by Ann Massey
“You get weekends off, don’t you?”
“You can’t get up there and back in a weekend.”
“You can if you have access to an aircraft trainer.”
“And you have?”
“Yeah. Don’t you know I’m a big shot?”
“Big head more like.”
“I had that coming,” he said with a grin. “So what do you say ... are we on?”
“I’d love to but...”
“We don’t have to stay overnight if that’s what’s bothering you. If we left early on Saturday, I could have you home for dinner.”
“It hardly seems worth it.”
You don’t have to decide this minute ... think it over.”
“I will ... but I’m not making any promises.”
“Understood.” He looked down at his cup. “Is there any tea left?”
“I’ll make a fresh pot.” I glanced down at the crumbs he was picking up from his plate. “Don’t stand on ceremony ... help yourself to another slice of cake.”
He gave his stomach a rueful pat. “I shouldn’t really,” he said, and reached for the cake stand.
* * *
“So what were we talking about?” Mo asked when I returned.
“Catching up with Doug.”
“No before that.”
“I was telling you about my blog.”
I was glad to be let off the hook. I’d have loved to have seen the old guy. But now Karim was back in my life, I wanted to leave my weekends free. Last Saturday, after showing me round the Detention Centre, he took me to lunch. As we lingered over coffee, he’d asked me how I felt about helping out in the clinic on a regular basis. I’d hoped he was finding excuses to be with me. I’d told him Annie was staying at my place next weekend but I’d be available to help out the following Saturday. He’d said good and flashed a delighted smile. The powerful attraction between us was clearly there, even if Karim himself was in denial.
Mo’s voice brought me back to earth. “Yeah that’s right. You said something about wanting to raise awareness of germ warfare. How’s that going? Have you got any followers?”
“I shook my head, “Not many. And those that I have sound like nuts. One in particular, Eli Malouf has me worried.”
“Why? Is he a terrorist?”
“What gives you that impression? His name? You are so predictable.”
“You’re right ... I’ve got to stop jumping to conclusions.”
His acquiescence surprised me, as did his general demeanor. He used to be touchy. The Air Force had certainly rubbed off his sharp corners. “Sorry,” I said, “that was rude.”
“You ought to sit on a mission debrief if you want to hear rude. But seriously, Beth, if you are worried about this guy, you should block him.”
“I already have.”
“Good, but it would be better if you stopped this blogging lark entirely.”
“I don’t see why. I live in a democracy. I’m entitled to express my opinions.”
“Get real, Beth. You’re sailing pretty close to the wind.”
“Only if I spill the beans on you know what.”
“Still, how do you know they aren’t checking up on you?”
“They, whoever they are, can check to their hearts’ content, but they can’t charge me, because I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I’m just saying it’s not a good idea to stir up trouble.”
“I don’t post to cause trouble ... it’s a matter of principle. Anyway, no one will connect me to my posts because I don’t use my real name.”
“You don’t? Why not if what you’re doing is kosher? Are you sure you’re not up to something that’s going to land you in trouble?”
“Of course I’m not.”
“Then why are you using a false name, Beth?”
He looked so serious, I giggled. When I had myself under control I said, “Honestly Mo, you’ll be calling me a terrorist next.”
“I’m worried for you, that’s all. I kind of got used to looking out for you.”
I was touched. “You’ve no need to. It’s common to use a pseudonym when you’re writing a book.”
Mo put down his cup and stared across at me like a stunned mullet[22]. “You’re writing a book?”
“Yes, a novel and before you ask ... it’s not about the International Space Station.”
“Thank God for that. What is it about?”
“A couple of school kids who get lost during a field trip to Death Valley. That’s in California.”
Mo nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, during a storm they take shelter in a cave and are trapped when a landslide blocks the entrance...”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Authors often incorporate personal experiences to inform their storyline and develop their characters,” I said somewhat defensively. “I’m not cheating.”
“I never said you were. I’m just surprised you can bear to write about it. I still have nightmares.”
“Me too, and no wonder. We ought to have been given psychological counselling instead of being bullied into signing the Official Secrets Act.”
“It was in the national interest.”
“Do you still believe that?”
“Yep!”
I shrugged. Mo’s reaction was predictable, considering his career choice.
After a moment’s pause, he said, “You’ve whet my appetite. What happens next?”
“Well it turns out that military scientists are using the cave to conduct experiments into biological warfare, and so naturally when the kids turn up, they can’t allow them to leave...” I broke off. “That’s as far as I’ve got. Working out how they’re going to outwit their captors has me baffled.”
There was a long silence before Mo said, “It should be a piece of cake ... after all we got the better of ours.”
“I know, but I can’t use how we got away in a novel. It’s too far-fetched. I need to come up with a believable and well-reasoned solution.”
“Have you shelved the project?”
“Certainly not,” I said, although the idea had certainly crossed my mind. “Actually I’m concentrating on the research aspect. You see it’s hard to write a story when there are big gaps in your knowledge.”
He burst out laughing. “That’s something I never expected to hear from you ... you used to be such a know-all.”
“You omitted pain in the ass.”
His face reddened. “I’m sorry Beth ... the truth is I felt stupid when I was around you.”
“Surely it doesn’t bother you now. I mean look how far you’ve come.”
“We both have.”
I shook my head. “Not compared to you. I’m just a first-year-out teacher. You’re a Flight Lieutenant.”
“If you hadn’t spent all those years volunteering, you’d be a head of department.”
“Umm, possibly, but I have no regrets ... there are more important things than climbing the academic ladder.”
“Yep! Writing a novel’s definitely up there. I must say I’m impressed.”
“Save your compliments ... I don’t know if I’ll finish it. The truth is I’ve lost my mojo.”
He grinned. “Well you’ve got him back now.”
“Sorry! You’ve lost me.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my nickname?”
“Oh, Mojo ... yes, very droll!”
“Droll! That’s a new one on me, Beth.”
“Er ...it’s a synonym for funny.”
“You always were a brainiac.” His easy-going smile made me regret my sarcasm. “Now tell me how you go about this research. Do you interview experts?”
“I don’t need to. You’d be amazed what you can find out on Google.”
“Such as?”
“Well, how to hack into the CIA’s data base and...”
“What!”
“Don’t look so horrified. I’m not going to misuse what I’ve learnt. I needed to know how to go about i
t because one of the kids in my book hacks into the lab’s computer. That’s how they discover what the scientists are really up to.”
“Fascinating ... what else have you learnt?”
“How to make a bomb from common chemicals found in most homes.”
“And you need to know this is because the kids want to blow up the lab?”
“Got it in one.”
Mo glanced at his watch. “It certainly sounds gripping, but I should be off,” he said rising to his feet. “Well it’s been terrific seeing you again, Beth. I look forward to reading your novel when it comes out. It’s bound to be a best seller.”
“Thank you,” I said, inexplicably pleased though commonsense told me he was simply being polite. “About Doug, I may be able to make that trip if I juggle a few things.”
“That’d be great,” he said with a slightly disconcerted look. “You’re on if I’m still around." He took a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket, scribbled down his name and number and tore out the sheet. “There’s a possibility, I could be recalled.”
“Is that likely?”
He shrugged. “There are no absolutes in the Air Force.”
I put a smile on my face and held out my hand. “Let’s not leave it so long next time.”
Nineteen
Henry gave the pile of reports on her desk a baleful look. “How am I supposed to keep up with my social life?” Henrietta Lowe sits beside me in the English office. Along with everyone else, I call her Henry. She calls me Beth, to my face, but behind my back, she refers to me as Goody-two-shoes. “No doubt yours are finished.” Her sarcasm grated.
I was sick of her jibes. “Unfortunately not ... an old flame called round last night and by the time he left, I was bushed.”
She brushed away a lock of shoulder-length dark hair. “Good looking,” she asked, sounding doubtful?
“A hunk ... in fact he’s a dead ringer for Brad Pitt, only taller and better looking.”
“What does he do?”
I tried not to smirk, but failed. “Actually he’s a Flight Lieutenant in the air force and a decorated fighter pilot.”
Something like grudging admiration tinged with envy crept into her eyes. “Where did you meet him?”
“He used to work on a neighbour’s station.”
“Oh! So he’s just a family friend.”
That did it. I took a deep breath. “Actually, he’s asked me to go away with him for the weekend.”
“Are you going?”
“What do you think?” Right then, the bell rang to announce the start of the school day. I picked up the boxed-set of All Quiet on the Western Front from under my desk and sashayed out the door.
* * *
I glanced around the classroom. Every student was silently reading. Lessons requiring no involvement on my part were infrequent and I intended to use the next forty minutes catching up on term reports. I took the first from the stack on my desk and opened it at the English page. Next, I entered the address of my online marks book into Google. Currently, my literature class was studying the paradigms in contemporary war fiction. I was enjoying exploring this topic with the girls. It provided me with an opportunity to espouse my anti-war views. Remembering how I’d boasted to Henry about dating a fighter pilot, I was suddenly ashamed.
I took a sip from the glass of water on my desk and opened the top drawer of my desk and took out an anthology of Walt Whitman’s poems. I leafed through and found the lines that described how I felt about Mo. I identified with the poem that explored the lifelong bond between wartime comrades:
Poor boy! I never knew you, yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.
In another life, far removed from the one I now led, Mo and I had waged war against a villainous arms dealer who’d stop at nothing to achieve his ends. Though it was over a decade since we last met, I knew with absolute certainty that if I were ever in dire straits, my comrade-in-arms would be there for me, as I would for him. Not that anyone would have guessed from the snippy way I’d treated him last night.
I groaned. Why hadn’t I thrown my arms around him when I greeted him? Why hadn’t I invited him to stay at my place when he told me his parents were away?
Once I started criticizing myself I couldn’t stop. I reviewed our conversation. My shame increased. I’d sneered when he told me about his promotion. And barely stopped short of calling him a murderer. He on the other hand, had made an effort to draw me out. Not only had he shown an interest in my job and family, he’d pretended to be fascinated by the novel I was writing. I had to make amends. I’d call him at recess and invite him over for dinner. Fortunately, I’d added Mo’s phone number to my contacts list immediately after he’d left.
I frowned. It would have to be tomorrow ... tonight was out of the question. Karim was coming over and I knew his views on the military. The signal announcing the end of the session jolted me back to the present.
“Time to pack up, girls. Summarize chapters nine and ten for homework.”
Their collective groan was audible in the corridor.
* * *
I had to defer phoning Mo. I was on duty at recess and I’d left my phone on my desk in the English office. I hurried off to the Great Court, my designated supervision area. It was favoured by the leavers who sat on the lawn in well-behaved groups, no doubt discussing boyfriends and such like. The court was out of bounds to juniors so I was surprised when Annie rushed up to me.
“Guess who’s presenting the bouquet to Princess Catherine?”
“Who?”
“Me,” she said, beaming.
I was delighted although not altogether surprised because with the class captain out of the picture, her deputy was the natural choice. “It’s a huge honour,” I said and gave her a hug.
She glanced around. Satisfied that no one had seen us, she said, “All of us who are going to the opening have to attend a rehearsal tomorrow afternoon in the gym. But I have to stay behind after the others leave to practice curtseying.” Her eyes danced, “I miss out on Science and Geography.”
I laughed.
“I wish Mummy could be there to see me.” Her eyes slid away from mine, but not before I saw the tears well up.
I put my arms around her and held her tight. For once, she didn’t wriggle out of my arms. “Darling, Mummy’s looking down at us right now. She knows you’re going to present the bouquet to the future queen of England and she’s very, very proud of you.”
Annie blinked at me. “Really?”
“Oh yes! Tell you what ... as you’re staying at my place this weekend, why don’t we both get a professional mani and pedi.”
“Nail polish isn’t allowed,” she said gazing up at me forlornly.
I said, “You should be able to get away with pale pink.” The words were barely out of my mouth when the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch.
Twenty
I got wet-through running from the car park to my apartment. I’d spent ages straightening my hair before school and it was now a poufy, frizzy mess. Fortunately, it wasn’t all doom and gloom in the kitchen; the lamb curry, another pre-school project, was contentedly simmering away in the slow cooker. I was serving a simple meal of curry and rice followed by date cookies and percolated coffee. The dinner was payback — at least that’s what I’d told Karim. Following a visit to his clinic at the Northam Detention Centre last Saturday, we’d stop at a roadhouse for lunch, and though I’d offered to go Dutch, Karim wouldn’t hear of it. By rights, I shouldn’t have issued the invitation. He’d made it clear that our relationship was over, but I couldn’t help myself. I was going to do everything in my power to make him see we belonged together.
With dinner under control, I had forty-five minutes to spare before my ex put in an appearance. I dampened my hair, sprayed on the best part of a can of hair straightener and turned on the blow dryer. Twenty minutes later, I unzipped my makeup bag.
Done! I stared at myself in the mirro
r. It was a long time since I’d looked this good. I shook my head sternly at my reflection. Reunion sex, I muttered sternly, is out of the question.
I raced for the door when the bell rang. Karim didn’t actually say: wow, but his whole face lit up. Little wonder — my recalcitrant hair was sleekly straight and I was wearing a drop-sleeve Camilla top over designer jeans and suede ankle boots. Deceptively casual; only a woman would know I’d pulled out all the stops. And why not? What’s wrong with showing him what was his for the taking if he’d only show some guts and stand up to his father?
Unlike me, Karim hadn’t made any obvious effort with his appearance. He’d come straight from the hospital and was wearing his lab coat over the dark suit he wore to work every day. Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes from his. “Welcome to my home, Karim.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“Won’t you sit down?”
He sat on the sofa, bolt upright on the edge. He seemed ill at ease. To break the ice, I asked if he’d like coffee.
“No thank you. Three coffees a day is my daily maximum,” he said firmly. “I’ve reached the age when I can no longer have everything I’m tempted by.”
He must mean me! I choked back a groan. Why had I fallen for a guy with so much will power? I said, “It’s only coffee. Surely another one won’t hurt.”
His jaw tightened. “Each time I say no to a small temptation, I strengthen my resolve to say no to a bigger one.”
“Er ... I have orange juice. Would you like a glass of that instead?”
He nodded.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” I said, and scurried off to the kitchen. I stared into the fridge. Why, I asked myself, wasn’t I like Henry? She wouldn’t hesitate to make the first move. I came back to earth with a jump when the fridge beeped from being open too long.
Hastily, I filled two glasses and carried them through to the living room. Karim had taken off his white coat and loosened his tie. He looked more at ease though, unlike my guest of the previous evening, he wasn’t sprawled out all over the sofa. “Sorry I’m all out of ice,” I said, as I handed him a glass from what had been Mum’s tray.
Karim smiled. “I prefer it without.”
