‘Well, I guess they’re paying for us all to be here.’
‘They!’ he exclaimed. ‘They! It used to be we, us. I was a founding member of the original project team. I started as a marine engineer, working on the concept of building on reclaimed seabeds. Several of us shared parallel ideas. But ideas aren’t enough. They have to be financed, monetised, packaged, so a new board of directors was formed. Needless to say, I didn’t make that team. They pay the UAE, they pay us all, and look what they get in return! Have you seen much of your husband since he started work?’
Lea’s smile fractionally faded. ‘He’s putting in long hours.’
‘You won’t see him at all from now on, and when you do he’ll be so exhausted he’ll just want to sleep.’ He sighed wearily. ‘We knew it would be hard, but it didn’t turn out as I’d imagined. Things never do.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘I would hate to become known as the grandfather of a project that’s a future watchword for all that’s wrong with the world. I’m not full-time anymore, they just come to me whenever they have a problem nobody else can fix. I guess you heard about some of those?’
‘Only what I read in the papers. The stories seem to have stopped now.’
‘That’s down to Davenport’s latest PR onslaught.’
‘I heard about the workman who froze to death.’
‘It’s the price we pay for leaping into the future.’
‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ said Lea. ‘The business district reminds me of the Emerald City. I keep expecting the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion to come dancing out of the bushes.’
‘That’s because it’s a fantasy. We’re trapped between Eastern and Western ideals. The Arabs don’t have to work. They have an Indian workforce triple the size of their own population. Do you know how many couples here meet for the first time just before their wedding? Is it surprising that when they come out of the mosques and see Western women in tiny bikinis, it offends them? They want tourists but they can’t pick who comes, except by raising prices.’
‘Britain is the same,’ said Lea, ‘only more secretive. Our government is stuffed with Old Etonians who don’t give a damn about the underprivileged.’
‘Good God, a woman with an opinion.’ Milo laughed. ‘You’ll have to be careful about that.’
‘I’m hoping to get a job here.’
‘I wish you the best of luck. Most of our magazines just print glossy guff about sporting events and fashion shows. There’s less moral outrage than in the other UAE countries, of course—you should try living in parts of Saudi Arabia, it’s still the Stone Age there—and here sometimes, just below the surface.’
‘What do you mean?’
Milo waved his hand airily. ‘Oh, raids take place and people go to prison. You never quite find out what’s going on. Everyone knows about the secret police. They had a perfectly workable system before the West arrived. Now they have a sort of polite totalitarian state. Hey, I don’t want to frighten you. I’m meant to be part of the welcoming committee.’
‘It’s a pleasure to find someone I can talk to,’ said Lea.
‘Let’s change the subject. How’s your daughter coping with the move? I assume that’s the pretty girl I see charging about on her bike.’
‘Cara seems to be taking to it well. Of course the weather’s still a novelty. She’s joined the computer club and is going to the beach. The kids at her London school were a pretty wild crowd, and she’s easily led. I didn’t want her getting into drink and drugs.’
‘There’s not too much chance of that happening,’ said Milo. ‘They don’t publicly whip offenders here like they do in Saudi, but arrests are made over tiny quantities of soft drugs and even over-the-counter medicines. In theory you can get a mandatory sentence for being in possession of flu medication. One guy was held after poppy seeds were found on his clothes. It turned out they had fallen off a bread roll he’d eaten at the airport.’
Lea’s eyes widened. ‘Is that for real?’
‘It was in the papers, it must be true.’
She couldn’t tell if he was joking. ‘Do you think Dream World will work?’
‘I don’t see why not. So long as people are rich and stupid enough to want novelties like underwater casinos and refrigerated shops selling fur coats. The Americans won’t come here and the Europeans are too broke, so it’s the turn of the Russians, the South Americans and the Chinese.’
‘That’s what Roy says. But what happens after that?’
‘My dear, there’ll be plenty of things to worry about before we reach that point,’ said Milo, sipping his coffee with a smile. ‘The road to democracy is filled with nasty surprises.’
‘I heard our predecessor got a nasty surprise right outside this house.’
Milo raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean Tom? Old Busabi has been busy. I was here the night he died.’
‘How did he manage to cut through a power cable?’
‘Nobody knows that he did. He’d certainly been using a fairly lethal electric saw to take out dead tree roots—the garden wasn’t like it is now. But he was found dead in the street. It was an odd thing—’
‘Why?’
‘Darling, it was dark. What the hell did he think he was playing at?’
‘What happened to his daughter?’ Lea instantly regretted asking the question.
Milo turned aside and made a fuss of checking his watch. ‘Look at the time, I must be getting on. It’s nearly noon—the safe hour.’
‘What do you mean?’
He pointed up to the ceiling. ‘The sun is directly overhead. There are no shadows at noon. Middle Eastern cultures believe that death hides in the shadows. You’re fine for now.’ He rose and made his way to the front door, turning to her. ‘Oh, don’t look so serious. Silly old men love to tease pretty women. But do one thing for me. Keep an eye on your daughter.’
His change of tone surprised her. ‘Why?’
Milo shrugged. ‘There’s an unhealthy lassitude that descends on rich people at the equator. The heat breeds strange notions.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She has your looks. This is a place where the most primitive beliefs can suddenly resurface.’ He cut himself off. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here to keep an eye on you.’
And with that he was gone.
Chapter Seven
The Next Doors
A YELLOW SCHOOL bus dropped Cara back at the entrance of Dream Ranches every day at five. On the afternoons that Lea took her car to the mall, she drove by the school and collected her daughter. The low white building that housed the classrooms sat in a perfect oblong of brilliant green lawn, surrounded by acres of beige rock and dust.
Cara stood waiting beneath a flat-topped acacia tree, whispering conspiratorially into her phone. Her pale skin had darkened to a permanent soft brown tan, her hair lightening to dirty blond, and regular immersion in seawater had thickened it. Ever since she had been small, she’d rubbed the knuckle of her thumb against her chin when she was stressed. Out here she had suddenly dropped the habit. Her new physicality had become readily apparent, and—shock of shocks—she had started using the school gym most mornings. Perhaps this was what she had needed all along.
‘You have to get a haircut,’ Lea said, pushing open the car door. ‘You’re starting to look like a surfer-chick.’
Cara got in. ‘I’m not going to catch a wave around here. The sea’s like glass.’
‘There’s surf at the Hilton Beach.’
‘It’s mechanical, it’s not the same. Can we take Norah with us?’ She pointed to a girl hanging back by the bushes. ‘She just needs to get to the Arabia Mall.’
‘Hi,’ said Lea, checking her rear-view mirror, ‘I’m Cara’s mother, Lea.’
Norah shot back a salute, two middle fingers from her eyebrow ring, but remained silent. She wore a black woollen cap and heavy black jeans, despite the heat, and went back to checking her emails.
‘Norah
lives next door to us,’ said Cara. ‘She’s been away with her folks in America.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting your family, Norah,’ said Lea.
‘Yeah.’ Norah continued texting, and didn’t look up again until they reached the underground car park at the mall. The girls climbed out.
‘Well,’ said Lea, ‘it was nice meeting you.’ But Norah had already gone, loping toward the elevator bank with Cara in her wake. ‘Bye, then,’ she said to herself. So Norah’s the cool new pal she can’t tear herself away from, she thought. I guess they find more to talk about when I’m not there.
The next morning at 11:00am on the dot, Lea opened her front door to a tall, burnished blonde in her mid-forties, too studiedly thin, with a turned-up nose and a smile that revealed a palisade of artificially whitened teeth.
‘I hear you met my oldest daughter yesterday,’ she said, stepping inside without waiting to be invited, ‘We’re the Next Doors. I’m Colette Larvin. I thought I should drop by and apologise for her. Not that I suppose she said anything.’
‘She was probably shy,’ Lea suggested, as Lastri once more scurried off to begin the mid-morning ritual of setting out coffee and cake.
Colette recognized the remark as politeness and waved it aside. ‘You couldn’t shut her up when she was small. Then she hit her teen years and turned into a deaf-mute. Occasionally I manage to starve her into conversation. Stopping her privileges works too. Sometimes I hide her laptop charger.’
‘Mine’s the same.’
‘Seems like they’re already great friends. What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I’m—what do they call it?—trailing…’
‘Trailing spouse. Me too. Ben is one of the DWG planners. He specialises in electronics, how to fit them into buildings. I think he’s going to be working with your husband. Something about marble—ring any bells?’
‘Believe me, I’ve heard all about it.’
Colette flopped down onto the couch. ‘We’re so sorry we missed your arrival. I’d have been here with the welcome wagon. We were visiting my family in Columbus. But don’t worry, you’ll hear us now we’re back. Rachel’s a little deaf and tends to shout. Don’t mention it, though, because she’s convinced nobody notices.’
‘Rachel’s your other daughter?’
‘No, That’s Abbi. Rachel is my mother-in-law. She insisted on coming out with us to look after the children, but she hates the sun.’
‘So the company paid for all five of you to come here?’
Colette laughed. ‘They must value Ben’s ability to get the job done. He’s putting in crazy hours, shedding weight, going grey, stressed to the max, although weirdly he’s looking kind of hot these days. If this keeps up I’ll be pestering him for sex.’
‘It seems like they have a pretty big responsibility.’
‘Tell me about it. Dream World starts losing around seven million dollars each day it goes past the opening deadline.’
Lastri’s strong coffee and Arabic cakes appeared, set out in their usual place. Lea checked her watch and noticed that she was setting it out at exactly the same time every morning. Clearly the neighbours knew how the system worked and arrived accordingly, subconsciously controlled by their maids and gardeners.
‘I’m glad Cara and Norah have hooked up,’ said Colette. ‘Norah runs her computer club most weeknights. We don’t see her much—Abbi’s the homebody— but at least I can be sure she’s not getting into trouble now.’
‘Why, did she have a habit of getting into trouble?’
‘You’re kidding. We had her on Ritalin for years. We were both out at work and it got too tricky raising children without pharmaceutical help.’
Lea wasn’t sure about putting children on medication. It reminded her of Victorians dosing their babies with laudanum. She changed the subject. ‘So you’ve been here for a while?’
Colette helped herself to a miniscule sliver of cake. ‘Two years, nine months and counting. Ben’s on an open-ended contract.’
‘So you’ll stay after the opening.’
‘If everything goes well and the consortium decides to go ahead with the DWG project in Athens we may stay with them, depending on the girls’ schooling. I told Ben I won’t do Africa, no matter how much they promise to sort out their power supply. Things have been a little strained here since the bombs.’
‘There were bombs?’
‘Didn’t they tell you? Only a couple exploded, they were just low-level pipe-bombs, but no warning was given. Protest groups have to give warning call signs. One of the site foremen found them by the reservoir.’
‘Who do you think put them there?’
‘The cops arrested some Indian workers on the site. It’s convenient for everyone. They’re always upset about working conditions.’ She set down her cup and glanced back at Lastri, lowering her voice. ‘How are you getting along with your maid?’
‘I’m not used to this kind of thing,’ Lea admitted. ‘It feels weird having her around all the time. I don’t need any help running the place. It’s not like anything gets dirty.’
‘You say that now, but you’ll come to depend on her,’ said Colette. ‘You should be careful what you say when they’re in the room. I heard that some of them report back to the police. There’s a rule around here; what happens in the compound stays in the compound.’
‘Why? What’s likely to happen?’
‘A few months back, there was supposedly an attempt by Muslim extremists to radicalise the area, and security was tightened. I mean, we all heard about it but nobody saw anything first-hand. And the maids—suddenly half of them disappeared and were replaced. These new girls just turned up on Monday morning and nobody said a word. It’s like we weren’t supposed to have noticed. You hear some pretty odd things and never get to find out if they’re true.’
‘Milo was regaling me with his fund of horror stories yesterday.’
Colette sat back sharply. ‘Oh, we all talk too much, and a lot of it’s just gossip. Actually it’s kind of zen here, a blank slate you can write what you like on. Listen, did you get yourself a drinking licence?’
‘No, do I need one?’
‘Ex-pats need an alcohol licence to drink, even at home. The police don’t check, but you should get one just in case. Sometimes we do booze-runs to Sharjah and the cops wait to issue us with tickets on the way back.’
‘You mean they know what’s going on?’
‘Sure, it’s all just a big game to remind us that we’re only guests. Speaking of booze, I came over to tell you we’re throwing a welcome bash for you on Saturday. I hope the date’s okay? We’re using your arrival as an excuse for a party. If Ben can get off work he’ll fire up the barbecue. He likes to do it himself. A man is at his happiest when he’s poking a fire with a stick. Rachel and I will do the invitations, and the maids can handle the catering. You have to agree you’ll be there. It’ll be too hot if we leave it until next month.’
‘That’s great,’ said Lea, ‘We’d love to come.’
‘I’m sure we’re going to be good friends.’ Colette rose to leave. ‘People will want to tell you things. Don’t believe everything you hear. I have to get back. It’s cookery class this afternoon. I always look forward to it. Has anyone enrolled you in the Pastry Club?’
Chapter Eight
The Swim
CARA AND NORAH carried the blue plastic icebox between them. A tangerine slice of sun glowed muddily as it reached the lip of the sea.
‘Pollution,’ said Norah, pointing at the horizon. Although she was in a khaki vest and baggies, she still wore her woollen hat. ‘The rays are reaching us through thirty metre bands of shit from the tankers in the navigation channel. The water’s okay, though. Most of the beaches are fake but this one’s real.’
Norah had travelled a lot with her family, and nothing impressed her. ‘They’re building new beaches all along the coast,’ she told Cara. ‘A year ago everyone was broke. Now everyone’s spending like fucking
maniacs.’
‘You come down here every evening?’ Cara asked.
‘Most nights, around sunset. A bunch of us from school, and some boys from the compound who go to the French college. They’re glad to get out of their school because of the cultural fucking imperative.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s financed by the French government, so they’re only allowed to speak French in class. Sometimes we have barbecues. The cops drive down to the shoreline and sit in their jeeps watching us, but they don’t do anything.’
‘What are they looking for? Drugs?’
Norah gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You’re in the wrong place if you’re looking to smoke dope. It happens, just not around here.’ She squinted back at the sun. Her face fell into a natural pout and her pencil-straight hair looked as if it had been dyed black, but this confrontational pose was mitigated by signs of wealth; a Breitling watch, a series of jewelled rings on a chain at her throat. Sudden movements brought out a cat-eyed wariness in her.
‘No dope?’ Cara repeated. ‘You know that for sure?’
‘The clubs in town, they got these pole dancers who put on private shows. Their bosses keep the girls half-starved and pay for their tits to be enlarged. The Chinese are crazy for big tits. That’s where all the drugs are, in the bars. You can get anything if you have enough money and the right connections. It’s sick.’ Cara was unsure whether Norah meant good-sick or bad-sick; she had heard no slang at school or in the compound, probably because there were so many nationalities using the common language of basic English.
Norah high-fived a couple of other kids joining them. ‘The cops are watching for booze,’ she explained. ‘The whole mixed-minors thing freaks them—come on.’ They padded over the hot sand and joined the rest of the group, who were stacking driftwood above the tideline. Half a dozen boys and girls from the school sat in a semi-circle, generic hip-hop playing on a music dock. Cara was surprised by their sombre mood.
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