didn’t know what to say and Vuk was clearly impatient to be off.
‘Edie, please hurry. I have things to do.’ He was walking towards the path already, striding purposefully forward, not even looking to see if she were following.
‘What on earth do you need to do in the middle of the night?’ demanded Edie, running to keep up.
Vuk didn’t answer, just continued up the hill. When they reached the staff cabins he bent down and pecked her on the cheek.
‘See you later,’ he muttered, looking into the distance, his mind clearly on other things. And then he was gone.
In her room, Edie tried to think objectively. She was not Vuk’s keeper. Her mother had tried so hard to instil in her how important it was not to overwhelm people with demands and impositions. It had taken her years to accept that it was OK for Laura to have other friends, to occasionally want to do her own thing instead of always being with Edie. That doctor-type woman she’d seen in her teens had impressed on her the need to let go, to live and let live. Now she must put this into practice with Vuk. To keep him, she had to set him free. And that meant not questioning him to the point where he would get annoyed with her, not keeping tabs on his movements. Free, easy and undemanding, coupled with sex whenever the bloke wanted it; that was the way to conduct a successful relationship, Edie was sure of it.
Remember those rules, she told herself sternly as she got into bed. It didn’t stop her feeling lonely, though, and wishing Vuk were with her.
Ehsan had been vacillating about leaving with Fatima, one minute certain, the next full of doubts again.
‘How will we manage it with three children in tow?’ he demanded, his voice gruff with anxiety. ‘What if they get sick? What if we do?’
Fatima bit her lip. ‘But if we stay we’ll get sick for sure, next winter, if we haven’t been blasted out of existence by then.’
Eventually, he made up his mind. He and Youssef would accompany her after all. Just like Fatima they, too, had nothing more to lose. It would work for both of them; she would do better with a male protector and Ehsan would benefit from the fact that she spoke much better English than him; an asset that would surely help them on their journey. And Fatima was happy to be with Youssef, who was a kind and loveably boy, and who deserved the same opportunities as her own twins.
They would all attempt to get to Europe where they could begin again. One thing was clear to both adults; neither had any intention of just crossing a border and staying put. They had heard about that life, from friends and acquaintances, from the internet. The appalling conditions, the abject poverty, the abuse and degradation suffered daily by the refugees, the lack of work, of opportunities, the reliance on charity handouts that diminished in line with thinning donations as compassion fatigue set in around the world.
Fatima knew also about the rape and domestic violence suffered by the women, the return of child marriage, families offering up their pre-pubescent girls for a fraction of the dowry they should have received in normal times, literally selling them into a life of early pregnancies and childbirth that would destroy them even if the bombs and shooting and soldiers didn’t. The parents would tell themselves it was to keep their daughters safe. It was a safety Fatima would never accept for her children, however far off it might seem right now, when the twins were still so very young.
Above all, life in the camps was a life in limbo, waiting for a change for the better that would never come. That’s why they had never even contemplated leaving before now. It had seemed preferable to stay put and pray for an end to the war and the violence and the suffering. Until now. Now, anything seemed better than remaining where they were. Fatima only had to recall in her mind’s eye that vision of her once beautiful street crumpled and beaten, the lurking shadows of the injured and dispossessed scuttling like rats out of holes, the hideous sight of her beloved husband’s body, lifeless and stiff, to know that she would never, could never go back.
The ancient cobbled lanes of the old town, suffused with scents of clove and cumin, the bright clothes in the shops, the bakery that smelt of warmth and cinnamon and everything good to eat, were all gone. The courtyard house, with its lemon trees and almond orchard and trickling fountain, was gone. The girls’ nursery where she had soothed them to sleep, with its white-painted walls and matching beds covered with the counterpanes she had embroidered by hand in the months she waited for them to be born – gone now.
Her city, the only one she had ever known and where she had lived all her life, had been eradicated. Everything was in ruins. Nowhere to live, nowhere to work, nothing to eat. No Fayed.
The only choice left was to go and to keep going until they reached northern Europe. That there were so many hundreds of thousands of others doing the same she was well aware. But she couldn’t think of them, couldn’t let the fact that she would be just one woman in the midst of a nameless multitude put her off. Of the two routes available, both were fraught with danger. They could get to Egypt and try to cross the Mediterranean from there, or from Libya. Disadvantage: a long and extraordinarily perilous boat ride to Italy during which it was highly likely one or all of them would perish. Advantage: from Italy it was the EU all the way to Germany or Sweden. Alternatively, they could take the Turkish route. Disadvantage: the danger inherent in getting to and crossing the border, in getting to one of the islands and then traversing Macedonia and Serbia before reaching the European countries. Advantage: a much shorter boat ride – the possibility that they might all survive.
Fatima and Ehsan discussed the options until late into the night in the days following the destruction of their home and lives.
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