Rhys must have landed by now, Quinn thought as she headed into the kitchen to start on dinner. Emma and Gabe would be home soon. Emma had requested shepherd’s pie, one of her all-time favorites, and Quinn would serve it with a side of broccoli, a vegetable Emma didn’t completely despise. Quinn had prepared the ingredients for the pie earlier in the day while Alex napped, and took them out of the refrigerator now that she was ready to prepare the dish. She layered the sautéed ground beef, vegetables and mashed potatoes in a pan, sprinkled the finished product with shredded cheese, and pushed the pan into the oven. By the time they were ready to eat, the pie would be done, its crusty top smothered with a golden layer of melted cheese. Delicious, and so easy. Quinn smiled to herself. She was really getting a handle on this mothering thing, she decided.
She had just started setting the table when she heard Gabe’s key in the lock, followed by Emma’s angry voice and the slam of her bedroom door. Quinn abandoned her task and stepped out into the corridor, ready to play the role of peacemaker. Gabe shrugged off his coat and rolled his eyes in exasperation before drawing Quinn into a hug and resting his chin atop her head. She could feel the frustration coursing through him and held him silently for a moment before her curiosity got the better of her.
“What happened?”
“Emma refused to wear her coat. I told her we wouldn’t be going home until she put it on. She held out for about ten minutes, then complied when she realized I’d meant what I said. She wouldn’t speak to me the whole way home and tore off the coat as soon as we walked in.”
Emma’s pink coat lay on the floor by the door, where she’d thrown it in a fit of anger. Quinn shook her head in dismay. “Let me talk to her.”
“I think you had better, while I say hello to the child who still likes me.”
Quinn knocked on Emma’s door and entered without waiting to be invited. Emma was too young to be allowed to refuse her entry. She sat on the bed, looking mutinous. Her arms were crossed in front of her belly and her feet drummed against the wooden bedframe.
“Hi, Emma,” Quinn said. “May I sit down?”
“If you want.”
“What happened?”
“Dad made me wear that stupid coat,” Emma mumbled angrily.
“It’s cold outside. He didn’t want you to get ill.” Emma didn’t answer, so Quinn tried another tack. “Do you feel uncomfortable in the coat?”
“You could say that,” Emma snapped.
“Is it too small?” The coat was from last year and had been purchased by Emma’s mother, Jenna, before she died. Quinn had thought Emma might want to hold on to it as long as possible, particularly since it still fit, but Emma seemed to have other ideas.
“No, it fits fine.”
“What’s bothering you, then?” Quinn asked gently.
“Maya said I look like a silly baby in it. It’s pink,” Emma spat out.
“You used to like pink. And who is Maya?”
“I don’t like pink anymore. Pink is for babies. I told you that already. I want a new coat, and Maya is my best friend,” Emma added matter-of-factly.
“If she’s your friend, she should be nice to you.”
“She is. She’s trying to help me. Maya knows about clothes. Her mum works for a fashion magazine.” Emma gave Quinn’s comfortable outfit a pointed stare, clearly implying that knowledge of fashion was not something Quinn would ever be accused of.
Quinn tried to suppress a smile. “And what color coat would you like?”
“Black.”
“That’s awfully morbid, isn’t it?” Quinn asked, belatedly realizing that Emma would have no idea what the word meant.
“You have a black coat,” Emma challenged her.
“I’m a grown-up; you’re five.”
“So, it’s all right for me to be laughed at?” Emma demanded.
“Would you like me to call the school and speak to your teacher? Maya has no right to laugh at you.”
“Yes, she does. She’s right, and don’t you dare call my teacher. Everyone will know I told on Maya and they’ll never speak to me again,” Emma bristled.
“I see. All right. I won’t call the school if you don’t want me to. How about we go shopping this weekend and find you a more appropriate coat? Maybe a blue one to match your pretty eyes?”
Emma thought about this for a moment. “I won’t wear the pink one ever again.”
“You’ll have to wear it until we buy a new one. It’s too cold to go without.”
“No! I’d rather freeze.”
Quinn tried to rein in her frustration. “All right, how about we find a coat online? We can have it delivered by tomorrow. What do you say?”
“Really?”
“Really. You’ll have to wear the pink coat for only one more day.”
Emma considered this for a moment. “Fine, but I will take off the coat before we walk into the school and put it on again after we leave the building. I don’t want anyone to see me.”
“You’ll be cold without a coat during recess.”
“I’ll ask to stay inside,” Emma retorted.
“All right. I’ll tell Daddy and he will allow you to take the coat off just before you walk in.”
Emma nodded, mollified. “Dinner smells good,” she said.
“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and wash your hands,” Quinn suggested.
“Can we look for a new coat after we eat?” Emma asked as she slid off the bed.
“Yes.”
“What’s got into her?” Gabe asked when Quinn returned to the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, holding Alex, who was eyeing the cutlery with interest.
“Maya, who happens to be Emma’s new best friend, thinks pink is not an acceptable color choice.”
“Do you think Emma’s being bullied?” Gabe asked.
“I don’t think it’s bullying, per se, but I do think there will always be children who’ll make others feel insecure. Have you seen some of the girls in her class? They look like they’re five going on fifteen. Last time I dropped Emma off, one girl was wearing lip gloss and nail varnish, the same shade as her mother’s.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Why would parents allow that?” Gabe asked, looking perplexed.
“Parenting has changed dramatically over the years. People are a lot more permissive these days. They don’t like to upset their kids.”
Gabe looked up at her, his gaze clouded with confusion. “Isn’t parenting by definition upsetting kids and getting them to do things they don’t want to do?”
“Not anymore, it seems. It might be a good idea to invest in some parenting manuals and maybe find a parenting group for me to join. Emma loves me, I think, but the fact that I’m not her biological mother will come up in every argument, especially once she gets older.”
“I hope not. You are her mother now, biological or not. You love her.”
“I do, but she’ll forget that the moment I do something to displease her,” Quinn argued.
“She was very angry with me, and I am her biological father,” Gabe replied. He smiled wistfully. “My father would have made me apologize, then send me to my room without dinner. He was a great disciplinarian. Of course, my mother would then sneak up to my room and bring me a sandwich,” Gabe said. His eyes misted with tears. “I miss my dad.”
“I know you do. I miss him too.”
“Who do you miss?” Emma asked as she sauntered into the kitchen, her anger forgotten. She’d got her way, and her glee was evident.
“Grandpa Graham,” Gabe replied. “He was hard on me at times, but I loved him, and I miss him very much.”
“He would have liked Rufus,” Emma said as she took her seat at the table.
“Yes, he would have,” Quinn said. She reached for Alex and lifted him off Gabe’s lap. “It’s off to the playpen with you, young sir.”
Alex grinned happily, unaware that he was being banished to the other room for the duration of the meal.
“Anything from Rhys?” Gabe asked as he served Emma a piece of steaming pie.
“Not yet. I should have never allowed him to go,” Quinn replied.
“He doesn’t need your permission,” Gabe reminded her gently. “He’s a grown man, Quinn, and I think he was looking for a reason to take a break from his life for a short while. This might be just what he needs to recover from his loss.”
“I hope you’re right.” Quinn swallowed a forkful of shepherd’s pie, but barely tasted it. Rhys had been gone for less than a day and already she felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her belly. She hoped she’d hear from him soon.
Gabe laid a hand over hers, smiling into her eyes. “Patience, Quinn,” he said gently.
Quinn rolled her eyes in response, making him laugh. They had both been doing a lot of that lately.
Chapter 11
January 2015
Kabul, Afghanistan
Rhys had expected dry, dusty heat to envelop him as soon as he walked out of the airport, but instead he was met with a chill worthy of England. The sun shone brightly—not something he was used to in January—but gave no warmth. The nearby snow-capped mountains were dun-colored with an occasional smudge of green where vegetation had managed to force its way through the cracks and take root.
Rhys looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by the task at hand. He was a storyteller, a producer, not an investigative reporter. He hated the idea of letting Quinn down, but maybe his offer to come in search of Jo Turing had been too impulsive, made by a man who’d recently suffered a trauma and wasn’t thinking rationally.
“Rhys! Over here, mate!” Rob Malone called out to him as he pulled up in a dirt-splattered Jeep. “Sorry I’m late. There was a roadblock.”
Rhys tossed his case into the back seat and climbed in next to Rob.
“Where to?” Rob asked as he joined a queue of cars waiting to exit the car park.
“The Mustafa Hotel,” Rhys replied.
“Okay,” Rob replied, grinning. “It’s good to see you, Rhys. It’s been—what—five years or more?”
“About that,” Rhys replied as he looked around, eager for his first glimpse of Kabul.
“I heard you’re getting married,” Rob said as he turned onto a central road congested with traffic. He pressed on his horn, and its blare startled Rhys out of his reverie.
“Not anymore.” Rob looked like he was about to ask more questions, but Rhys cut him off, desperate to change the subject. “How’s the family?”
“My brood is fine. My oldest is graduating uni come June, and my little one just started primary school. She’s not best pleased she has to go to a school where her mum’s a teacher.”
“When are you going home?”
“Soon. Colleen will divorce me if I don’t show my face at home once every few months.”
“I thought divorce wasn’t an option,” Rhys joked, referring to Rob’s staunch Catholic beliefs, of which he made no secret.
“She’ll get a papal dispensation,” Rob said. “She’s like that, my Colleen,” he added with an affectionate grin.
“Can’t say I blame her.”
“She can see my ugly mug on the news if she misses me,” Rob joked. “All she does is berate me when I’m at home anyway. I’m nothing but an inconsiderate eejit, by all accounts, and a useless da. I tell you, Rhys, being a father to four lasses is no walk in the park. Every time I come home, I have to get to know those girls all over again. I love them to bits, but I don’t get them, especially the older two. The younger ones just want a cuddle and a present, but Bethan and Aislinn are a mystery to me. Now, it’s all make-up, and parties, and lads. They listen to music I can’t relate to and talk in slang that sounds like a foreign tongue to an old paddy like me. At least with a son, I’d be able to talk football and rugby.”
“It’s not too late,” Rhys replied, chuckling.
“I’m too old for babies. Besides, I’m sure an old pro like you has heard of the luck of the Irish. I’d have another girl for sure, maybe even twin girls just to hammer that nail deeper into the coffin. No, I’m done. Maybe, in time, I’ll have a grandson. That’ll be fun.”
“I wouldn’t mind twin girls,” Rhys said, his voice too soft for Rob to hear. He had no desire to share his pain with anyone, least of all someone like Rob Malone, who took his beautiful family for granted and spent at least six months out of the year away from them.
“You know, Rhys, if I was a more curious type of bloke, I would ask you why you’ve come into a warzone to search for a woman you barely know.”
“Good thing you’re not, then,” Rhys snapped. He was annoyed with Rob for prying, but more so for asking the question he’d been asking himself since he left Quinn’s flat the night he volunteered to come on this lunatic mission. Why was he really here? Was it to redeem himself in some way or to get out of his comfort zone and remind himself that his problems were nothing compared to those of people who lived with oppression, death, and destruction every single day?
Rhys looked around with interest as they drove into Kabul. The traffic moved very slowly, the street congested with all sorts of vehicles, many of them military. The streets were thronged with people, mostly men, Rhys noted, who wore their traditional clothing and seemed to just be milling about rather than going somewhere. Given the hour, he’d expected most people to be engaged in some sort of work, but these men seemed to have nothing to do other than watch the passing cars and talk amongst themselves.
Several women walked by, wearing colorful dresses and headscarves, and children of various ages darted from place to place, their eyes too knowing for such young faces. Stands lined the road, where young men sold fruit and other types of food, and Rhys watched as two women dressed in burkas approached a stand and made a purchase after several minutes of haggling with the seller.
“I hadn’t expected it to be so crowded,” Rhys remarked as they inched forward.
“It’s a city of six million,” Rob replied. He looked tense and his eyes kept darting around the perimeter.
“Why the hold-up?” Rhys asked. “Was there a road accident?”
“We’re approaching a checkpoint,” Rob explained. “There are many set up on roads leading into the city.”
“What are they checking for?” Rhys asked, feeling awfully naïve. He was known for his meticulous preparation when working on a program, but he hadn’t spent nearly enough time reading up on Kabul.
“Explosives. The checkpoints are a way to minimize suicide bombings within the city. Problem is, if they stop someone who’s actually a bomber, he’ll blow himself up right at the checkpoint rather than allow himself to be taken into custody.”
“You mean we’re sitting ducks?” Rhys asked, the magnitude of what he’d done finally beginning to sink in.
“In a sense.”
“But what of all these people?” Rhys asked, meaning the Afghans who walked around as if they were taking a stroll through a park.
“They’re used to it, and know it can happen anywhere at any time.”
“What a way to live,” Rhys muttered. “It’s little wonder Colleen is threatening to divorce you if you don’t come home.”
“I’ll be all right as long as I leave before the fighting season starts,” Rob said as the Jeep finally began to move toward the checkpoint.
“The fighting season?”
“The annual spring offensive launched by the Taliban. It’s a prolonged period of mind-blowing violence. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be gone by the beginning of March.”
Rhys breathed a little easier once they passed the checkpoint and headed into the sprawling center of Kabul. “A shimmering ribbon of progress,” Rhys said quietly.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a line from a program I worked on about the Silk Road,” Rhys replied. “It stretched from China to Rome and passed through Afghanistan. All the countries along the road reaped tremendous benefits. The trade brought riches, progress, and cultural di
versity.”
“Where is it, this road?” Rob asked as he maneuvered the Jeep down a narrow street.
“It wasn’t an actual road, it was a series of trade routes used thousands of years ago, before the birth of Christ. In those days, Afghanistan was a rare jewel on a string of gems that was the Silk Road. It was such a desirable location that it drew the attention of the Persians and then Alexander the Great, who conquered it and added it to his empire. He built several cities, all named Alexandria after himself.”
“Hmm, I didn’t know that,” Rob said. “I just assumed this place was always Satan’s asshole.”
“It was quite beautiful once. There are over one thousand archeological sites in Afghanistan,” Rhys added. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend this war-torn land and its people’s culture, but he suspected it was because he saw with his own eyes how low it had been brought since its days of glory. “This is the only place on earth where you can find lapis lazuli.”
“What’s that, then?”
“It’s a beautiful blue stone that’s been highly valued since antiquity. It’s very rare.”
“There’s something else here that’s been highly valued since antiquity,” Rob replied. “Poppies.”
He didn’t get a chance to elaborate because they pulled up to the sprawling, outdated edifice of the Mustafa Hotel.
“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s habitable,” Rob said as he parked the Jeep and began walking toward the entrance.
“I’m not here for the amenities.”
Rhys checked in and made his way to his room on the second floor. The room was even shabbier than the foyer, with a narrow, lumpy bed and faded curtains the color of rotten apricots. The décor looked as if it hadn’t been updated since the 1970s, if the hotel had been around then. Rhys took out his mobile and tapped on his inbox. Nothing happened.
“There’s no Wi-Fi in the rooms, but there is an internet café downstairs,” Rob said, watching Rhys with a smile of amusement. “I hope you brought a converter to charge your phone.”
“Yes, I have one, although I’m not sure my mobile will do me much good.”
The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6) Page 9
