Beneath a Burning Sky

by Jenny Ashcroft

  Cleo stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Umi always used to let me when we lived at the beach.’

  Nailah shook her head, mouth pressed tight, thinking of the police and soldiers who might yet be roaming the neighbourhood.

  ‘Go with her,’ said Isa. ‘I can watch Babu.’

  ‘I need to finish these potatoes, then there’s the sheets, the floors.’

  ‘I don’t want you to come with me anyway,’ said Cleo in the dangerously shaky voice she got when tears were close by. ‘I want to be by myself.’

  ‘We all want to be by ourselves,’ Nailah snapped. She nearly reached out to belt Cleo. She stopped herself just in time. She was too tired, that was the problem; it was the late nights with Kafele, this worry over Babu’s new bout of sickness, money, the laundry, all the rest of it. Cleo’s sulking felt like ingratitude.

  ‘Why does everyone want to be alone?’ Isa asked. ‘Company is such a pleasure.’

  ‘I just do.’ Cleo raised brimming eyes to Nailah.

  Nailah threw up her hands, a shred of potato peel fell from her knife, plopped into the bowl, flicking her with earthy water. ‘Go then,’ she said.

  Cleo picked up the small bag she carried everywhere and ran from the room. Her hair flew behind her, her sandals made a tap-a-tap on the stairs. Nailah, remembering the happy way she had used to trot off from Tabia’s hut, felt sick with shame at her quick temper.

  ‘Follow her,’ said Isa. ‘But if you want my advice, don’t let her see you.’ She frowned uncertainly at the rumpled mattresses, the breakfast things still strewn on the table. ‘I’ll help with the chores if I can.’

  ‘Just keep an eye on Babu,’ said Nailah, then hurried away.

  She trailed Cleo’s footsteps at some distance, watching her weaving at waist height around the street vendors, the carts of vegetables and livestock, increasingly puzzled as to where she could be going. They turned into a quieter passage, passing a small café where bearded men sat bent over backgammon, glasses of mint tea in hand. A hookah shop was next door, a carpet stall. They turned again, past a house, another house. Nailah let the distance between her and Cleo grow, instinct as well as Isa’s advice warning her to allow Cleo privacy for whatever this errand of hers was.

  Cleo turned a corner, then another, and abruptly Nailah realised where she was headed. Oh, little one.

  She came to a halt at the entrance to a stone courtyard, empty of people, of mess, of anything except a trickling fountain. Tabia had used to bring her here as a treat, all the way from their hut up the coast. Nailah had come with them once, just after she’d started at the Pashas’. Tabia had handed Cleo a coin fashioned out of foil, she had whispered that Cleo should throw it in the fountain, just as Tabia had as a child, and wish for whatever she wanted. The good spirits are listening.

  Nailah watched now as Cleo knelt in front of the fountain, as Tabia had shown her. She reached down into her bag and brought out Tabia’s shawl, pressing it to her face. Nailah’s throat swelled at her hunched shoulders, the way she held herself so still. After a moment, Cleo set the shawl down on the wall and reached into the bag again. This time it was Tabia’s chipped cup that she brought out, one which Nailah had been looking for. Cleo pressed her lips to the rim, her back rising, falling, as though she were breathing deep, drawing Tabia’s touch in. She set the cup down with a clink on the wall. The final item she brought from the bag was a tarnished chain. This she placed around her own neck. Then she did nothing. She just knelt, hands clasped together.

  She had no coin with her. She threw nothing in the water.

  Nailah held her breath, waiting for her to reach into her bag and fetch one.

  But she didn’t. The minutes passed. Cleo made no wish.

  Eventually, she repacked her bag. Not knowing whether she was doing the right or the wrong thing but feeling there was little else she could do, Nailah hid in her corner, waiting for Cleo’s padded footsteps to pass, and then trailed her home. She cut through a side street as they neared the house so that she could be there when Cleo arrived.

  ‘You’ve been so long,’ Isa said the instant Nailah opened the door. She had Babu in her arms, her elegant robes were covered with vomit, and her face was wild with anxiety. ‘He’s been puking and shitting since you left, he’s like an iron he’s so hot now. You need to take this boy to a doctor. He’s sicker than I’ve ever seen a babe who has a life yet to live. Although,’ Isa held up Socrates’ bag of half-finished medicine in the hand not grasping Babu, ‘tell me, daughter, where did you find the money to pay for care such as this?’

  Nailah shook her head impatiently and walked breathlessly into the room. ‘Sit down,’ she said, ‘I want everything to look normal when Cleo gets here.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ asked Isa, medicine still raised in her hand.

  ‘Full of grief. I haven’t paid her enough attention. She’s a child too, just a child. I’ve let Tabia down.’

  ‘It’s too much, you taking all this on.’

  ‘Who’s to do it if not me? You?’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘You haven’t been here. You’re never here.’

  ‘I send money.’

  ‘Never enough.’

  ‘Everything I earn, Nailah.’

  ‘But it’s not you. I’ve wanted you.’

  Heat filled Isa’s face.

  Nailah took a deep breath, steadying herself.

  At length, Isa asked, ‘What are we going to do about this child? Are you going to take him to this doctor, or am I?’

  ‘Just wait. We’ll try and cool him. I’d rather get him better here.’

  By noon, though, Babu was refusing to wake and the poky room stank with his streaming faeces and vomit. Cleo, who had spoken little since returning, hugged her knees as Isa and Nailah wrapped Babu in sacking, the only clean cloth they had left.

  ‘Stay with Cleo,’ Nailah said to Isa. ‘She’s scared. Tell her one of your stories. You’ve always been good at those.’

  ‘How far away is the surgery?’

  ‘Far enough.’

  ‘Is there anyone who could take you? A neighbour?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Nailah, wondering if Kafele might be close by.

  She decided to try the dockside warehouses. Kafele kept rooms there, as did most of his big suppliers; if he was anywhere in the quarter, he was most likely there. She ran straight for the cavernous stone buildings. She felt a rush of warmth on her waist as Babu soiled himself again, but she didn’t stop, not until she reached the first alleyway behind the storerooms. Then she froze. Because there on the cobbles, amidst the crates and strewn rubbish, was a soldier in baggy trousers. He had a bald head, sun-withered skin, and bright, alert eyes. Nailah remembered him as the same man she had seen with the captain at Tabia’s hut. Fadil. He was head to head with another Egyptian in workmen’s overalls. There was no one else around. Instinct told Nailah the man in overalls was the informant Kafele had mentioned. Garai.

  She edged closer, straining to hear what Garai said. (‘I only had it confirmed yesterday, I didn’t want to waste your time until I knew.’) She shifted her weight, rubbed the stitch in her side. She kept silent, she didn’t want Garai or Fadil to see her eavesdropping.

  But then, out of nowhere, Sana appeared, carrying a basket, apparently heading for the docks. Nailah cursed, realising she must be taking lunch to her fisherman husband.

  Sana called, ‘What are you doing here, Miss Hoity-toity?’

  Both men turned.

  Fadil frowned. ‘Nailah?’

  ‘You remember me?’ she asked.

  ‘You know her?’ said Sana at the same time.

  Babu croaked and puked phlegm.

  ‘What’s wrong with your cousin?’ asked Sana.

  Nailah winced. In the same second, Fadil said, ‘Cousin?’

  Nailah felt herself pale. She managed to say something about going to a doctor.

  ‘I’ll take you,’ said Fadil. His black horse snorted behind him. It dipped it
s head, chomped on the metal in its mouth, eyes glinting. Monster’s eyes in a monstrously sized head.

  Had the horse who’d stomped over Tabia been so full of muscle?

  ‘I’d rather go alone,’ Nailah croaked.

  Fadil said no, he’d take her and her cousin himself.

  The man, Garai, stared, obviously bemused. Sana’s eyes had become slits through her veil.

  ‘Come,’ said Fadil.

  Seeing she had no choice, Nailah did what every instinct in her body fought against.

  She let Fadil lift her onto his horse.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Edward was waiting for Olivia when she came into the driveway in her riding habit. He wasn’t in uniform, just a white shirt that accentuated his tan, polo trousers and long boots. Neither of them spoke as Alistair came from the house too, then looked them up and down. Under his scrutiny, Olivia instinctively took a step sideways, lengthening the distance between her and Edward. Alistair’s eyes twitched. Her stomach turned. No, she thought, surely not. He’ll kill me if he’s guessed. She held his gaze, told herself she was imagining it.

  ‘Are you to the office, Sheldon?’ Edward’s voice was measured.

  ‘Yes,’ Alistair said slowly, ‘some of us have to work. But I won’t be long, I’ll call for you at the Pashas’.’ He turned for the stables. ‘Make sure you wait for me there.’

  Olivia waited until he was far enough away not to hear, and, pushing his cold stare from her mind, said, ‘Let’s not.’

  A smile spread across Edward’s face.

  And for the first time in a week, in spite of everything, Olivia felt her own cheeks lift in response.

  She talked, something about having sent word ahead for Jeremy to have the boys ready; she wasn’t sure exactly what she said. Edward was looking at her in a way that made her pulse pump. She could concentrate on nothing else.

  Alistair trotted past them, back ramrod straight, tails arranged perfectly over his hunter’s rear; a distinguished picture that was somewhat undermined when his horse lifted its tail and dropped a train of steaming dung by the garden gate.

  Edward laughed. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  Olivia widened her arms. ‘As you see.’

  He led the way to the stables. He had his stallion tacked up in less than a minute. Olivia’s fumbling fingers took rather longer. She tangled the reins as she pulled them over Bea’s ears, then made a mess of buckling up the girth. She dug her elbow into Bea’s soft belly, trying to force the metal prong through the eye of the strap. Flushing with the effort, she snatched a look at Edward.

  He leant against the doorframe, one leather boot crossed in front of the other, watching. ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘I’m almost there.’ She blew a loose curl from her forehead and, giving up, slotted the buckle closed on the next hole down. ‘There.’

  ‘You’ll slip off if you leave it that loose.’

  ‘It won’t go any tighter.’

  He clicked his tongue, appearing to ruminate. ‘You know of course that it will, that it has done many times before?’ He was laughing at her.

  And for some reason, even though nothing was particularly funny, she laughed back.

  He ambled over, looked down at her, and, with frustrating ease, flicked the buckle into place. ‘Now your bottom can stay just where it should be.’

  ‘How kind.’

  Edward grinned. A light danced in his features, the one which had been so conspicuously absent recently, and she thought, This place deadens him, then, Oh God, do I do that too?

  They led their horses outside. Edward crouched at Olivia’s feet, hands cupped, just as he had done so many times before. She placed her heel in his palms, feeling the swift push of his lift, and grasped the saddle as she swung into it, one leg either side, just the way he had taught her. She straightened her habit’s skirts, proper, waited for Edward to come alongside her, then walked Bea on. Edward matched his stallion’s pace to Bea’s as they left the driveway. He looked Olivia up and down, assessing her. She dipped her heels, shortened her reins, feel the bit in the mouth, and arched an eyebrow at him.

  His eyes sparked. ‘Good, that’s good.’

  They stopped whilst he talked to the Bedouin at the gate. Olivia had sent a basket of vegetables out to them the night before, and the mother was shelling the beans, shawl draped loosely over her head, whilst her boys gathered sticks. Edward’s tone as he spoke was soft, kind, and theirs in response was friendly. Olivia asked what they were saying, and Edward told her that he had been asking if they were all right. The mother was a widow, he worried about her. ‘She won’t tell me what brought her here. I’m hoping if I keep talking to her like this, she’ll come round.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s had anything to do with Clara?’

  ‘No, no. But there’s something odd about her bringing her boys here. They only lived a few miles away before, in Montazah actually. Why make the move? To the house of a man they detest?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t work it out.’

  Olivia frowned. Put like that, it didn’t make much sense to her either.

  She waited whilst Edward said something else to the mother. He told Olivia they should go. The boys patted their horses’ silky skin, then hooted as Edward kicked off into a canter. When Olivia turned and looked, they were running after them in the sunshine, cropped trousers flapping around skinny calves.

  She and Edward broke onto the coast road, Olivia breathed deep on the salt air, basked in the wind on her cheeks, threw her head back and her eyes to the blue heavens. God, but it was good to be outside. Her chest expanded, pressing against the bone bars of her grief, her skin rippled under the speed and the air and the hot, hot sun in the piercing sky. She brought her gaze back down and fixed it on the strength of Edward’s back, certain of only one thing: that this day held something within it.

  Jeremy was in the bougainvillea-covered porch when they got there, a typically enraged Gus lopsided in his arms, watching as Hassan and El Masri saddled up the carriage horses. Hassan waved at Olivia, El Masri simply nodded. She flicked a look at the front door. She could almost feel Clara’s shadowy form lurking within, just out of sight. How splendid. What fun.

  Ralph, dressed for the heat in knickerbockers, waistcoat, tie, long socks and starched shirt (poor child), stood beside Hassan, trailing what looked like a lasso on the ground. He came running the moment he glimpsed Olivia and Edward.

  ‘Are you a cowboy now?’ asked Edward.

  ‘Can I ride with you, please?’ Ralph squinted up, freckled nose wrinkling beneath his straw boater. ‘I don’t want to go in the carriage like a baby. The Pasha boys will make fun.’

  ‘Tell them they’ll have to deal with me if they do,’ said Jeremy, joining them. He shifted Gus’s position so that he was facing outward, plump legs stretched taut as he wailed, and gave Olivia and Edward a strained smile. ‘It’s good of you to come like this,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Ralph’s been excited.’

  Edward dropped down to the ground. He took Ralph under the arms and hoisted him up into the saddle. ‘We need to see about some lessons for you,’ he said.

  ‘Wilkins is coming to call,’ said Jeremy, ‘he wants to talk about progress.’

  Edward gave a short, humourless laugh.

  ‘He’s asked for Sheldon to be here,’ said Jeremy.

  ‘He’s already gone to the office,’ said Olivia.

  Jeremy nodded, he didn’t seem particularly put out. ‘Mildred’s gone into town too,’ he said. ‘She left after breakfast, off to pester Wilkins, no doubt. I didn’t stop her, or tell her Wilkins was coming here. I didn’t say you were either, Livvy. I thought you’d be glad to miss her.’

  ‘You were right,’ said Olivia, taken aback by his thoughtfulness. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ He held out Gus. ‘Do you mind taking him in the carriage? He’s too young to ride, and Sofia’s having the morning off. She’s gone to see her family. I’ll get someone to take your horse back.�
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  ‘Of course.’ Olivia dismounted. As she took Gus in her arms, his crying eased and he gave her what might have been a small smile.

  ‘Look at that,’ said Jeremy, taking Bea’s reins, ‘he knows you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Olivia patted his bottom. She found herself examining his features, needing to check for a resemblance after all. But his skin was creamy olive to Edward’s golden tan, his pretty face showed no hint of Edward’s definition. His brown eyes were darker, almost black, and his hair was blacker too, no light flecks; not the same, no, not at all.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Edward.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. She turned for the carriage, the one she hadn’t ridden in since the day they lost Clara. She tightened her hold on Gus with each passing step.

  Jeremy walked with her, leading Bea on. ‘Which beach are you off to after the Pashas’?’ he asked.

  ‘Montazah,’ she replied, and wondered if she imagined the flash of alarm in his eyes. It was gone in the instant.

  He said, ‘I want to apologise, Livvy. I was shamefully behaved the last time I saw you here, that day after Clara went. Like a common drunkard. I absolutely crossed the line. It won’t happen again. I…’ he sighed, ‘well, I let myself down, Clara down, by falling apart like that.’

  ‘Clara said you were being awful, you know,’ said Olivia, ‘before she disappeared.’

  ‘She was right. I was.’

  Olivia looked at him askance. She hadn’t expected him to admit it. ‘Why did you take her away?’

  ‘I’m not sure it matters any more,’ he said. ‘Just that I brought her back.’ He hooked his free hand beneath her elbow, helping her into the carriage. Her thick riding skirts formed a cushion for Gus. ‘Now we need to find her.’

  ‘If we can.’

  ‘We must.’

  ‘You won’t consider going to the papers? Giles Morton at The Times wrote. He asked if he could talk to me.’

  ‘Best not for now.’

  ‘Why? What is all this secrecy, Jeremy?’

  Jeremy gave her a long look. ‘If I told you that you don’t want to know, would you believe me?’