Page 13 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘Was leaving,’ the woman corrects him, without dropping her gaze from me.
Christina suddenly appears, standing a few paces behind, holding a cup and saucer. Her eyes are wide, signalling that now I’m for it. The kid’s doctor mother, of course.
‘Thank you so much for taking care of me, Doctor,’ I say.
‘The least I can do,’ she says, without a hint of a smile. ‘After all, you took care of my boy after he disobeyed my specific instructions and ran off in the shelter.’
The boy’s shoulders droop; his chin folds onto his chest. ‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ he says.
‘He’s a good kid,’ I say. ‘If anything, I was the careless one.’
‘You were.’ There is the briefest nod of affirmation. ‘Nevertheless, you will not go anywherenowuntil you are seen and cleared by the authorities. You have been entrusted to our custody and will remain here until you are collected.’She points at a seat next to where the kid was drawing. ‘You will sit there and wait.’
‘This is insane,’ I say, frustration bubbling up. ‘I’m not sitting anywhere. Thank you so much, but . . .’
‘You have no papers; you are dressed like a sailor.’ The doctor gestures at me, her expression somewhere between cross and bemused. ‘No one knows you or has ever heard of you. We have every right to detain you. It’s a matter of national security, especially after the last incident, the spy. The shame of it.’
I have always found it very hard to follow an order. The urge to bolt grows.
‘Doctor, if I may?’ Christina steps lightly in front her now, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Let me sit with Miss Borg while she drinks her tea. I’ll keep an eye on her. And there’s a very nice sergeant outside waiting to take her off your hands once she has had some refreshment.’ Christina directs me to the chair.
The boy eagerly retakes his seat. ‘I will show you my drawings,’ he says happily.
The tea Christina gives me is lukewarm but dark brown, strong and sweetened with sugar. I finish it in two gulps.
The doctor looks like she has something else to say, but suddenly the cry of a baby starts from within her consulting room.
‘Qalbi,your sister,’ she tells the little boy.
He puts down his drawing and hurries into the room. A moment later, he reappears, carrying a screaming child of about one in his arms. His sister is almost as big as him.
‘Shh, Eugenie,’ he whispers over and over again, rocking the child back and forth.
The doctor returns to her office and shuts the door.
‘You really are such a helpful little boy, aren’t you?’ Christina says to the boy. ‘Would you like me to rock her for a while?’
The boy shakes his head. ‘My . . . responsibility.’
‘And your English is coming on in leaps and bounds,’ Christina praises him, then turns to me. ‘The doctor is a marvel, really – widowed while expecting her daughter, two children to care for all alone, and still working every day. Remarkable. Whenever I feel like complaining, I think of her.’
For a moment, I stare from the closed consulting-room door back to where the little boy struggles with the enormous whimpering baby.
‘I’m a bit freaked out, to be honest,’ I tell her.
‘Freaked out?’ Christina repeats, chuckling softly, her grey eyes searching mine. ‘That’s a new one on me. Look, I’m sure you are who you say you are. I’m a good judge of people, and I can tell you are not the traitor type. But just be careful what you say. No one just arrives on the island any more without everyone knowing about it, especially not a pretty young woman.’
‘It’s just that . . . I don’t think this is real,’ I find myself muttering aloud.
‘Nonsense. Does the pain in your head feel real?’ Christina asks me.
I nod reluctantly.
‘And the taste of the tea? The heat of the day?’
I nod again.
‘Then pull yourself together. Look, war does strange things to people. It drives us all a little mad. But I can promise you it will be better for you to cope with what is real rather than be labelled a lunatic and locked up somewhere – do you understand?’
