No Way Home

by M S James

  I had found that since leaving Saudi I was beginning to sleep better. My dreams were always on the same theme: Anna was lost and I couldn’t find her. Sometimes she was missing in a supermarket and on other occasions out in the oasis in Dar’iyah. I often woke in a state of panic throughout the night. And then, in a moment, I’d remember that the nightmare was real and ongoing. Obviously, my amygdala and the emotion-related parts of my brain were trying to take the horror of recent events out of my memory and prevent me from going crackers.

  It was good that we had this period in Greece between Saudi and home in England. We could shake the desert sands from our feet and prepare ourselves for the onslaught from parents and friends on our return.

  Harsh words

  I decided to visit my mother on my own. Philip could bear the brunt of explaining our behaviour to his parents and I needed to keep Jake away from my mother until I had calmed her down. She lived only half an hour from our house so I drove over on the same day that we landed. She was pottering around the kitchen when I arrived and had seen me pass the kitchen window. Nevertheless, she carried on with her tasks and ignored me.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ I started cautiously.

  ‘You’ve left her behind, then.’

  ‘Yes.’ Silence for a few minutes whilst she moved stuff around the kitchen. ‘We had to. We had run out of all options.’

  She rounded on me. ‘You bitch! How could you be so cruel? How could you abandon a poor little child into the hands of those, those savages?!’ She directed the full torrent of her rage at my selfish behaviour.

  I tried to mollify her fury. ‘We looked everywhere for her. The police are looking for her. As soon as she is found they will contact us and we can go and fetch her.’

  ‘You’re going back then?’

  ‘Philip is, I am staying here in England from now on.’

  She didn’t hide her repugnance at my decision to return without Anna. ‘I wouldn’t have abandoned you.’ Her eyes conveyed her anger and her voice was full of venom.

  ‘You didn’t have another child to protect. I had to think of Jake as well.’

  ‘Why, where is he? Have you lost him as well?’

  ‘No, no, he is at home with Philip. I didn’t want him or Philip to be here when we had this conversation. There are things that happened that Jake doesn’t know about and it will make him more unsettled if he finds out.’ I paused to let my words sink in. She carried on clearing the kitchen with a great deal of extraneous crashing of pots and cutlery. I thought I would try to move the conversation on. ‘Can we have a cup of tea?’

  There was no answer but she didn’t prevent me putting the kettle on. The tea was made in stony silence. I sat down at the kitchen table and waited for her to calm down sufficiently to join me. I was still uncertain whether another hurricane was about to hit me. Eventually, she grudgingly sat at the opposite end of the table.

  I slowly recounted the events of the past few months since Anna had disappeared and also told her of the contributory considerations that had led us to the decision to leave Anna behind. How the airline pilot had wanted to buy Anna, how the man with the broken-down car tried to entice Jake away to buy him a present and indeed, how Jake’s friend Patrick had nearly been abducted on the street outside his apartment. I went into huge detail about our searches for Anna in the desert and those by the police and the air rescue pilots. How I had trawled day after day through the souks and back streets of Riyadh looking for her. How we had littered the surrounding villages with posters of her in the hope that someone had seen her. When I told her that Philip had been put into prison, albeit for a short period, she was shocked and astounded.

  ‘Whatever did he do?’ she wanted to know. I then relayed the whole rigmarole about the subcontractor being a non-Saudi and then the National Guard discovering that he was a Saudi after all, but only after laying the blame on Philip and putting him under arrest.

  ‘They are all a nest of vipers.’ Mum stood and paced around the kitchen in turmoil. ‘You are well out of the place.’

  ‘Yes, but we can’t cut ourselves off because we need to keep up the search and keep the police searching. We can’t let her disappearance drop off their radar.’

  By now she had softened her attitude towards me and I approached her carefully. Very lightly I put an arm around her shoulder and was relieved that she didn’t shrug me off. I may have been her beloved daughter but I had committed the most heinous crime – I had abandoned her beloved grandchild.

  ‘We will find her,’ I said with more confidence than I actually felt. ‘Your prayers will be answered.’

  ‘Please God, they will.’

  We arranged for her to come to our house to see her precious grandson and Philip as soon as we had been to visit Philip’s parents the following day. Another stormy interview.

  Philip’s mother was already red-eyed before she had answered the doorbell. She said nothing as we went in, overcome with tears. His father strode forward, grim-faced, saying, ‘This is a bad, bad business. What’s the situation?’

  Philip went through the ghastly story again and they looked more and more shocked as he described our distraught searches in the days after the sandstorm. As Philip approached the part when he was sent to prison, I suggested to Jake that we walk down to the shop to buy everyone an ice cream. Elizabeth, my mother-in-law, looked up in surprise but I shook my head at her, indicating not to say anything. Philip could tell them about his jail experience out of Jake’s hearing. By the time we got back with a supply of choc ices they were well in the picture and looking anguished. They agreed reluctantly that Jake and I would be best out of possible harm’s way and that Philip should stay in Saudi for the time being.

  ‘The future is going to be a trial for all of you,’ concluded David, my father-in-law. ‘All we can do is hope for the best.’

  Conversations with our friends followed along similar lines, although none were as harsh as the one with my mother. Perhaps they thought we shouldn’t have left Anna, but none of them knew what it was like living on thin ice, never knowing when disaster would strike again.

  It was still school term time in England, so I was able to see the head of my old school and ask him if Jake could rejoin the school in the autumn term. He was very sad that our Arabian venture had come to such a bad end and was happy to admit Jake into the school in September. He also said that one of his staff had told him that she was expecting a baby and would be going on maternity leave at Christmas. Perhaps I would like to apply for her job? This was a very kind suggestion. He must have guessed time would lay very heavily on my hands without work to distract me. I said I would be delighted to apply.

  The remainder of Philip’s leave passed quickly and before we knew it Jake and I were back at Heathrow to deliver Philip to the doleful sounds of the Imam on the Saudia plane. Check-in was full of travellers heading back to Riyadh. I was so glad not to be joining them, for the time being. We had booked late August flights for Jake and me to fly via Cairo to Riyadh for just two weeks; we were assured that we could get entry visas from AAC’s London agent and hopefully, for the return exit visas, the visa official wouldn’t need the passports to prop up his wobbly desk.

  We kissed Philip goodbye. ‘Keep safe and find Anna,’ I said.

  He smiled ruefully. ‘I’ll try.’

  Summer passed pleasantly. My mother came to see us so often that I suggested she move in until our late August visit to Saudi. She and I tackled the garden which had been neglected in our absence. We would sit on a bench with a reviving cup of tea and invariably talk about our missing girl. It was good I had someone to cry with.

  Far too soon, the date of the visit to Saudi arrived. I didn’t pack much; the weather would still be hot there so we’d get by with T-shirts and shorts for Jake and the same for me if we went into the desert and, otherwise, long skirts and my abaya for moving around Riyadh. The jou
rney was fairly uneventful except that Jake and I had enough time on our stopover to visit the Cairo Museum to view the treasures of Tutankhamun.

  We stashed our suitcases into the left-luggage depository and caught a taxi to Tahira Square by the Nile. I was beginning to feel an old hand at travelling around Cairo. The Cairo Museum was a large imposing red building built in 1902. The government of that time had suffered the loss of several previous museums and had decided to build a splendid new one that would house its wealth of artefacts from antiquity. Even though, for some inexplicable reason, the 1855 government had handed over the entire contents of their museum to the Archduke Maximilian of Austria! (Those treasures can now be seen in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.) Whatever shortages there may be in Egypt, ancient artefacts are not a consideration. They were able to fill the museum with a new supply of Pharaonic household goods, especially when King Tutankhamun’s tomb was discovered in 1922.

  Walking through the museum, it reminded me of a warehouse of old bric-a-brac and unwanted household effects. Dilapidated beds, chairs and tables were in a haphazard arrangement along the dusty corridors. The museum was seriously in need of a makeover. We walked into the room holding King Tutankhamun’s gold mask with huge anticipation. There it was in all its magnificent beauty! It lay in the centre of a small room with a queue of respectful visitors regarding it in awe. I was very alarmed to see an armed soldier standing nearby in a corner. The mask, made from eleven kilogrammes of solid gold, was far too heavy to run off with but was within touching distance. Perhaps he had orders to shoot if anyone got too near? I held Jake firmly by the hand.

  That evening we touched down in Riyadh after another internal flight from Dhahran. There was no invitation to visit the cockpit and no sight of the pilot who had propositioned me. The temperature was stiflingly hot in Riyadh, as it was in our villa, even though Philip had had the air conditioning chugging away day and night. There had been one significant change to our home: Hani had agreed that Philip could keep the villa but our dining room had been converted into a third bedroom so that another of Philip’s colleagues could move in with him. The children’s bedroom was still kept for their exclusive use. It so happened that Philip’s new housemate was on leave so we didn’t actually meet him.

  Philip managed to avoid a site visit during our stay and we saw more of him than we otherwise would. Even so, it wasn’t much of a fun visit. I recommenced my wanderings around various parts of the city with a hot and bothered son in tow. Walking was only possible in the late afternoons and we always needed to be home by sunset. Our police inspector welcomed me in a friendly manner and regretfully informed me that they still had no intelligence as to where Anna might be. I touched base with the embassy to remind them that one of Her Britannic Majesty’s citizens was still missing. They assured me that representations to the authorities were ongoing and we would be told of any developments.

  Jake’s school chums were mainly in England on leave, so play dates were not possible. However, John and Becky had already returned from a trip to Australia and invited us for day visits to their compound. Angelo had forgone his annual leave and had taken the airfare instead to be sent home to his family. Such dedication. He was delighted to see us again and took us over to the Al Akariya compound whilst Philip joined us for an evening dip in the pool and a barbecue before we returned home.

  John and Becky said Anna’s abduction had had a salutary effect on the expat community. Everyone was far more watchful over their children and felt even more repressed and restricted. They assured us that everyone was looking out for her.

  We left Saudi just short of a year since we first arrived. What a lot I had gone through in that time. I was still in my thirties and resilient enough to soldier on. I just prayed that our calamities were over and that we had positive and happier times ahead.

  Life goes on

  What is the secret of living with a great sorrow? You just keep on keeping on. Mundane daily tasks have to be carried out. Children have to be fed. Husbands have to be supported and cared for. Gradually, the pain recedes, provided nobody mentions it. When they do, the wound opens, and you are swept once more into heartbreaking grief. You are never more than a few words away from being plunged back into the pit. You drag yourself out and recover until the next time.

  Jake quickly fitted back into the routine of his old school and I busied myself applying for teaching posts, including the one at Jake’s school. Even though it would probably be only temporary, it would be very convenient. The governors appointed me to the staff for the following January but since the pregnant teacher found working during the last month or so of her pregnancy difficult, I joined the staff early as a supply teacher.

  Philip was granted two weeks of leave over Christmas and even had his airfares paid since he was going to have to interview potential new staff whilst he was home. I was grateful that we didn’t have to return to Saudi and could leave our next visit until the Easter holidays.

  This new existence carried on until the following summer when Philip and I had to decide whether he should come home permanently or carry on for another year. Jake was missing his dad and so was I. We were still a young couple and should have been enjoying family life and a mutually satisfying relationship. Instead, I was almost living the life of a widow and he a semi-detached bachelor. The decision was made for us at the beginning of Philip’s summer leave when, during an early morning cuddle, Philip noticed a lump in my breast.

  I was so surprised to see it, sticking out underneath my breast nestling next to my ribcage.

  ‘Good Heavens!’ I exclaimed. ‘How could I have missed it?’ I spent a horrible few hours until I could get an appointment at my local surgery. My doctor took one look at it and immediately rang the oncology clinic at our local hospital. After a brief conversation he said, ‘They want to see you tomorrow morning at 10am.’

  I walked to the hospital on a fine sunny day with a cloud of doom hanging over me. This, I said to myself, is the third disaster. Bad things come in threes. I am going to die. The surgeon prodded around the lump and said it was unusual for it to be growing out of the breast rather than within it. However, it did mean that it was spotted early and could be dealt with promptly. ‘What are you doing next Saturday morning?’ he enquired.

  ‘I rather suspect I am going to have an operation,’ I replied. ‘What will it involve?’

  ‘I shall perform a “lumpectomy” which isn’t the correct medical term but it describes what will happen quite accurately. We shall remove the lump and send it away for analysis to see if it is malignant.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘We’ll have a better idea after the operation and when the results come back. They won’t take long – it’s all done on site.’

  We stood and shook hands. ‘Fine, we’ll see you bright and early next Saturday. Speak to my assistant in the office and she’ll tell you what to bring and how to prepare yourself.’

  I looked puzzled.

  ‘No eating from the previous evening. No worrying, either. You’re in good hands.’

  ‘Well?’ asked Philip when I arrived home. Ensuring Jake was not listening, I told him what the surgeon had said. ‘Are they optimistic?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, they’re as cheerful as they can be without actually promising me a long and healthy life,’ I replied. ‘We shan’t know fully until the result of the biopsy is sent back.’

  We both sat and pondered the ramifications of what could happen.

  As tears began to trickle I whispered, ‘I don’t want to die without seeing Anna again.’

  Philip hugged me and said, ‘It’ll work out fine. Promise.’

  My mother was deeply upset by the news. ‘It was only to be expected after all the trouble you’ve had,’ she gnomically pronounced.

  ‘Well, I didn’t expect it!’ I retorted.

  ‘What will you do?’

 
‘What, if I die? Not a lot.’ I was slightly irritated by her assumption that I was on my way out.

  However, since Anna had been abducted and Philip imprisoned, she had every reason for pessimism. ‘We’ve caught the lump, whatever it is, very early and the doctors will know very soon what action to take, so don’t get too despondent just yet,’ I cautioned her.

  ‘I’ll pray for you. The Good Lord will answer our prayers.’

  I said, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ as I gave her a hug.

  The operation went well and the surgeon said he was very hopeful. The tumour was completely enclosed and there were no signs that it had begun to spread. He would contact me as soon as he had the results.

  On the way home from the hospital Philip said, ‘I’m going back to Riyadh but only to clear my desk, hand over the project and pack up the villa. We have got to start living again like a normal family – well, as normal as we can.’

  Neither of us mentioned the obvious caveats to this decision. It was going to be a momentous step to finally cut our ties to Saudi and, hopefully, I would be alive to do it.

  A few days later I had a phone call from the surgeon’s secretary to ask me to see him at the end of the week. I thought this a little odd. Why didn’t he tell me straight away that I was clear of any problems? On the other hand, he didn’t want to see me immediately.

  My surgeon greeted me on the Friday morning noncommittally. This felt bad.

  ‘I’m afraid I must tell you that your tumour was malignant.’ I didn’t respond. I felt I had just been given a death sentence. ‘I know it seems bad but we can do a lot for you to make sure you stay cancer free.’ I still didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say.