In a Kingdom by the Sea

by Sara MacDonald

  I look up at the wall. A man once climbed from the other side and startled an American diplomat I was swimming with. She yelled for her armed security guard who had fallen asleep in a deck chair leaving his gun on the grass. The workman on the wall jumped out of his skin at the sight of a large lady in a flowered swimming costume shrieking at him. He leapt out of sight and I laughed so much I nearly drowned. The man was only checking a water pump but it made me realize that walled gardens are not fortresses.

  As I go back to my room I meet Charlie. He is chatting to Rana. They both greet me with their usual courtesy but I know immediately that something is wrong.

  ‘Could you ask Mike to give me a ring when he is back?’ Charlie says. ‘If you need anything, Gabby, I’m in the hotel for the rest of the day.’

  Rana’s kind face is troubled. ‘Indeed, we are all here, Mrs Michael.’

  ‘Rana? Has someone said something to you?’

  She looks embarrassed. ‘Do not worry, Mrs Michael. All will be well.’

  ‘Please tell me, dear Rana.’

  ‘I am not at liberty to tell you, Mrs Michael …’ She comes nearer and says softly, ‘It is to do with hotel bills. There is some discrepancy. Do not worry, Mr Michael, he will sort it out when he comes in, you will see.’

  But Rana’s face is telling me something different.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Karachi, 2010

  The long afternoon drags on and on. I ring Massima. She listens and says, ‘This is not good, Gabby. I will shut the gallery early and come round.’

  Shahid rings me on my mobile from an unknown number. ‘Are you all right, Gabriella?’

  ‘I am worried about Mike, Shahid. I am not sure what is happening.’

  ‘Some directors in Pakistan office, they want to be rid of Michael. He has been too efficient. They were prepared to let him discover some little scams but not endemic corruption all the way to the top. I am afraid you must be prepared. They will have framed him for something bad … I am sorry, I could not do any more …’

  ‘Shahid, what about you? Are you safe? You and Mike work together.’

  There is silence, then Shahid says, ‘My dear Gabriella, I have been made redundant, sacked. I have a wife, children and a mother, all dependent on me, so I had no choice but to sign a piece of paper to repudiate all Michael and I have discovered, in order to obtain redundancy money. I was not the only one in the office to do so. I am so sorry. We all tried our best to root out the bad apples, but this is Pakistan, people disappear, their families are punished. I have to protect those near to me.’

  Stunned, I say, ‘Oh, Shahid, of course you do. There is nothing else you could have done. Without you, Mike …’

  ‘This terrible, endemic corruption!’ Shahid says in a little burst of anger. ‘There seems no way out. No way to be entirely honest without endangering those you love. I am heart-sick, Gabby …’

  Dusk comes and no word from Mike. A huge orange sun plummets dramatically to the horizon. The kites cast floating shadows across the window. Massima does not come.

  The room is silent and heavy and fear gathers from all corners of the room and crouches there. Mike and I are a long way from home.

  The phone rings but no one answers. They just breathe. Mike’s laptop on his desk bleeps every second with new emails. Bleep, bleep, bleep. In the end I look. They are violent, sexually explicit, threatening. An awful end awaits us. The author of these is a damaged human being. I turn Mike’s computer off.

  In the dark room terror seizes me. I have never felt fear like it. I know this is the aim but the threat to us feels real and pernicious. Mike is out there and he is not safe. I frantically email Will and Matteo telling them I love them, love them. We both love them. Always will.

  The phone goes and I rush for it. It is not Mike.

  ‘Mem, it is I, Noor. Boss he text me to ring you. To say he okay, he be home when he can. You not to worry, sweetie mem, he will come home.’

  ‘Thank you, Noor. Thank you so much for ringing.’ I am almost in tears. I cannot hide the terror in my voice.

  Noor says, softly, ‘Oh, mem, I so sorry for you in trouble. Inshallah, I will drive Boss again to take you safe to airport …’

  ‘Inshallah, Noor.’

  Massima texts. Just tried to ring, but you are engaged. Bad accident so highway closed. I will come to you, Gabby, but it is going to take me a while. X

  I text back. Please turn back. Go home. Stay safe. X

  Okay. Will try later this evening. Is Mike back?

  No.

  Going to see Afia and Raif to see what they know. We heard about Shahid. Try not to worry. M. x

  When the room grows dark I go out and sit cross-legged on the balcony. The air is thick and pink with dust around the church. The schoolyard lies empty. The guards murmur below me. The soldiers guarding President Zardari’s house sit on their plastic chairs smoking. Can they see me watching in the dark? The clammy air seems to move around me in whorls made by my own fear. Will Mike have a ‘traffic accident’ on the way home?

  Then, I hear the card in the lock and Mike is back. I am shocked: he has aged ten years. His shoulders are bent with tension. He holds his hand up for me not to question him for a minute. He bends and pulls a bottle of scotch whisky from the bottom of the cupboard.

  ‘Charlie,’ he whispers and pours two shots into two glasses then collapses into a chair.

  I sit opposite him. He is ashen.

  ‘Sewn up,’ he says. ‘They had me in there for five hours. I managed to text Noor in the lavatory. I dared not ring you …’ He pours himself another shot and gives a short laugh.

  ‘Gabby, they are taking me to court for misappropriating funds.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘They have uncovered my “secret” bank account. I’ve been sending money home since the day I started at PAA, apparently. They showed me all “my” bank statements with dates and regular payments into this account. An account set up with my signature …’

  Mike leans back and closes his eyes.

  ‘Well, they surely can’t make that stick, can they?’

  ‘They can try and they will, unless I agree to resign my job and leave Karachi. They have given me forty-eight hours.’

  I know the answer before he speaks.

  ‘I’m not going to leave under a cloud, Gabby. This is a threat to my professional life. I could never work again. I have to fight this.’ He gets up. ‘I’ll shower and then let’s go down and eat something. I am not going to skulk in my room for those arseholes.’

  My mobile goes. It is Shahid. ‘Gabriella, Birjees and I are downstairs.’

  ‘We will be down in five minutes.’

  Birjees and I hold each other tight and rock. Shahid and Mike go off in a huddle.

  ‘You look exhausted, Gabby.’ Birjees does too; there are dark rings round her eyes. Shahid has no job.

  ‘I am so sorry, Birjees.’

  ‘This is not your fault or Michael’s. Shahid could never turn the blind eye.’

  As we are talking Afia and Raif arrive with Massima. We all move into the dining room and sit together around a table. Birjees stays close so I feel her warmth. Massima, as always, organizes the food. Charlie Wang comes down to join us. It is a little heart-warming delegation of friends and I feel comforted and safer.

  Shahid says, ‘Michael, please believe us when we tell you that it would be mad for you to take this further. It is dangerous for you and Gabby to stay in Karachi, now. I am unsure you realize how serious this is …’

  Raif says, ‘Shahid is right, Mike. I do not think they will dare treat you as badly as if you were a Pakistani, but you can’t fight this. You must go back to England. They will drop all charges, you will see. You will have no hope of justice in a Pakistani court …’

  Charlie says, ‘We will arrange everything, but Mike, you must leave Karachi … give this up. Do not be stubborn; you will get no justice in Pakistan. You cannot win this charge agains
t you. You have a wife and children to think about … We will get you to the airport, privately. Better you do not use airline transport.’

  They all watch Mike but he does not need any more persuading. He nods and there is the sound of everyone letting out their breath in relief.

  Massima calls, ‘Here is our food. Let us eat, then we have much to do.’

  I am dim and traumatized. ‘What do we have to do?’

  Massima leans towards me across the table. ‘Gabby, we are going to help you pack as many of your things in crates as we can tonight. Shahid is arranging tickets for an early morning flight. Charlie will ship the rest of your things back to the UK when you have gone …’

  Charlie goes to fetch his ‘water jug’ and, with the exception of Birjees and Shahid, who do not drink, pours wine into our water glasses. Everyone holds their glasses up. ‘To Mike and Gabby! We will remember the good times we have all had together …’

  How frenetically and fast our life here is ending. I am sick and dizzy with it. In two hours the bedroom and sitting room are stripped of any possessions and placed into Charlie’s hotel crates. Our personal things are packed into two small cases. Everything else can follow.

  ‘Come,’ Afia says. ‘Come down and have cinnamon beer with us before we leave you.’

  Exhausted, Mike and I follow them down to the Cinnamon Lounge. Downstairs, patiently waiting to say goodbye, are most of Mike’s staff. His young intern, his secretary, his typist, his office cleaner and the tea boy all hold presents. They hand them to Mike with little speeches thanking him for all his mentoring; for his kindness, for his encouragement and faith in their abilities and talents. This is the Mike I used to know.

  It is so unexpected. I can see Mike is both emotional and feels vindicated by their support. Suddenly, in comes Noor, beaming, wearing Mike’s old white suit for the occasion. Mike throws back his head and laughs in delight.

  ‘You look great, Noor! Much better than I did in that suit.’

  Noor’s green eyes flash proudly. He turns to me and puts his finger to his lips and whispers, ‘Tomorrow I drive you and Boss to airport, mem. All safe with me, so sleep good and do not worry more.’

  ‘Are you safe to do that, Noor?’

  ‘I do this as Noor, not as airline driver, mem,’ he says firmly.

  When they have gone Massima, Afia and Birjees take me into the Cinnamon Lounge. Over the chairs they have placed shalwar kameez and dupattas in beautiful colours and materials.

  Massima says, ‘These are for you, dear Gabby, from us all, to take home, because you wear them so beautifully …’

  ‘From us, your Pakistan family … so you do not forget us,’ Birjees says.

  ‘Some chance of that.’ I am near tears as they hug me to them one by one. When Afia and Raif have left, Shahid says, ‘I will see you in the morning, my dear Gabriella, but Birjees must stay at home, I am afraid.’

  ‘We’ll Skype often,’ I whisper to Birjees. ‘We’ll talk on the phone. We won’t lose touch …’

  ‘You will be back; Gabriella … You will be back … I will see you again. I tell myself this …’

  We hold hands right to the glass door. Then she is gone with Shahid and I feel bereft.

  Massima says, ‘Charlie has given me a room, Gabby. I am staying over. I want to be near. Try to sleep. You have a convoy of friends in cars to guard you to the airport tomorrow. Try to sleep.’

  In the lift back to our room Mike is rocking on his feet. ‘It seems like fourteen years since this morning …’

  As we undress he says, ‘Gabby, I am going to fly to Dubai tomorrow, not London. It’s safer for you if we don’t catch the same flight. They won’t try to turn you off a flight but they might try if we are together. I’ll fly on to London from Dubai.’

  ‘But you are doing what they want. You are resigning. You are leaving Pakistan.’

  ‘Yes, but I suspect they would like to frighten me enough to silence me when I get home.’

  I had not expected this. I want to ask if Zakia Rafi is waiting for him in Dubai – she was conspicuous by her absence this evening – but I don’t want to know the answer.

  Mike crawls into bed with a groan. I go into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. Nearly fifty and looking every inch a tired-eyed, whey-faced fifty. I am no longer young, dewy-eyed or seductive. I seem shrunk into myself, unsure. A few months ago I had been fired with energy and belief in a new life. Have I lived my entire life with a veil over my eyes? I peer into the eyes in the mirror and see bleakness. If I don’t look away now I might slip over the edge.

  I turn from the mirror and sit on the white loom chair. Fold my arms around myself to stop the shivering. This is me at the end of my marriage. It is possible that no man will ever want to hold me, or fold my face in his hands to kiss me again.

  The silence in the bathroom is deep and still and I am swallowed by such overwhelming lethargy I cannot move to go to bed. I hear Mike call but I still cannot rouse myself.

  Mike crouches in front of me in the dark. ‘What are you doing, Gabby? You are frozen.’

  He lifts me out of the chair and takes me to bed. ‘What have I done to you? What have I done?’ He rocks me back and forth, back and forth. ‘I’m so, so sorry, I’ve hurt you. You will always be precious … you will always be the mother of my children …’

  But, I have never been the obsessive object of your passion. I have never been the love of your life. I feel his grief and it is real. I could cry and wail and beg for him to come home to me and the boys and, in this moment of regret, he might sway, but I won’t because he loves someone else and he and I are over. I turn and press myself into his warmth while I have it. He folds his body around me and in habit and comfort we fall into an exhausted sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Karachi, 2010

  At four o’clock the abusive phone calls start again, jangling our already overwrought nerves. Mike unplugs the landline and turns his computer and phone off. We cannot get back to sleep so we get up and dress and place all our things by the door and wait. At seven o’clock Massima knocks, she has ordered croissants and coffee. Shahid joins us half an hour later.

  ‘It is now time to go. Noor is downstairs.’

  Naseem and some of the breakfast waiters are standing with Rana by the door to say goodbye to us. Naseem places a bright orange tablecloth and two little vases decorated with vivid flowers in my hands.

  I smile at him. ‘I shall treasure your gifts, Naseem They will always remind me of you and your kindness. Thank you, for everything.’

  ‘We will miss you, mem.’ Naseem’s beautiful green eyes are gentle. I think everyone knows what our hasty departure means.

  Rana has a lovely white dupatta for me. ‘Oh, Mrs Michael, Mrs Michael,’ she says tearfully.

  I hug her. ‘Rana, I will miss you. You‘ve made my time here so special.’

  As we shake hands and say goodbye to the people here who have treated us with such kindness,, nothing feels quite real.

  Outside the entrance Noor is standing by a battered old van.

  ‘Boss, mem, I am here,’ he says.

  Massima says to Mike, ‘Raif is going to drive directly in front of the van. Shahid and I will drive just behind you. Charlie will be behind us …’ She smiles. ‘All will be well. See you at the airport.’

  Mike and I climb into the back of the van with our luggage. Noor jumps into the driving seat and we head out of Karachi in the half-light of early morning. The road is busy but not manic.

  As we near the airport Noor pulls onto the side of the deserted road and Mahsood slides into the passenger seat with a nod to Noor. Mike looks startled. Mahsood is a PAA airline security officer, how has he managed this?

  Armed trucks start to overtake us for the last few miles.

  ‘There must be some politician flying today,’ Mike mutters. ‘That’s good, minds will be on more important people than us.’

  At the entrance to the airport, security h
as been stepped up and it takes some time to get the van through the heavily guarded checkpoints. Trucks, buses, taxis, old cars tied with string clutter and block the terminal approach.

  My heart thumps with anxiety. Luggage and food parcels spill out everywhere. Cardboard suitcases, overfilled and bursting, lie scattered. Women in black burqas clutch Bosnia bags full of food.

  Mahsood waves Noor into a tiny parking space outside the chaotic terminal and leaps out of the car. On his instructions our luggage is grabbed by two porters and put on a trolley.

  I turn to Noor and curl all my rupees into my hand and slide the notes into his palm as we say goodbye. ‘Noor, please, please take care of yourself.’

  ‘Yes, mem.’ His thin hand holds onto mine.

  ‘Thank you, for everything you have done for us. I will never forget you.’

  Noor’s piercing green eyes meet mine. He is reluctant to let my hand go. ‘I not never forget you, sweetie mem.’

  Then it is goodbye to the kind but anxious Raif and Charlie.

  Massima looks at me. ‘This is the tough bit, Gabby.’

  We hold each other tight and then she turns and runs after Raif and Charlie without looking back.

  Mahsood takes our passports and we go to collect our tickets. Shahid insists on coming to the check-in with us. Our tickets are not forthcoming. Mike and I watch as the official at the ticket booth starts to argue with Mahsood. The tension is unbearable and Shahid leaps forward to see what is going on.

  He turns to Mike. ‘They are saying Gabriella’s name is not spelled the same on the ticket as the passport but I know that it is because I booked it myself.’

  The check-in official turns to Mike. ‘You may go for your flight to Dubai. Your wife will have to rebook her ticket to London …’

  Mahsood and Shahid turn as one and crowd the official. Their voices are low but they sound threatening. Mahsood refuses to hand over my passport. The official goes away. Mike is gripping my arm.

  Shahid says quietly, ‘Stay calm, Michael. These officials have been bribed to play games with you.’

  The official comes slowly back with my ticket. Mahsood snatches it from him and herds us with some urgency towards security.