Thirteen in the Medina

by Flora McGowan

  Unfortunately for her, just as she had settled herself comfortably, wriggling her bottom slightly as she did so and then lay flat, stretching one arm behind her head to survey the pool in an effort to showcase her curves to maximum benefit, then Larry appeared. He stalked up, planted his feet firmly on the ground and looming over her, hands on hips, he proceeded to berate, ‘Diane, what do you think you are doing? I told you we were going to take a short walk after breakfast; you have got the rest of the day to be lazy. Now come along.’ Without waiting for her to reply he turned on his heel and marched off, anger emanating with every stride.

  Diane contemplated his retreating back for a couple of seconds before she snatched up her bag that only moments before she had placed on the ground, and with a petulant pout of annoyance she sniffed and then hurried after him calling, ‘Oh, alright Larry. Just wait a minute.’

  I watched her depart, trying not to appear too gleeful that I had Keith to myself again, when Karen appeared asking, ‘Is this chair taken?’

  She still looked drawn and tired, and I realised that whilst Graham had spoken to Keith and myself last night he probably had not had any time or opportunity to make contact with his wife. She must be wondering where he is and what he was up to. I was a little hazy about his – and Enzo’s - actual profession but he did not strike me as quite the international investigator type – or perhaps that was the point?

  I took the coward’s way out and decided it was time for a swim leaving it to Keith to make small talk. By this time it was late morning and the sun blazed down, but there was still some difference between the air temperature and that of the water, and I eased myself slowly backwards down the steps at the shallow end, reaching and feeling with my toes for the next rung of the ladder, until I hit the bottom. Cautiously I bent my knees until the water surged up around my shoulders and my hair streamed out around me in the pool. Once I felt acclimatised I lifted my right leg up and gently pushed off away from the wall and using a slow, easy breast stroke traversed forwards.

  I could not believe that this was the last day of the holiday. Looking back, parts of it just seemed a blur and some bits I would rather not remember or want to relive; Keith chatting with Diane on the coach or in the bar, the mornings when I had woken up and he was gone.

  There had been some good times as well, the magic of the Saharan night standing atop of the dunes, the sound of the sand singing as we watched the distant meandering camel trains, lying next to Keith in companionable silence in the narrow single bed after the (albeit rather painful, uncomfortable) camel ride, not daring to move in the restrictive space in case one of us fell out. Even after the evening in Essaouira I was still unsure as to how to describe our relationship – friends? Good friends? Just good friends?

  But who needs labels to define a relationship? Earlier in the summer, when we had our disagreements over how to proceed when I was searching for the descendants of Ellen Darwin, and there were times when I watched Keith leave my house that I had wondered if he would come back, however in the end he had helped me when I found Ellen’s granddaughter; there was Keith, ready and willing to help tidy her garden. And here again this morning, after all our ups and downs, he was contemplating our next holiday together! Even I had not imagined that far into the future.

  And so the day progressed, reading by the pool, swimming in the pool, watching other people swimming in the pool. Watching a little girl about four years old in the children’s section splashing as she swum clumsily around, closer and closer to a slightly older boy, in smaller and smaller arcs until she had him trapped in a corner, like a spider with her prey caught in her web.

  All the while the girl was giggling merrily but the boy’s answering smile was a little unsure, slightly nervous; he obviously did not want to use his superior strength to splash his way out of his predicament but he looked as if he would much rather be elsewhere but was too much of a gentleman, even at his tender age, to say so. Her intention had been clear from the start of her manoeuvers. Would she grow up to be like Diane, forever on the lookout for a young man to ensnare?

  And while we spent this pleasant sun-kissed day lazing by the pool, Keith and I, Karen, Diane and Larry after they returned from their walk, Hugh and Nancy, Phil and Ann, and even Bob put in a brief appearance thankfully sporting a not so brief pair of swimming trunks and proceeded to put the rest of us to shame as, surprisingly considering his normal often shuffling gait when he walked along, he skilfully and effortlessly swam about thirty lengths of the pool before disappearing again, while we lay idle with just the little niggles of the tension between Larry and his wife, the ongoing spats between Phil and his spouse, even the discomfort of the little boy in the pool during what seemed like innocent child’s play, while we waited for Graham to make a re-appearance, like the ripples on water created by skimming stones, this was very much the calm before the storm.

  We gathered together in the hotel foyer, our amassed cases and bags strewn around us, waiting for the vehicle that was to transport us to the airport for our evening flight home. When it arrived it took a moment or two for us to register that this was indeed meant for our group; on our various excursions we had been ferried around in the relative comfort of a large, roomy coach, meant to cater for groups of thirty or so but supplied for our party of thirteen. Now to be conveyed to the airport with all our luggage we were furnished with a minibus. We had a slightly anxious wait while all the cases were secured, packed like sardines, in the tiny back compartment before it was our turn to squeeze into the available seats inside, hugging our hand luggage as there was nowhere else for it to be stored.

  Graham had timed his re-emergence perfectly; a scant few minutes before the bus appeared he ambled through the doorway, the careful steps of a man recently released from hospital after a severe bout of D&V. As I had noted last night, he did not look exactly the same slightly scruffy, portly man who had toured through the countryside with us. This Graham looked to have lost a few pounds in weight and I wondered if his baggy shirts and shorts had concealed some padding. Likewise, his face seemed slimmer and almost paler despite two weeks in the sun and I conjectured whether this was down to the clever use of make-up.

  If his appearance in a dark suit by the pool and his words of warning yesterday evening had not instilled into me the seriousness of this situation, his manifestation now did the trick. I realised the amount of planning that had gone into his “illness” and disappearance whilst he and his associates prepared to trap their prey.

  And even this reunion had been calculated, so that his arrival barely minutes before that of the bus gave time only for people to greet him but not to enquire in detail about how he had spent the last couple of days.

  I passed the short journey to the airport gazing out the window trying to imprint on my mind final images of the city whilst forcing to the back of it Graham’s fears and plans. In the tiny minibus Keith and I had elected to occupy the tiny single seats down one side of the aisle. Bob was squeezed up front between the driver and Abdul, the various couples crammed into double seats with Larry and Diane, and Hugh and Nancy wedged in at the back. I could almost sense that Keith was spending his time in the same manner, eyes on the road, mind whirring over what was to come.

  At Marrakesh Menara airport we went through all the usual queues and checks after Abdul had first shaken the hand of each of us and wished us all a safe journey and we, in our turn, smiled our thanks and slipped him our envelopes containing the gratuities we thought he deserved.

  Our suitcases handed over, boarding passes obtained Keith and I headed towards the security area where there were two main queues: one for male passengers and one for female and woe betide anyone who chatted away oblivious of the division until they arrived at the security gate where they were directed over to the correct line; I saw one or two youths almost escorted to the end of the long queues to start the process over again as penance for their lack of concentration in following the correct procedure.

  I a
lso noticed at various times pilots and cabin crew members who appeared to walk right to the front of the lines and I wondered whether they were able to bypass the security measures, but no, all their bags went through the scanning machines. When I became the next in the queue a stewardess walked up and placed her bags to be screened on the conveyer belt ahead of mine and I noticed that instead of a boarding pass in her hand she held what looked like an employee ID card. She did not have to go through the body scanner machine though, and as I saw her bypass this I just happened to turn and catch Graham’s eye in the neighbouring male queue; he gave me the slightest of winks so that I almost thought I had imagined it.

  Once through all the checks, I waited for Keith who for some reason had travelled backwards in the queue allowing other people to pass in front of him. As he had been in a male only queue it obviously had not been for a “ladies first” reason, however while I loitered around Graham joined me.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, giving me an encouraging smile.

  I considered my reply. ‘Like I usually do when I am about to put my faith in a large metal bird that part of me thinks logic dictates will never leave the ground.’ Graham nodded in acquiescence. ‘At the moment I am not sure that I have the nervous energy to be distracted by anything else,’ I added.

  ‘I think I am the same – except that I am too pre-occupied with the task that lies ahead to be concerned about the flying bit.’ He grinned and for a second as the movement caused his face to take on a more rounded shape he looked just like the Graham of the past two weeks and not the serious slimline version of the past two days.

  Eventually Keith completed the security checks and, after he had replaced his shoes and adjusted his belt to his satisfaction, we headed off to peruse the delights of the duty-free shops whilst keeping an eye out for our erstwhile companions before we settled in a corner in order to pass the time reading until our flight was called.

  However, I found it hard to concentrate on the words in front of me, as all the time replaying in my mind were the words Graham had said in the pool bar. While I was 99% per cent sure that he was the good guy, the friend of Enzo’s that I could trust, I still retained that little nagging doubt that he was using me – us – and that putting innocent tourists at risk was not necessarily the “right” thing to do.

  He had warned me to be careful, however – was that worrying me unnecessarily? Would I rather have remained in ignorant bliss? My mind dredged up incidents from the past two weeks – little things like my bag being moved on the bus, to the possible intruder in my room – how many times had I checked my luggage to make sure no-one had added any items, slipped any packets of white powder into inside pockets; the hand that had pushed me into the path of the horse?

  I glanced across at Keith, head down, engrossed in his reading, with seemingly no worries about flying or substances secreted without his knowledge into his possessions. But did he have any guilty conscience over his behaviour in regards to Diane? Had he just been sociable or had it developed any further? Certainly, some of our fellow travellers had thought so. Again, as I had thought in the past – could I trust Keith? I knew I could rely on him, but the two things were not necessarily the same.

  Our group had been allocated various seats situated in the middle section of the aircraft. As Keith and I had checked in as a couple we had seats next to each other, as did all the other couples with the exception of Karen and Graham; whilst Keith had the window seat in our row and I sat in the middle, Karen occupied the aisle seat while her husband was in the corresponding seat across the divide, with Hugh and Nancy. In front of them were Carole and Gordon, with Bob in the aisle seat and in front of us were Phil and Ann, with a young man travelling on his own, in their aisle seat. Diane and Larry were situated in the row in front of them.

  I was quite pleased at this little distance between Diane and Keith, petty I know, but at least he had not suggested we book in separately, giving rise to the possibility that he might have had a seat next to her. Perhaps I had Graham to thank for the suggestion that Keith keep an eye on me.

  After the usual safety checks and I had glanced through the in-flight magazine, I settled down with my book and attempted to read once more in order to distract my mind from the flight, approximately three hours and forty minutes to pass.

  Gradually, I became aware that the young man in the row in front was rather restless. He began to fidget in his seat as if he was a particularly nervous flier. Several times he got up and walked to the back of the aircraft towards the toilets and when he returned he would fling himself into his seat, which he had set back into recline mode, so that it would rock violently. When he stood up for the third time and walked away Graham leaned across and tapped his wife on her arm to gain her attention. Then he slipped off his seatbelt, stood and stretched before bending and whispering in Karen’s ear. After a slight pause she nodded, collected her handbag that she had stashed under the seat in front and proceeded to swap places with her husband.

  When the young man returned to his seat, he hesitated as if unsure that he was in the correct row when he passed Graham, now settled back with his eyes closed listening to the radio, for all the world oblivious to those around him. The youth’s seat shook once more as he threw himself into it and then he began once more to twitch and fidget as if unable to sit comfortably.

  When the cabin crew approached us with the drinks trolley, the young man in the row in front began to retch and heave. In a smooth and well-practised manoeuver, the steward retrieved his used bag and replaced it with several fresh ones. With the imminent arrival of the food trolley everyone, except the young man, drew their seats up into the normal upright position; he alone left his in its reclining mode.

  Neither Graham nor the stewardess, who handed out the meals to our side of the aircraft, commented on this, and Graham attempted to eat off a tray that was not in an optimal position, and still the young man jiggled and twisted in his seat, as if he was now in some pain.

  Graham ate quickly, even though every now and then he had to put out a restraining hand to steady his “glass” or bottle of wine, when the man in front moved around violently in his seat. The older man remained calm and unflappable but I noticed a determined glint in his eye.

  With all the meals and then tea and coffee distributed – none of which the young man in the row in front partook – the crew became more attentive to his plight. One stewardess in particular knelt by his side several times to check if he needed anything, removed his used sickness bags, supplied him with fresh ones and also a small beaker of water and a sachet of rehydration powders.

  Towards the end of the flight the stewardess assured the young man that there would be medical assistance available when the aircraft landed. They could arrange for a wheelchair to enable him to be steered through customs as quickly as possible. Perhaps one of his fellow passengers could help with pushing it? Was he travelling with this gentleman? And she looked across the row hopefully at Phil, who spluttered whilst draining the dregs of his wine and attempted to avoid her eye by peering intently at the darkness through the window. Her gaze then swept across the rest of our group, pausing briefly to rest on those of the male passengers whom she thought most capable.

  I noticed Diane look eagerly over towards the young man, his floppy fringe now damp with perspiration so that it hung limply. Diane, whose husband was a vet whom she admitted that she occasionally helped out in a crisis. Diane, who had been so keen to befriend another young man, who had booked at short notice onto the trip, due to the sudden illness of the original ticket holder.

  I so wanted to see Diane arrested and clapped in handcuffs (and not for a perverted reason) – or would Graham use those little plastic ties that they use on the TV?

  I saw her learn forwards and open her mouth to speak, only to have her actions arrested by Larry, who placed a warning hand on her arm and imperceptibly shook his head. Just as I was preparing to gloat over Diane being the villainess, Karen spoke u
p.

  ‘I could help. I work in a hospital, in the theatres in fact, so I have a little medical knowledge,’ she volunteered. As she stressed the “little” I wondered if her husband had prompted her action in an effort to flush out his quarry. He did not want another passenger, a total stranger unconnected with his investigation, taking charge of the invalid, and sure enough after a moment’s pause, another voice offered their service.

  ‘That’s quite alright dear, but you have enough on your hands with your poor husband who has been so ill.’ Carole reached around from her seat and placed a reassuring hand on the other woman’s arm. Her voice was soft, almost wheedling and not at all her usual strident tone. ‘You look after your husband, and Gordon and I will take care of this unfortunate young man.’ She directed her smile towards the stewardess as she added, ‘I also have some slight medical training; with the St John’s Ambulance.’

  What was this? I thought. A few days ago they were all bragging about how much medical knowledge they had so they could help out their husbands and now they were doing it in reverse, claiming to have minimal qualifications.

  However, my eye caught Graham slumped in his seat, playing the patient recently discharged from hospital, but I noted a celebratory twinkle in his eye. And just for a second, I wondered once again exactly whose side he was on.

  As usual, when an aircraft lands various people ignore the instructions to remain seated until the seatbelt light has been switched off but stand and stretch at the earliest opportunity and start to retrieve their belongings from the overhead lockers. Slowly the aircraft disgorged its passengers until most of those from the front section had left and then Gordon stood in the aisle to clear the way for his wife, in order for her to assist the young man to depart, who leaned heavily on her proffered arm for support. I watched Diane following their every move, her eyes narrowed to slits and when Larry started to usher her forward, she angrily slapped away his hand.