No Way Home

by M S James

  She came to her senses quicker than I did and said, ‘Go to the comfort room through there,’ indicating the one I had just left. As I went in, the attendant walked out. I went to the end around the corner where we would be out of sight of anyone casually glancing in and waited. I felt angry with myself for letting her out of my sight but she followed me a few minutes later and we went into one of the toilet stalls.

  As she removed her face veil I found I was looking at a younger version of myself.

  Out of sight of anyone I took her dear face in my hands and looked at her familiar tear-stained features through my tear-blurred eyes.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you from the moment we lost you,’ I whispered.

  ‘In that horrible sandstorm.’

  ‘Yes. You remember it?’

  ‘Always. I couldn’t find you!’

  ‘We need to go somewhere we can talk. Can you get away?’

  ‘I can tell my family I need to go to another department and will catch up with them later.’

  ‘Make your way down the escalator and leave the store by Exit 10. You’ll be in Hans Road. Cross over to an Italian restaurant called Zia Teresa. You’ll see it from the exit. I’ll wait for you there.’ She repeated my instructions to herself then gave me a lovely smile.

  ‘I’ll be there soon, promise.’

  I hovered by the cloakroom door, watching her weave through the department towards the women at the far end. She had a short conversation with them then turned back in my direction. I moved quickly to the escalator and made my way down to Exit 10 and crossed the road to the restaurant. It was almost empty but still serving food. After checking that I could take a table, I sat by the front window watching the exit to see when she emerged. As she glanced over to the restaurant I waved and only moments later we found ourselves sitting side by side towards the back of the establishment. She removed her veil again and I took in her face, marking the changes that had occurred over the intervening years. There was a close resemblance to me but also a strong likeness to Philip.

  ‘Do you mind removing your veil in public?’ I asked.

  She laughed. ‘No, not at all. I only have it on because I am with my husband’s mother. She is rather conservative and it is easier to please her when we are out together.’

  ‘You are married? Is he kind to you?’

  She put a reassuring hand on mine, so like her father. ‘Yes, he is. He is a modern Saudi – we both are!’

  The waiter came over to take our order. I turned to Anna. ‘How long have you got? Do you have time to eat?’

  She consulted her watch and considered. ‘I’m fine for an hour but I shall be eating later. Perhaps just a coffee.’

  I ordered two coffees for us and a salad for me. I was going to be catching the post-rush-hour train and would need some sustenance. I was still holding her hand, hardly believing it was all real. It was difficult to know where to start; how much did she remember of the days after the sandstorm? Did she live with her new family straight away? Who are they? Why didn’t they hand her over to the police? The questions just poured out of me.

  She just wanted to know why we didn’t find her. ‘I remember crying a lot. I wanted my mummy and daddy. My new parents were very kind and little by little, I stopped being so frightened.’ We both cried a lot during the conversation. In fact, I didn’t really stop the whole hour we were together.

  ‘What is your name in Arabic?’

  ‘Hannah. That is the nearest name to Anna. That was the only name I answered to. And look!’ She pulled back her head veil and her long chestnut hair to reveal gold ear studs in the shape of flowers. They were still there!

  ‘I wouldn’t let anyone remove them. I remembered when you had them put in and you gave me the red umbrella because it hurt so much. I thought if anyone touched them it would hurt again. It was a way of remembering my old life.’

  ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t remember your old family – you were so very young.’

  She recounted what she could remember, which was more than I expected. She recalled going somewhere on a camel with me and Jake, walking through the desert with the family, being given a doll with a pretty dress. Of England, she surprised me by telling me that she knew she was from a small village not far from Cambridge. I was astounded.

  ‘However did you remember that?’

  She smiled and said, ‘It’s a long story. I will tell you when we have more time.’

  She had only vague recollections of our faces although, when she saw my face in the toy department, distant memories surfaced. I then pulled out of my bag the photo of her that I always carried with me. She smiled when I showed her the passport photo that had been reproduced on so many flyers.

  ‘Do you have photos of Daddy and Jake?’

  ‘No, but I will next time!’

  She then proudly showed me two photographs: one of a handsome Saudi in thobe and headdress, her husband, Faisal, and a young boy who was a dead ringer for his mother.

  ‘Your son? What is his name?’

  ‘Ya’cub, it means Jacob.’

  ‘That’s Jake’s full name! Jake is short for Jacob!’

  ‘Yes, I knew that.’

  I wanted to ask her if she could get away from her Saudi life and come back to us but I could see by the loving way she looked at her husband and son that there was no hope of that. All that I ever wanted was to find her and bring her home. Now, I had found her – but the prospect of her return was evaporating in front of me.

  I told her about the months of searching around Riyadh and the outlying villages. Also, how upset we all were when we eventually left Saudi.

  ‘Why were you in Harrods?’ she asked. I explained my thinking and how I hoped that one day I would bump into her. It was such an improbable hope but it was all I had.

  ‘I am so happy you kept on looking for me.’

  ‘But you can’t come back to us?’ I had to make sure.

  She placed her hand on my arm and smiled. ‘I am a Saudi now. I have a family and a job and a life in Riyadh.’

  She understandingly said nothing as I wiped away more tears.

  Eventually, she said, ‘But now we have been reunited, we can meet every time I am in London.’

  I wanted to know what her family’s reaction would be. She said she would speak to her husband first and between them work out a strategy. His family would probably be more welcoming than her adoptive parents. Her family would be fearful that Philip and I would accuse them of stealing her.

  ‘I’m afraid I would want to accuse them of more than that!’

  Anna held my hand and looked directly into my eyes. ‘We cannot rewrite the past, Mama. We shall all have to reconcile ourselves to what has happened if we are to go forward. Don’t make enemies of my parents. They gave me a happy childhood.’

  I had to acknowledge that I had prayed for that over the years. I had just wanted her to be well cared for and to be happy.

  Anna suddenly remembered the time and said she would have to hurry back to her parents-in-law’s home in The Little Boltons.

  ‘Can we meet tomorrow?’ I asked with a degree of desperation. ‘Your father and Jake will be filled with joy when I tell them. Philip can come with me to London tomorrow. Jake works in South London so will be able to come too.’

  ‘I have a dental appointment on the South Bank tomorrow at 11am. Can you meet me in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel? I will think up some excuse to be on my own for the afternoon.’

  ‘Are Faisal and Ya’cub with you?’

  ‘No, they are at home in Riyadh so I can do what I like without too many questions.’

  We exchanged mobile phone numbers and kissed goodbye.

  Walking back to the station I was barely conscious of where I was or where I was going.

  I wanted to shout out, ‘I found her!’ I beamed
at every passer-by. The glum, preoccupied passengers on the underground received the full radiance of my happiness. Some smiled back nervously whilst others looked away fearfully in case I was about to launch into an unwanted conversation. I was desperate to talk to Philip and Jake and give them the news we had always longed for.

  Reunion

  Waiting at King’s Cross station I had a cup of coffee and made some important phone calls. ‘Hi, it’s me. I am catching the 7.15.’

  ‘OK, see you in an hour.’

  ‘I’ve found her.’

  Silence. ‘What?’

  ‘I found Anna. I’ve found our girl.’

  ‘When? How?’

  ‘In the toy department of Harrods. I really have found her.’

  There was a choking noise at the other end of the line. When Philip eventually spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. ‘Did you speak to her?’

  ‘Yes! For an hour. You are going to meet her tomorrow.’ Then I choked up as well.

  ‘This is unbelievable! How did it happen?’

  Through my clogged-up voice I managed to say, ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. In the meantime put the champagne in the fridge. I am going to ring Jake now. He’ll want to be there as well.’

  But my next call was to our old friends David and Tina who owned a pied à terre in Parliament View, an apartment block, a ten-minute walk from the Marriott Hotel. David answered the phone. After the normal pleasantries I asked if we could use their apartment for an afternoon family meeting the following day. He said that we certainly could and to speak to the porter on arrival to get the keys. He would ring straight away to let PV know we were coming.

  I then rang Jake. ‘Hi, Mum. Had a good day in London?’

  I couldn’t actually speak for a moment or two. ‘Hi, Mum?’

  ‘I’ve found Anna,’ I croaked.

  It was his turn to be dumbfounded. ‘Did you say you’d found Anna? Christ! How? Where? Are you sure it was her?’

  ‘Yes, we spoke for an hour or so. We have arranged to meet again tomorrow. Your dad and I are meeting her in David and Tina’s flat in Parliament View. Can you be there, say, one o’clock?’

  ‘Wild horses couldn’t stop me. But tell me how it happened.’

  I told him I would ring him later when I got home and would fill him in with the delightful details of our extraordinary encounter.

  Philip was almost hopping up and down with excitement when I met him by the front door.

  We hugged and grinned and jigged around the hall. With a glass of champagne in my hand I gave as coherent an account of my meeting with Anna as was possible, given that I wanted to tell him everything in as short a time as possible. We spent the rest of the evening and well into the night talking about the encounter, what she looked like, what had happened to her over the intervening years and how we should approach her given that we were essentially strangers to her and that, having been brought up a Saudi, she might have reservations about being with a strange man, even though he was her father. What wonderful dilemmas to solve!

  Jake was thrilled with the news and marvelled that I had happened to ‘bump into her’. Yes, it was a marvel, but it had come about from unremitting faith that sooner or later, our paths would cross. And great good fortune.

  The following morning, we stocked up with food and drinks from the rail station’s Marks & Spencer for our lunchtime meeting. They were packed into our rucksack for easy carriage to Parliament View; Philip was to go straight there and open up the apartment whilst I waited at the Marriott Hotel for Anna to appear. I texted her with a short cryptic message: ‘Marriott when you’re free. What time?’ I didn’t know who might be looking at her phone, so I kept the message brief. She texted me back a short time later: ‘12 noon. Are we staying there?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘have fixed up a private venue 10 mins away.’ I would have added a happy smiley but didn’t know how to do it. How amazing! I was actually texting my lovely girl.

  I sat outside the hotel drinking my coffee and gazing at the imposing architecture. The inner courtyard of the old County Hall is a mighty construction. Huge columns hold up arches over the entrance whilst a grand staircase leads to the main vestibule. In fact, the whole building was a proud response to the Houses of Parliament opposite. ‘This,’ it proclaimed, ‘is the heart of the greatest city in the world. You run the country, but we run London!’ Except of course, it no longer did. Mrs Thatcher had bitterly resented the power of the politicians across the water and eventually the Greater London Council was abolished. The building was bought by a Japanese entertainment company, becoming the repository of a hotel, various fastfood outlets and obligatory tourist attractions. And the home to a family of starlings! Earlier, as I stood by the front wall of County Hall watching queues of tourists waiting to travel on the London Eye, I became aware of loud chirruping from a nearby air vent. Out popped a starling which collected a piece of food, dropped by a passing eater, and promptly returned to the vent to feed its family! I suppose it was a lovely hidey-hole. They were safe from scavenging rats but had a good supply of food.

  From my vantage point in the inner courtyard, I saw Anna coming towards me, this time dressed in a knee-length shift over silk trousers. Around her head was a light-coloured scarf but her face was unveiled. We both beamed at each other.

  We kissed and she asked, ‘Where is Daddy?’

  ‘He is waiting, very impatiently, at our friends’ flat which they have lent to us for the afternoon. It’s a ten-minute walk away. Is that OK?’

  ‘Sure. I love to walk in London. I have so little opportunity to walk in Riyadh.’

  We were quickly onto the subject of getting around Riyadh and comparing what it was like when I was searching for her and what it was like now. We concluded that the Saudi summer heat was impossible. As we walked by St Thomas’s Hospital I asked her, ‘Do you remember what your English surname is?’

  ‘I believe it is Thomas. I am, was, Anna Thomas.’

  ‘My goodness! You have a phenomenal memory.’

  She smiled enigmatically.

  ‘I am already remembering things I had forgotten. I am sure more memories will come back to me.’

  ‘I have brought a stack of photographs of the family with me. I doubt you will recognise anyone.’ I stopped to show her a photo of Philip – I thought she ought to see how he looked now. She looked at the photo intently matching his new face to the one she vaguely remembered. ‘Yes, I sort of remember his face. Perhaps when we meet there will be a greater likeness to the one in my mind!’

  ‘Well, you haven’t got long to wait.’ I glanced up to the array of windows of Parliament View and spotted Philip looking down to us. ‘There he is, there’s your daddy!’

  Only minutes later we were in the flat and Philip greeted his darling child. Without hesitation she held out her arms and Philip enclosed her in his. We all smiled at each other through red-rimmed eyes and brushed away the tears.

  In a choked voice Philip said, ‘You used to say, “Daddy, I lub oo berry muts.” I’ve missed you saying that to me.’

  ‘Yes, I think I remember saying it!’

  We stood for a while and surveyed the wonderful view across the Thames towards the Houses of Parliament, resplendent in the afternoon sunshine with windows and gold pennants glinting at us. There was enough breeze to make the Union Jack flap with enthusiasm. The water traffic chugged up and down the river whilst above, on Lambeth Bridge, there was a constant stream of cars, trucks and red buses rushing past.

  A few months earlier we had borrowed the flat for an overnight stay. Arriving at school later in the morning, I couldn’t help bragging, ‘I saw Big Ben from my bed this morning!’

  One of my colleagues quipped, ‘Is that what Phil calls it?!’

  There were so many shrieks of laughter that my attempts to explain that I really had seen th
e famous clock tower were drowned out. I wouldn’t be sharing that particular memory with Anna.

  We then sat either side of her on the sofa asking her about her life and family and telling her how we had fared in the years since she was taken from us.

  She had grown up with her new family who did not have any other children. Philip and I glanced meaningfully at each other at this piece of news. Her aunts and uncles lived in Riyadh so there were always plenty of children around until they moved to Jeddah. She was educated firstly in Jeddah and then, on the family’s return to Riyadh, at a private girls’ school, and studied mathematics at the women’s department of Riyadh University.

  ‘I enjoyed maths at school!’ said Philip approvingly. ‘What have you done with it?’

  ‘I went to Homerton College in Cambridge to get my qualification as a teacher and I am now teaching math at a school in Riyadh – I have a nanny who helps me look after Ya’cub.’

  I must have looked aghast at this information.

  ‘What is the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘We live a couple of miles from the college! You were so near to us and we never knew! Didn’t you remember you had lived in Cambridge?’

  ‘It was purely by chance that I went to Homerton College. My math teacher in Riyadh had been there and suggested I went there to study for my teaching diploma. Whilst I was in Cambridge I went to a hypnotherapist,’ we both gasped at this piece of information, ‘and went through a process of regression which takes you back through your life and helps you to remember your past.’

  ‘Good Heavens!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘I remembered more from my early years than I ever knew was locked away in my memory. Quite by chance I one day found myself in Harston.’

  Philip and I both exclaimed, ‘Harston!’

  ‘And I knew I had been there before. I saw the old cottage where we had lived but the neighbour didn’t know where you had moved to. She said you were Mr and Mrs Thomas. So, I had a lot of help with my memory.’

  We were all stunned by this news and stupefied by the missed chances that we had been oblivious to.