‘What was it?’ Iman interrupted.
‘The key, the very same key Nathan had locked his chains with and thrown in the river.’
Before she could speak again, the Hoopoe was gone. When she looked outside the window, there was a speck flying towards the moon.
Chapter Six
Moni vowed not to leave the cottage. Not out of anger or any desire to make a statement. It was just that she was fulfilled in the cottage. Unlike Salma and Iman, she was not curious to explore the area. Very early in the morning, the phone signal was strong, and she managed to call the nursing home and speak to the night nurse just before she came off shift. Adam had had a fairly good night given that he was in new surroundings. This reassured Moni and cancelled the need to venture out in search of a stronger phone signal. She found a deckchair and when she was not busy in the kitchen, she sat in the garden, content to read Lady Evelyn’s book or doze. There were magazines in the cottage, but she avoided them. They were parenting magazines, Mother&Baby, The Green Parent. They did pique her interest, but she was worried that they might distress her and aggravate confused feelings about Adam. Since seeing him last, he had not stopped being at the forefront of her mind, between every thought, but her thoughts were becoming genial, uncomplicated memories of his nearness and voice. If she picked up a parenting magazine, a photograph, some words or an ad might disturb this tranquillity and plunge her back into the usual negativity. So, she stayed away from the magazines and from the television too. She made breakfast, washed the dishes and tided up. Then she sat in the garden and, after a while, especially because it wasn’t cold, she forgot where she was. Place wasn’t important any more. She could have been anywhere nice.
She heard a thump and a ball hit her left shoulder and rolled onto the grass. The pain – sudden and sharp – shot through to her neck. She rubbed her shoulder and rolled her head from side to side, then stood and picked up the ball. She went to the front of the cottage and looked around. At first she couldn’t see him, but then she did. He was a beautiful little boy, with lively eyes and a mixture of chubby cheeks and loose, thin limbs that made him even more endearing. There was an energy in him, a friendly glow.
‘Is this your ball?’ she asked. It was a yellow football, hard under her fingers. It gave off a specific rubber smell. Perhaps it was new.
He nodded, but instead of coming near her, he opened his arms. She tossed the ball to him and he caught it. It made her smile that she was able to throw the ball in the correct way. A way in which he could easily catch it. It would have been embarrassing if she had thrown it into the bushes or thrown it with too much force or too little. Then it would have hit him on the chest or even failed to traverse the distance between them.
She thought he would say thank you and run off, maybe even just smile his appreciation. Instead he threw the ball back at her. She didn’t catch it and it rolled back towards the gate of the cottage. She lumbered towards it, thinking how long it had been since she had run or even gone for a brisk walk, if you didn’t count yesterday at the castle. Her body was an instrument for tending Adam, a piece of equipment for carrying, feeding and bathing him. She bent down to pick up the ball, stood up again and tossed it.
This time she was ready when he threw the ball back. She caught it in time. They continued to throw the ball back and forth. She noticed that his blue T-shirt had a small logo that she couldn’t recognise. His shorts looked like they were too big for him – they reached his knees and once or twice he had to hitch them up as if they were sliding down. His feet were in canvas shoes that had most likely been white but were now streaked green and black with dirt. She tossed the ball and he reached out to catch it. He pitched the ball and she cradled it on her stomach, holding it while she asked him his name and if his family were staying at a nearby cottage. He seemed not to understand what she was asking. She threw the ball back at him and then found herself chatting to him, talking about their surroundings. He listened, his facial expressions responding to her words. When he started to show off his skills – how he could balance on a ledge or jump over a bush – she clapped and said, ‘Wow, how clever you are, how strong, how quick,’ which seemed to please him no end. After some time, without a goodbye, he picked up his ball and, carrying it under his arm, turned around and broke into a run. She wanted to shout after him, ‘Wait,’ but there was no reason to do so. She went back to her seat in the garden.
Salma jogged after the man because he cleared a path for her. He was the leader, the one showing her the way. But he himself wasn’t clear. He wasn’t near enough, and this was
