaps she had known, even then, that Iraq would not be hers for long.
In the quiet afternoon lull of the fifth day, tears slipped onto the pillowcase: defeat. Nothing had improved. She had been five days without food or water. Wishful thinking could only do so much.
She called Reggie. “I want to go home.”
“Done.”
As desperate as she had been to stay, she suddenly became frantic to leave, knowing it could be four days before an exit visa was issued—and how sick would she be by then? Within a few hours, however, Reggie reported that Tariq would rush her application through on the grounds of a medical emergency. With luck, she might be able to leave tomorrow on the British Airways midnight flight—the only flight—to London.
Now there was nothing for her to do but dread the journey ahead. Barely strong enough to walk, she would have to get through Iraqi Immigration and face a long wait because check-in had to take place four hours before every flight—the war, the war—and those four hours worried her more than seven in the air. The airport was basic. How would she manage? And then, at Heathrow, she would have to get across to Terminal One for the Dublin flight. She might collapse, pass out. The fifteen-hour ordeal stretched before her like a long, dark airport tunnel, and she had a whole night and day to contemplate it. Apprehension lay on her, like a person.
Then, in an unexpected turn, word came that her visa had been so swiftly issued that she could travel that very night. Reggie was happy for her, and probably, she suspected, relieved to get her off his hands.
But Sachiv! He was off-duty. No goodbyes, no telling him even that she was leaving! He would come to work the next day and find her gone.
Reggie had a more pressing concern. “You’re not fit to travel alone.”
“Don’t have much choice.”
“I’ll see if I can find someone going to London who could keep an eye on you. But those flights are block-booked by the government to get the wounded to England for treatment. That flight’s a bit of a troop-carrier.”
When Kim got in from work, Thea told her that her departure had been brought forward. Quietly Kim started packing a few basics for Thea to take with her. “You’d better get your ass back here,” she said, “before I’ve had time to notice you’re gone.”
“Try and stop me.”
“Why don’t you get some air while I tidy up?” Kim suggested, but when she had helped Thea to a chair on the balcony, she gave her a second look. “You know what? Your eyes have gone yellow.”
“Huh?”
“The whites of your eyes—they’re yellow.”
Thea gaped at her.
“You’re jaundiced.”
“Jayzuz. That means it must be hepatitis. I don’t bloody believe it!”
“Shoot.”
The doorbell rang. Kim let Geoffrey in. “Just came to say goodbye,” he said. “Lucky you, eh? Getting out of here.”
“We’ve just worked out what’s wrong with her,” said Kim.
“What?”
“Hepatitis,” Thea said. “I don’t know much about it, but I know I’ve got it.”
Geoffrey chortled, stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his cheap trousers, and shook his head. “Thea, if you had hepatitis, you’d be an awful lot sicker than you are now.”
“I nearly threw him over the fucking balcony,” she told Kim, after he’d gone. “How much sicker does he want me to be?”
Another ring at the door and Reggie came out to the balcony. “Good news! Christ, your eyes are yellow!”
“Yeah. Nobody noticed while I was in my room. Too dim. Hepatitis, anyone?”
“God, yeah. That’d make sense. Wonder where you got it.”
“There was a suspect cup of tea about ten days ago—remember, Kim? Silt in the bottom of my cup when I’d finished. Like I’d been drinking pure Tigris.”
Reggie looked at Kim. “Oh, no. Not you too?”
She shook her head. “I was on bottled water that day, but I’ve been wondering about that place you took us, down by the river. Those weird sausages. . . .”
“Dodgy water’s more likely.”
“What’s the good news?” Thea asked. “I need some.”
“We’ve found a guy to take you home. And he’s Irish. Sachiv found him.”
“Sachiv? Isn’t he off today?”
“He came in specially to help on this. He knows just about everyone in the hotel and this bloke’s a regular here, comes and goes a fair bit. An engineer, apparently. From Dublin. Anyway, he’s on his way to a meeting in Stockholm, via London, but he’s agreed to fly to Dublin with you instead.”
“That’s so great!” said Kim. “How did you persuade him to change his plans?”
Reggie chuckled. “Poor sucker was minding his own business, having a bit of lunch. Next thing, Sachiv and I sidled up to him, like a couple of heavies. Sachiv did the rest. Said we had a very sick young lady who needed to get home. He said okay.” He smiled at Thea. “So you relax, all right? This time tomorrow you’ll be in your own bed.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. Reggie had read her anxiety, seen through her bravado.
“What’s his name,” Kim asked, “her knight in shining boarding card?”
“Alex Cassidy.”
“So that’s it, then.” Thea looked across the city. “I’m as good as gone from here.”
And so she was. Quick as a slap, in the turn of her head, Iraq had vanished and Ireland stood in its place. An unfathomable jolt. Disconcerted, she
