by Rachel Dann
‘Good morning, you!’ Sebastian’s warm voice fills the kitchen as I realise my phone is on loudspeaker. ‘That’s amazing news! Have you really finished the whole sentence?’
I glance over at Liza, noticing the sudden absence of thwacking sounds, and realise she is standing with her arms folded and eyebrows raised, listening openly.
‘Um… let me just…’ I stumble to my feet and go to stand a little way outside the kitchen doorway, turning my back on her. ‘Yes, the whole thing is done. I actually finished about an hour ago… It was a long night.’
‘Oh, wow! You pulled an all-nighter? I haven’t done one of those since university… hope it wasn’t too tedious for you?
‘Tedious? No way!’ I remember the vivid, emotive descriptions of Naomi’s arrest and the transcript of her subsequent court hearing, in which she’d sobbed and begged the judge to think of her children before sentencing her, and how tears had flowed from my own eyes in compassion for her as I read. ‘It was fascinating, actually. And moving.’ I stop, wondering too late whether Sebastian will consider me a bit mad. ‘I would appreciate a second pair of eyes though. To proofread, you know. Check the grammar, verb endings, that kind of thing.’ I close my eyes, realising I’m rambling but somehow unable to stop. ‘It was actually quite fun, once I got stuck in. Looking up all the legal terms and finding the best way to phrase things.’
‘Wow, a fellow nerd.’ There’s a warm chuckle in Sebastian’s voice. ‘Well, it’s great news that you’ve done it. I’ll check through everything for you and submit it to the Ministry straight away. When do you want me to collect it? I can send a driver this morning if that’s convenient.’
‘Oh… of course. The sooner the better, for Naomi’s sake.’ I suppress a pang of disappointment at the thought of handing the documents to an unknown driver. I don’t know what I had expected – a candlelit dinner invitation, Sebastian poring lovingly over every word of my translation, our heads edging closer as we sat huddled over a bottle of wine, highlighting and underlining… Get a GRIP, I tell myself. This is a professional relationship – the only thing you have in common is the desire to help Naomi.
‘Kristie?’
I realise the phone has gone silent and look up to see Liza standing in the doorway, where she seems to have been shamelessly eavesdropping the whole time, still holding the knife dripping pineapple juice and wearing a businesslike expression.
‘Tell him we’re going to the handicraft shop in an hour to deliver some products,’ she says bossily. ‘He can send a driver to collect it from us there. Now for goodness’ sake stop chatting, I’ve made you English Breakfast Tea and it’s getting cold.’
***
Unlike the prison, the handicraft shop is very much how I imagined. A tiny whitewashed store squashed between a laundrette and a shabby-looking Chinese restaurant, its one small window out to the street crammed with carved statues and picture frames and chess sets, and more of the brightly coloured woven hammocks I recognise from my first day in Liza’s kitchen. During the short fifteen-minute drive we’ve descended into the southern end of Quito where the streets are narrower and dirtier, the buildings more crowded together, and the people carry weary, resigned expressions as they trudge past us to work or school. Liza pulls the car up on to the very narrow pavement and looks carefully around her before going round to open the boot and unload our cargo.
As I get out, another vehicle skids to a sudden halt a few feet in front of us. My heart catches in my chest as I recognise the dusty blue Land Rover, the diplomatic plates, and the bouncing black dog pressing his nose energetically against the rear window.
‘Hey – let me help with those!’ Sebastian bounds out of the driver’s side and presses a button to lock the car behind him with a beep and flash of lights. He lifts the first box effortlessly out of the car and follows Liza to where she is fussing to get the shop door unlocked.
‘Hey, Kristie,’ he throws me a wink over his shoulder, and I can’t help but giggle at his use of my ‘Ecuadorian’ name in Liza’s presence. As Sebastian hauls the remaining boxes into the shop, refusing any help from Liza or me, I go over to his car and push my hand through the slightly open window, stroking Lewis’s ears. He rests his head on the back of the seat, closes his eyes and makes a little huffing sound.
‘Wow, he doesn’t usually let people do that,’ Sebastian says, coming up behind me. ‘Too hyperactive. Look… I hope you don’t mind me dropping by in person to collect the documents. But all our drivers were, well, really busy, and it seemed easier this way.’
Mind?
‘No, course not! I’ll go and get them now…’ I hurry back to the car, conscious that Sebastian is on work time at the moment and must already be in enough of a hurry if he has had to drive all this way to the south of Quito to collect the documents himself, in the opposite direction to the embassy.
We go inside the shop and I hold out the carefully stapled folder to Sebastian, feeling suddenly hesitant. Lewis follows us and settles down on a cardboard box in the corner with a contented sigh, his eyes never leaving his master.
‘It’s all in order… the certificates are first, then the sentence…’ Sebastian moves to take it from me, but, ludicrously, I find myself clutching it back to my chest, my heart rate suddenly quickening. ‘Look, I won’t be offended if it’s no good. Really. Or if you need to hire someone else to edit it all. I used a legal dictionary and everything, but, you know, my Spanish isn’t…’
Sebastian’s quizzical expression melts into a smile and he sits down on the table opposite me, his legs swinging from the edge. ‘Kirsty…’
I look up from the folder where it is still clutched to my chest. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m sure you’ve done a great job. Really. From the first certificates you translated I was left in no doubt about that. Now, if I could just…’ He reaches his hand out and gently prises the folder away from me. ‘I’ll check through it all myself this afternoon. Then I just need you to sign a declaration before a notary… I’ll let you know where to go and how… and they’re all ready to be submitted to the Ministry.’ He looks down at the folder, breaking into a smile. ‘And with all the supporting documents I’ve prepared – medical reports from the UK about Naomi’s father and his condition, petitions from all her family members to consider the case on compassionate grounds – it won’t be long at all before they call her final hearing.’
A shot of adrenaline jolts through me, as I realise all over again the significance of what we are doing. ‘And that’s when they’ll decide whether Naomi’s sentence is reduced… whether she might go free?’
‘Yes. In principle, if they decide in the hearing to reduce her sentence, it’s just a case of sending a formal notification to the prison and issuing her release warrant… then she’s out.’
I briefly squeeze my eyes shut, not knowing how to voice the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. Again, I remember Naomi’s spontaneous tears and heartfelt hug when I offered to help her. To think I might actually have managed to get her home sooner… why had I ever doubted my ability to do the translations?
‘I know – pretty intense, isn’t it?’ Sebastian’s voice is gentle. ‘I’ve already been through this process with three others, from the men’s prison… but no one, I think, has affected me like Naomi. What with her dad and everything.’
‘God, is there any news on that?’ I hadn’t dared ask Liza or Gabi if they’d heard anything.
‘Yes… he’s still in the hospice. Her mother calls me every few days now. Hanging on by a thread, it seems. They’re all convinced he’s waiting for her… oh!’
Sebastian jumps up guiltily at the loud, irritated, throat-clearing sounds coming from the other end of the room. I look up to see Liza, arms folded, standing by the small cash register at the far end of the shop, all the bags we unloaded from the car in a disordered pile at her feet.
‘Am I going to get some help unpacking all this?’ The tone of her
voice leaves no room for argument.
It takes Sebastian and me about twenty minutes to unwrap the various items and find room for them on the shelves lining all four walls of the tiny shop. We work away in companionable silence, Sebastian only pausing every so often, to throw a treat to Lewis, or intervene, laughing, just in time to stop him destroying a cardboard box or ball of newspaper. For me, the methodical, manual work is a perfect distraction from Harry’s angry outburst this morning. We hadn’t exchanged a single word before I left the house with Liza, and I only went back upstairs to grab a change of clothes then stomp back out again, ignoring Harry’s searching gaze as I close the door behind me. If he thinks he can speak to me like that…
As we work, Liza fusses and grumbles to herself at the till.
‘Oh, I wish Gabriela was here,’ she mutters. ‘I can’t make head or tail of what she’s written here…’
Sebastian and I exchange glances and roll our eyes as we take one end each of a large, bright-purple hammock to unfold it from its packaging.
‘Are you sure you don’t have to be at the office?’ I ask guiltily. ‘Not that I… want you to go or anything.’
He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘They won’t miss me for an hour or so. It’s not like I haven’t been putting the hours in…’ After we’ve draped the hammock artistically from one end of the shelves, he bends to unwrap a wooden photo frame. ‘Hey, Liza, is this one of Marta’s?’
Liza looks up distractedly from tapping on the till keys, and squints at the frame. ‘Yes, I think so. Everything should be labelled underneath with the prisoner’s initials.’ She looks over at me. ‘So we know where to direct any proceeds from selling the items, you see.’
I step closer to Sebastian to admire the detailed carving all around the edge of the rectangular frame. It’s just bare wood, rough and unvarnished, but the intricately carved pattern of interwoven vines and flowers must have taken hours of work.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ I gasp, wondering at how something so simple and perfect could be produced inside a place so bleak. ‘Is that the Marta… that Naomi knows? The older lady?’
‘Yep.’ Sebastian turns the frame over in his hands and carefully places it on a shelf, right in the front window. ‘She doesn’t take part in the workshops much. But when she does, everyone can see she has talent. She used to sew as well… giant colourful tapestries that took months to complete.’
I remember the diminutive, quiet lady, and Naomi’s story of how she was forced to carry the drugs which put her in prison.
‘How much would that frame cost?’ I ask Liza, realising at the same time I left the house with nothing more than the folder of documents for Sebastian, and have no money on me at all.
‘Oh, I expect we’ll charge about twenty dollars for that, tops,’ Liza replies. ‘One of the higher-end products, for sure.’ She sees my horrified face, and explains, ‘Don’t forget – everyone knows these things are made by prisoners. They know we’re not here to make a big profit. People come here for cheap gifts, or tourists occasionally drop in for the sheer novelty value. We have to keep the prices low in order to have something at least to send back to the girls at the end of each month.’
I make a mental note to find my way back here and buy the frame for twice the asking price.
Sebastian has gone over to the back of the shop to arrange some big wooden carvings of famous people and cartoon characters, painted in gaudy colours.
‘I recognise these a mile off – the two French girls do them, right?’ He’s dusting off a waist-high statue of Michael Jackson. ‘They always try ambitious projects. I’ve got to admire them for it. Although… not sure I’d want this in my living room.’
‘What about these? Who makes them?’ I hold up a carved tree-shaped object, full of little holes along its rudimentary branches. ‘And what actually is it?’
Sebastian comes over and takes the object from me, then stands it up on the end of a shelf. ‘It’s an earring tree – see…’ Then he reaches up and gently unhooks my own earring from my ear, before looping it through one of the holes on the tree. ‘Naomi used to make these, actually. And her cellmate, Victoria. This might even be one of hers… yes, look.’ He turns the tree over to show me the little red sticker bearing the initials ‘V.R.Y.’ ‘This is one of hers.’
My hand automatically goes up to my ear, tingling from Sebastian’s unexpected touch. ‘Pregnant Victoria?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. Sorry – didn’t mean to steal your earring.’ He looks suddenly embarrassed.
I smile awkwardly, a strange, warm feeling spreading through me as I realise
Sebastian seems to recognise all the handicrafts and their creators. I turn away hurriedly to continue unpacking the box of earring trees, hoping he doesn’t see the expression on my face.
‘So…how’s your father getting on? Did they make it to the Galápagos okay?’ Sebastian finally breaks the silence.
‘Oh, yes, thank you – he let me know as soon as he arrived that it all went smoothly, they had no problem travelling without a passport once they showed the police reports and that letter you did… thank you so much again for that.’ I smile at him in what I hope is a convincing way, not wanting to tell him that all I have heard from my father since he left for the Galápagos two days ago was a one-line email, saying ‘We’ve arrived. It’s too hot, and the internet keeps going down. I’ll be in touch soon about our return date to Quito. Love, Dad.’ At least he’d stopped signing off his emails ‘best wishes’, but even so, it felt like a bit of an anticlimax after his warm farewell hug in the hotel lobby. I’d replied as cheerfully as possible, sending him a few links to restaurants and museums we might go to once he’s back in the city. I’m determined to make our last few days together in Quito unforgettable…
Sebastian is holding my gaze for a little longer than normal, and turning over another earring tree in his hands. ‘That’s… great,’ he says finally. ‘You must be looking forward to seeing him again.’
Just then my phone buzzes to life on the table and makes us both jump.
I see Harry’s name pop up on the screen and immediately reach out and cut he call off. After this morning, the last thing I want to do is talk to him… but the phone immediately lights up again, buzzing insistently. Oh God, he’s not going to give up. I can feel Sebastian watching me as I watch the phone.
‘Excuse me a moment… I’d better get this,’ I mutter, grabbing the phone and marching to the far corner of the room, hunching behind a large wooden statue of Bart Simpson, feeling Sebastian, Liza and Lewis all watch me go.
‘I can’t talk right now,’ I hiss, as soon as I pick up the phone. Harry ignores me.
‘Kirsty, I’m so sorry about this morning.’ His voice is solemn, hoarse – if I didn’t know Harry better I’d even think he had been crying. But I’ve never, ever known Harry to cry.
‘Can you forgive me?’ he pleads. ‘I completely overreacted. I know you were just asking, but they really were work calls…’
‘Harry, I can’t talk right now,’ I repeat firmly, glancing back at the shop floor where Liza is unashamedly watching me from across the shop. Sebastian is, at least, focusing his attention on arranging one of the shelves at the far end of the room, but I’m still conscious the space we’re in is potentially small enough for everyone in the room to hear my conversation, Bart Simpson or no Bart Simpson.
‘Please, babe, I was just feeling stressed, I didn’t mean to overreact like that. They were just a few calls I was doing for Luke. He asked me to phone a student who hasn’t been showing up lately. You have to believe me.’
Do I? I keep the phone clasped to my ear but have no idea what to say back. The truth is too hard to voice… I don’t think I can believe you.
‘Look, Luke’s given me the day off today. Why don’t we go out for lunch or something when you get back? Somewhere nice?’
‘I can’t talk now,’ I repeat numbly. ‘I’ll see you when
I get back.’ I determinedly end the call and fix a nothing-to-see-here smile on my face before heading back over to the handicrafts, dropping my phone on the nearest surface.
But no sooner has my phone hit the table than it starts ringing again.
I whirl round impatiently, not looking at the screen before snatching it up.
‘Harry, I just said let’s talk when—’
‘IT’S NAOMI!’ She cuts me off, yelling through the terrible signal. ‘I’VE BORROWED SOMEONE’S PHONE – don’t tell anyone!’ I sink back into a chair, exhaling in surprise and relief.
‘Naomi… hi. Is everything okay?’ The line is crackling and stuttering and I can barely hear her reply.
‘Dario, my eldest, just got his A-level results! I’m so happy, he’s done it, he’s really done it!’ The joy in her voice is contagious. My shoulders relax and I find myself forgetting Harry and allowing the smile to spread across my face. ‘Guess what? He got two Bs and a C! That’s enough to get into uni… he’s really done it…’ Her voice trails off, and as I hold my phone away from my ear to check for a signal, I hear a sob.
‘Naomi, that’s wonderful!’
I listen to her blabber incomprehensibly, making out snatches of words such as ‘first-choice university’ and ‘so proud’ and, finally, through a choked sob, ‘all I could ever ask for’.
Something in my throat catches as I try to imagine what it must be like to love another person that much, to feel their every success and failure alongside them, as intensely as or even more so than if it were your own. Yet again I find myself yearning to experience that selfless love as a parent, to make another person my centre and my reason for being. As Naomi continues to cry in my ear, I find my own eyes are damp as well.
I hold the phone against my chest for a moment and wave at Liza and Sebastian. ‘Hey, Liza, Seb, it’s Naomi!’ I call across the room. ‘Her son just passed his A-levels and is going to university!’ They both look up from the unpacking and beam, calling out their congratulations.