She held the pills in her mouth, and spat them out when the nurse was gone. She had to wake up, to pay attention now. Where was Dom? A sudden premonition that she would not see him again made sweat prickle all over her. He’d died without her, or at least the certainty of her. She’d thrown away the most precious gift of her life, and she was dirty now too, thanks to her greedy determination to do and have everything. She understood her father’s look of utter revulsion for her. She deserved to die.
Crying made the blood pound in her temples like a sledgehammer; the migraine that followed brought a kind of perverse comfort – she was being punished, and rightly so. Now she remembered that while she was unconscious, a conversation had turned on and off in her head like a faulty light, a question needing an answer. She was lying in water, somewhere beautifully calm and comfortable, waiting for waves to settle over her, but something else – she’d experienced it as a sharp jab, as if she was pond life being stirred by a bullying boy – kept trying to rouse her, to call her back. I was a fool, she thought before she went to sleep. I should have let myself die.
The next day, Pam – the nice nurse – put her sensible English head round the door.
‘A nice fresh eggie for breakfast? We got them from the market yesterday. Eggie and soldiers. You haven’t had anything to eat for a long time.’
‘How long have I been here?’
‘A week – no, hang on.’ She consulted a chart at the end of the bed. ‘Goodness! Ten days already – you have been poorly.’
Pam put a cool hand on Saba’s head. ‘I’ll take your temperature later.’ She straightened the sheet with a snap. ‘And I’ll do you a blanket bath, love. You’ve got a visitor today.’ She plumped one of the pillows which had fallen on the floor.
‘Dom?’ she said softly, but the nurse didn’t hear. Felipe, she’d remembered, was dead. Cleeve had told her that, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the gurgling sounds he’d made just after they’d shot him, the sound of water stuck in a drain, his eyes so gentle, so surprised. She remembered the tall German, the clunk of his belt, his breath smelling of sausages, his fingers. She’d sung for him like a wind-up doll, let him hug her. How could she? How could she? It made her want to vomit just to think of him.
‘Yes, your ENSA friend has come every single day since you were admitted.’ Pam removed the dead moth from inside the lampshade. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous! Not like you, disgusting thing.’ She dropped the moth in the waste-paper basket. ‘And so nice with it – she gave us all your choccies and flowers and she was so upset about you. The acrobats came too, and Captain Furness. It was quite good fun really, although you weren’t the best company, if I may say so.’
‘Arleta,’ she said weakly. ‘When can I see her?’
‘You’ve seen her! Silly billy. You spoke to her yesterday and the day before that.’
‘How long have I been here?’
‘Ten days, you’ve just asked me that. Oh, we are a dozy girl today.’
When Pam closed the doors on the shiny world outside, Saba slept again. She and Mum were at home, it was summer and her legs were bare; a warm breeze came through the kitchen window. Tan was cooking up something spicy in the kitchen, and they were laughing because Mum was playing the chicken song on the piano, and Baba was there too, warbling the chorus, vibrating his throat with his fingers: ‘keep that chickie a peck peck innnnnnnnchick chock chicken I do’. And his laugh was so deep and happy, and she was happy too. ‘Akşam yemeğiniz hazir,’ Tan called from the kitchen. ‘Get it while it’s hot.’
When she woke up, Arleta was sitting at the end of her bed, not blurred around the edges, but real time and in focus. She’d brought a tiny paper fan, and a packet of humbugs from the NAAFI.
‘Hooray.’ She put her hands gently around Saba’s face. ‘You’re back. You’ve had a rotten time.’ When they embraced, Saba could hear the grinding sound inside Arleta’s jaw as she fought to control herself.
When Arleta released her, Saba said: ‘Dom. Have you seen him?’
Arleta glanced at her, and then towards the window.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t really know him.’ She sounded genuinely surprised.
Saba watched her with fierce concentration. Arleta was never a very good actress, but she seemed to be telling the truth.
‘Do you want me to try and find him?’
‘Yes.’ Saba grabbed Arleta’s hand so hard the whites of her knuckles showed. ‘Flight Lieutenant Dominic Benson, Desert Air Force. Wadi Natrun is where the transit camp is . . . he might be anywhere.’
It felt like bad luck to even say his name.
‘Sweetheart, darling, please, please, please don’t cry. I promise I’ll look for him tomorrow. It’ll be all right.’
But it wouldn’t be all right. That was what Saba felt now: that there were no more safety nets, just as there hadn’t been for Felipe and his wife and daughter, for Bog and his family and for all the other hundreds and thousands of people whose luck had run out. Why had she thought special old her would be exempt from punishment?
‘What’s happened to you, my darling?’ Arleta dipped a hanky in the glass of water. She wiped Saba’s face, which was flushed and feverish again. ‘Try and tell me.’
She pulled her chair closer to the bed.
Saba told her as much of it as she could bear – about Turkey, and the parties, and Felipe, then she remembered and clapped her hand over her mouth.
‘Oh bugger. I’m not supposed to say any of this. It’s a secret.’
‘Don’t worry, my pet.’ Arleta calmly patted her hand. ‘My lips are sealed, and you’ve got concussion, and I’ve done a little bit in that line myself, though nothing as dramatic, and the main thing is you’re safe. But tell me – this German chap you sang for, it must have been terrifying.’
‘It was.’ Oh, the relief of holding Arleta’s hand and talking: like pricking a boil and seeing poison spurt out.
‘His name was Severin. He made me stand on a table and sing for him – it was the most bloody awful feeling, like being a chimpanzee in nappies.’
Arleta started to splutter. ‘Oh you are a one, you still make me laugh. Not the having to sing, but the chimpanzee bit.’ She wanted this to be a funny story.
‘He loved music,’ Saba continued. ‘Can I have some water, please?’
‘Love, you’re trembling.’ Arleta tightened her grip.
Saba’s voice had become wooden. ‘He loved the music, that’s what he said. He blamed me.’
‘Saba, I’ve lost you – blamed you for what?’
‘For making him do things.’
Stale stockings came back to her, unwashed silk stockings tied tightly around her mouth; the smell of vodka and sausages too.
‘Oh my God, my God!’ Arleta was appalled. ‘What happened?’
‘I had to stand on the table and sing for him. It was so creepy.’ Saba couldn’t bear to tell her the whole story – not yet. Maybe never.
‘Just that?’
‘He started to cry and tell me how much he loved his wife.’
Arleta’s eyes were wide open. ‘Talk about being saved in the nick of.’
‘And then he sang a song to me in English – it’s called “Dido’s Lament”.’
‘Never heard of it – sounds a hoot.’
‘He drove off the road and into a tree . . . they found me by the side of the road . . . I don’t remember . . . I think he’s dead . . . I don’t know for sure.’
After a pause she continued.
‘I’ve gone mad, Arleta. There was this lovely Turkish family Felipe and I saw on the way to the party. I keep having this dream of driving into their house and killing them, but we didn’t, did we? Did anyone say anything about that?’
‘No, love, no, that’s not likely.’ Arleta put her arms around her and held her tight. ‘It’s normal to have these peculiar thoughts when you’ve had a shock, but they’re not real.’
‘I thought Severin was better than the others becau
se he liked music so much. Can you think of anything more stupid? I hate the fact that I sang for him. It makes me feel so cheap,’ she added with a soft wail.
‘Now that is a pile of steaming whatnot,’ Arleta said severely. ‘You were singing for your sodding life.’
‘If Dom was dead, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?’ Saba clutched her arm. ‘I’ve got the most awful feeling. Have the nurses told you?’
‘No, love.’ Arleta had tears in her eyes. ‘Not a thing. But listen,’ she said quickly. Matron had just opened the door; she was tapping her watch significantly. ‘I’m going to make you a promise. Tomorrow I shall go out. I will scour Cairo for this young man of yours – if he’s in town, I’ll find him and bring him here.’ Her confidence was frightening, wonderful. ‘Is that a deal?’
‘It’s a deal.’ They hugged each other hard.
Chapter 40
Barney was sitting in a dark corner of the Windsor Club in Soliman Pasha Street when Arleta entered the men-only bar like a force-ten gale. She click-clacked towards him in a tight green dress, fair hair swinging. ‘Ha,’ she’d spotted his uniform, ‘the very man I wanted to see.’
The air filled with her rich perfume as she sat down. She crossed her stockinged legs with a swish, and placed them at a fetching angle.
‘I’ve just seen your friends at Shepheard’s,’ she said. ‘They said you’d be here.’
‘Why are you looking for me?’ Barney was unshaven. There were two smeared glasses on the table beside him.
‘A friend of mine is looking for Dominic Benson.’
‘Wass name?’
‘Saba Tarcan,’ Arleta was beaming, ‘and I have some wonderful news – she’s alive. She’s convalescing in the Anglo-American.’
Barney looked up from his drink mumbling a string of words, two of which he’d never said in front of a woman before.
Arleta leapt up, eyes blazing. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘A see you on Tuesday, I said – wass matter with that?’
‘Don’t you dare say that to me. I’ll smack your silly head in.’
‘Sorry,’ he reached for a packet of Camels, ‘but I’m not a great fan of your friend.’ He shook his head and turned away.
‘Dom’s gone,’ he said after a while. ‘He’s missing, presumed dead.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake.’ Arleta sat down beside him. ‘Not another.’ She took several deep breaths. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know . . . Look . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t . . .’
He couldn’t speak: first Jacko, now Dom. The blackest ten days of his life so far.
‘What happened?’
‘Not sure . . .’ he said at last. ‘He went off to collect a plane . . . too tired . . . exhausted . . . they’ll probably give him a posthumous DFC . . . so, bully for him.’ He toasted Dom bleakly with an empty glass.
‘Barney, you’re plastered,’ said Arleta. ‘I’m going to get you some coffee, and then we’re going to talk, and then I want you to go to bed.’
He was in no fit state to leer. It made him look sweet and a bit dopey.
‘Sit there like a good boy,’ said Arleta. ‘I’ll be back.’
She returned with two cups and a plate of sandwiches.
‘Come on, eat up,’ she said, ‘and have a big cup of coffee. Don’t spill it now. Sit up, pay attention. There.’
He drank half a cup, and when he slopped some on his saucer, he gave her a guilty look.
‘I shouldn’t have sworn at you,’ he said. ‘It’s such a mess, though.’
Arleta squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ she murmured. ‘It’s a horrible mess, and he was your friend, and that poor girl . . .’ With a thunk, his head collapsed on the table and she stroked his hair.
‘Poor girl.’ His head jerked up sharply. ‘No, I don’t hate many people, but I hate her. She ditched him cold in Alexandria. He was so torn up.’
‘Now stop that right now.’ Arleta put her hand over his mouth. ‘Finish your coffee, I’ll pay the bill.’ Her face had paled. ‘We could go to the Gezirah Club and walk in the gardens. You need to keep moving.’
In the park, when he broke down, she lent him a perfumed silk hanky to dry his eyes.
‘I haven’t talked about him . . . not yet,’ he said with a whoop of sorrow. ‘You see, I’ve known him for such a long time and I liked him so much, he was . . . we were at school together, he was one of my best friends . . . we . . . and so many good people gone now, you know, people who would have been doctors, and lawyers, teachers, had children. Oh for God’s sake . . . sorry about this.’
He straightened his back, widened his eyes, gave a gasping sigh – determined not to let the side down. It was one of the saddest things she’d ever seen.
‘You don’t have to stop,’ she murmured. ‘You must miss him like mad.’
‘I do,’ he gave a strange groaning laugh, ‘I do . . . it’s as if there’s a huge gap in the squadron now. He was such good fun – the men and the officers liked him too. I’m sorry, I’m talking too much.’
‘Barney, for God’s sake come here.’ She pressed his head against her bosom. ‘Come here,’ she murmured, ‘and don’t be an idiot. Of course you want to talk about it. I would too if I were you. I have to ask you one thing myself. What did he say about Saba? She was mad about him, by the way.’
‘I didn’t actually speak to him about it.’ His look was furtive and far away. ‘Oh damn it, what does it matter now anyway. I read his diary. They gave me his things.’
‘Tell me more.’ She gave him an encouraging squeeze. ‘I would have done the same thing by the way.’
A green and red parrot flew down from a tamarind tree. It landed on the grass beside them and screeched.
‘Hope he didn’t see that.’ Barney disengaged himself from her arms; his dopey spaniel look had returned. ‘That bird, I mean.’
‘Oh stop that.’ Arleta fluffed her hair out. ‘Sit down for a moment.’ She pointed to a bench under the tree.
‘I’ve met Dom,’ she said. ‘He came to a show we were doing, a show near Fayid. He’d come to see Saba. He was very determined – and very attractive too, I thought.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Barney almost smiled, ‘but girls certainly thought so – it was his bad luck to bump into your friend.’
‘Shut up! Right now.’ Arleta’s eyes had narrowed into mean green slits. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘A fat lot of good it will do him now.’
‘Tell me about Dom.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Have you known him for long?’
‘Since prep school,’ Barney cleared his throat, ‘and then at Cambridge we joined the squadron together. It was fun; Dom was a brilliant pilot – my father, who was an amateur jockey, says it has to do with the same things: nerve, and feel; quick reactions. Dom adored it, it was like a drug, for me too. He talked us all into joining up – when things went badly wrong, it cut him up terribly.’
He gave her a wild look. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘Do you know what happened? Only say if you want to.’ She stroked his thumb.
‘I don’t know anything. He went to pick up a Spitfire, he didn’t come back. That’s all I know. I was in Cairo that day. When I got back I saw them rubbing his name off the blackboard, I was furious. It was too early. I’ve seen men strolling back into camp ages after you’ve written them off – bad things don’t always happen. But that was two weeks ago, and I’m trying to . . . just . . . I don’t know what.’ Barney ran out of words.
They stood up and walked again, down an avenue of large date palms that flung spiky shadows on the path. An English nanny, nasal, bored, called to two small children – ‘Rose, Nigel, play nicely else we’ll go straight home – I shan’t tell you again.’
Arleta stopped. She looked at her watch and groaned.
‘Blast.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Oh, sugar. Barney, I’ve got to go – we have a performance at eight – an o
utdoor number for the troops in the Ezbekiya Garden. Come if you like – we could have some supper afterwards. I want to hear as much as I can before I see her tomorrow morning.’
He looked momentarily stunned, like a man whose electricity supply had been abruptly cut off.
‘Priorities straight – get the hair done.’ His attempt at a joke was not a success.
‘Well yes, I do need to do all that, as it happens.’ She gave him a level look. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fly without a helmet on.’
‘Tough lady.’
‘Nope,’ she smiled at him, ‘not really. Just a person doing a job, and if you want my advice, you’ll go back to the club, have a zizz and a shave and meet me later at Londees – you’ve had a tough day.’
‘Right ho, nanny.’
When she said she would probably be late, he said that would be fine, he would wait for her.
Later that night, as Arleta scissored her way across the terrace at Londees, every man in the room turned to look at her, except Barney, who was reading intently from the menu, embarrassed, it seemed, to have been caught out earlier in his emotional underwear.
‘Supper’s on me, darling,’ she said as she sat down, ‘because I asked you, and because I got paid today.’ She ordered lavishly and ate heartily – fried fish, fresh vegetables, a bottle of wine – and while Barney picked at his food, she talked brightly about the director of their show, a man called Bagley, who was back in town again and a bit of a bully. How he expected West End magic with two acrobats – one had done his tendon in – no comedian, no Saba, and three new recruits, shattered after a tour in India, was beyond imagining. When Bagley had called them all into the dressing room afterwards and given them a real rollicking, she’d wanted to bite his eye.
‘I’m sorry,’ Barney said politely, ‘bite his eye – that sounds a bit extreme.’
‘Sorry, love,’ she said, ‘an old Cockney form of endearment.’ He laughed for the first time since Dom had died.
Over coffee and liqueurs on a candlelit terrace overlooking the Nile, the mood softened and grew more intimate. ‘I’m so sorry I swore at you earlier,’ Barney said again. ‘I’ve never done that before . . . and it was horribly rude . . . It’s no excuse, but I’d just finished writing to Dom’s mother. I used to spend summer holidays with them.’
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