by Nora James
She hadn’t left her husband before. Being without him in this country of dust and danger was hard enough, but being here wondering about Tim’s feelings was torture. And she had to admit, no matter how many times she told herself it was silly, no matter how much she wanted to trust Tim, no matter how forcefully and repeatedly she pushed the thought aside, she was having doubts.
Out of breath from running up the stairs two at a time, she picked up the receiver, dialling the five digit code and the thirteen digit phone number she knew so well. It rang. At least she wasn’t having any problems getting a connection today.
It rang again and again, and she checked her watch. What was she doing? It was close to five in the afternoon over there. The answering machine came on and she blurted out she’d try getting hold of Tim at work.
There must have been quite a few messages on the machine for the phone to ring that long before the recording was activated. She knew Tim. He’d probably leave them on it until she came home.
There were things like that he never did. They had become her job by unspoken mutual understanding, just as putting petrol in the car and clearing the gutters were his. That’s what married couples did, she reasoned—they were a team with a division of labour to ensure each member was depended upon.
She smiled to herself. Yes, Tim needed her, just as much as she needed him. She dialled her husband’s office and heard Martha’s tired drawl as she answered after just one ring.
“Hi, Martha. It’s Lara. Lara Beckham,” she added, just in case Martha really was as useless as Tim kept saying.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to get hold of Tim. Is he there?”
“Hmm. . .just a minute.”
Lara felt her shoulders relax. She was finally being put through. It had taken her forever to get hold of her husband and she realised then, in that brief moment before finally crossing the winning line, that the effort of putting on a brave face had been taking its toll.
Just as she sighed with relief, a continuous beeping sounded in her ear. “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, holding her forehead. She had been cut off.
“Are you coming?” called Martin, the impatience in his voice growing.
“Sorry. One minute.” She dialled Tim’s mobile. He didn’t always have it on, often he even forgot it, on purpose, she suspected, to get away from work, but it was her last hope.
It rang three times and her heart sank. She knew that on the fourth ring tone it would go to Tim’s message bank.
“Hello?”
“Tim, my darling!” she gushed, her heart thumping, not expecting he’d finally pick up the call. “It’s so nice to hear your voice. Where are you?”
“In the car. Going to music, remember.”
She smiled to herself. The band, of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It was Wednesday here, but Tuesday back home and he always left work early on Tuesdays. “Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re hard to get hold of.”
“No, I’m not.” His voice was harsh and unforgiving. It silenced her for a moment. She was a child shunned by her best friend, hurt, in shock.
She shook herself and carried on. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. It’s that with the time difference and both of us busy with work. . .anyway, I miss you. So much.”
She heard him take a deep breath. “Is everything going well over there?” he asked.
“Hard to say. We’re meeting the government this morning. Hopefully I’ll know a bit more later today. I’m hanging onto the thought we’ll be coming home very soon. Fingers crossed.”
“Oh.” He paused and Lara wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Was he annoyed, happy, neutral? It was the first time she really couldn’t tell. “Any idea when?” he finally asked.
“Best case scenario I’ll be home for the weekend.” She waited. He said nothing. “Is everything all right?” she asked, trying to stop the quaver in her voice.
“Fine.”
This wasn’t the conversation she’d imagined. He hadn’t whispered sweet nothings in her ear. He seemed so distant, even business-like, as if they had no intimacy whatsoever. She wondered if he was upset she’d gone, upset she’d taken a job that had landed her on the other side of the world.
Perhaps it was a classic case of miscommunication. Perhaps he no longer wanted to live this way and was coming around to the idea that they move to a smaller home and start a family. It had been a while since they’d last talked it over.
“Lara, we have to go now!” Martin yelled from the bottom of the staircase.
“I guess you heard that,” she said to Tim.
“It’s OK. You go.”
“I’ll call you again as soon as I can. You can try me here in the morning or late in the evening if you want to call. Not after eleven or so, though, or you’ll wake the whole household.”
“I’ll try, but I’m pretty busy at work, too.”
“All right. I’d better go or I think I’ll get the sack. Wish I could hold you right now.”
“Speak to you–” Before Tim could finish his sentence she heard it. Distinctly. A cough and then a feminine “Oops” inadvertently blurted out. Or was it calculated?
“What was that?” Lara asked, her eyes wide, her nostrils flaring.
“What?”
“I heard someone cough and say oops.”
“Oh. The radio. An ad for, uh, cough syrup.”
“Lara, we’re leaving.” Jack had come upstairs to get her. She turned to him and nodded.
“The radio? It didn’t sound like the radio.”
“We’re going right now,” yelled Martin from the bottom of the stairs. “Right now!”
“I really have to go. But call me, Tim. Make sure you call me.” As she hung up and raced down the steps two by two behind Jack, her stomach in knots, her face drooped. There was an emptiness in her heart she couldn’t control.
Tim hadn’t even said he loved her. And that cough wasn’t a radio commercial. It was nearly summer in Australia.
There was someone there in the car with Tim, her Tim, and he’d tried to cover it up. She felt anger mounting like a volcano ready to explode. Tim was with another woman and he didn’t want Lara to know. There only seemed to be one possible explanation for that, an explanation Lara couldn’t bear to face right now.
IX
The Minister’s office was at the end of an interminable corridor. On their way, Lara, Jack and Martin passed office after office of grey concrete floors and tatty furniture, the kind you would find in a verge side rubbish collection in the average Australian suburb.
Most of the time their occupants froze in their conversations or tasks to stare at the trio. Normally, Lara would have smiled at them or at least nodded to acknowledge their presence. Instead, images of Tim in his car—no, their car—a mysterious woman by his side, kept assaulting her mind, distracting her as they took her back home and away from Negala.
She drew a long breath, trying to clear her mind. This was an important meeting. She had to concentrate.
They entered a room the size of a comfortable apartment. Space was the only luxury, though. Although the room was decorated to reflect the Minister’s status, with pictures on the wall, a rug here and there and a fancy pen on the desk, even an untrained eye could see the limitations imposed by a virtually non-existent budget. A large photo of the President of Negala in military clothing hung on the wall, but in a plastic frame. The worn brown vinyl was peeling off the cushions of the visitors’ chairs and there were no light fittings, only bulbs.
The Minister shook hands with Jack and Martin, simply squinting at Lara. Martin had told her it had everything to do with Negalese custom and nothing to do with belittling her or women in general. There was to be no direct contact between the sexes, unless you were married or related, as Jack had further explained. That suited Lara just fine.
The Minister sat down again behind his desk while Kalim Soubouda, the male secretary who
had made excuses for the Minister’s absence at their last scheduled meeting, stood proudly by his side. A younger man, perhaps even in his teens, moved about gently. He made room on a side table for tall, silver, hand-painted glasses, then tidied books and rearranged papers that didn’t need straightening.
Another man entered with a teapot. He poured the golden liquid, lowering then lifting his arm with the grace of a swan. The scent of fresh mint filled the air.
The Minister directed his gaze at Jack, Martin and Lara, one after the other. “Are you enjoying your stay in Negala?”
Jack took the lead. “Very much so. We all are. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Lara and Martin nodded their agreement. They were offered tea on a silver tray. Once everyone had taken a sip with apparent satisfaction the Minister got down to business.
“Mr Jack, Mr Martin, Mrs Lara.” He paused purposely and flashed a smile to reveal three shiny gold teeth. “Global Oil and Negala have long been friends.”
Martin nodded. “Absolutely. We are proud of it and looking forward to continuing that relationship.”
“Yes, so is Negala.” The Minister moved back in his seat and examined them meticulously, showing no intention of continuing the conversation.
After a few long seconds, Jack intervened. “The continuation of our relationship on the best of terms is a priority. That is why we are hoping you will be able to clarify what seems to be an error.”
Jack slid a copy of the troublesome letter he’d been holding, across the desk to the Minister. “This seems to be saying that our exploration permit is going to be revoked. I believe the person who wrote this was operating under a misconception.”
“Someone new in the Ministry, perhaps?” Martin smiled politely. He was on his best behaviour.
The Minister sat as immobile as a statue at his desk, his face expressionless. He barely glanced at the correspondence before him. Martin leaned forward, turning slightly towards Lara. “The legal position can be summarised succinctly.”
Lara spoke in her best negotiator’s voice. “That’s right. The State would only be entitled to terminate if Global Oil had in some way breached the Production Sharing Contract and it had been sent a notice to comply which it had ignored for at least one month. That has not occurred.”
“In other words, we are not in breach,” added Jack. “And even if we were, we haven’t been given a notice to fix any breach. You’d have to give us a chance to fix things first.”
The Minister looked at them in silence, his expression serene. After what seemed like another interminable pause in the discussions, Lara opened her mouth to speak.
The Minister held up his hand. “That is where there has been a misunderstanding.”
Lara sighed with relief. She had told herself all along that this would be the outcome. The Minister would not, could not, simply dismiss their rights. There had been a mistake and it would be fixed. They would keep their jobs.
Best of all, they would be flying home soon. Very soon. And she would sort things out with Tim. There had been a misunderstanding there, too. She wanted to believe that, she really wished she could. At least she’d see her mother, her poor mother who might be facing illness again.
She glanced at Jack and Martin and noticed their smooth foreheads, their twinkling eyes. It was a nice change from the furrowed brows, the tight lips. They, too, were visibly more relaxed.
The Minister cleared his throat. “It happens, in business, that there are occasional misunderstandings.”
“Absolutely,” Martin said. “We understand.”
“That is good, Mr Martin.” Lara noticed that this time the Minister didn’t look at Martin as he spoke. In fact, he had stopped looking at any of them and seemed to be staring into nothingness.
“Then you will understand that there has in fact been a breach of the PSC. Reports that should have been provided to us were not. They were due under section. . .uh. . .”
“Section twelve, Excellency.” Kalim bowed to the Minister.
Lara shook her head. The Minister knew about the late filing of reports? How could that be? He hadn’t said anything about it the previous night, at the dinner in the tents. Jack and Martin had both given him ample opportunity to do so. Had the Minister purposely withheld that information the night before? But why? It didn’t make sense.
She frowned as she tried to understand what had been going on. The government services were so disorganised in this country it was hard to believe they would have noticed the slight delay in Global Oil’s submission of reports.
It certainly had never been raised with the company. And it wasn’t something the government would normally kick up about. Besides, it was a very minor breach, one that caused no harm either. The reports usually sat on a government official’s desk for months on end before anyone looked at them—if ever they did.
The government simply could not withdraw the title, and terminate the agreement, for that reason alone without first giving them a chance to submit the missing report. And the breach had been remedied in any event, since the reports had been submitted, although late. It all seemed so unreasonable.
The Minister spread his arms out across the desk. “We told your Negala office six weeks ago and we have not heard from you at all.”
Jack jumped up, the power of the revelation pushing him out of his chair. Martin shook his head and Jack sat back down. “Who did you inform in our office?” asked Martin.
“Mr Maine, the big boss himself. We do not hinder our communications with unnecessary levels of hierarchy.”
Martin and Jack stared at the Minister, mouths gaping, brows furrowing again. They were clearly in shock and, Lara suspected, without a plan. The danger was that this meeting would now end and they wouldn’t have a chance to get to the bottom of the story. It could be weeks before they got another meeting, weeks during which she might be stuck in Negala without Tim.
Yes, Tim would be back home without her, free to see the woman with the cough, to romance her, with all the time in the world for their love to blossom. That was, if it hadn’t already done so. Her heart sank, her usually dry palms suddenly moist again—it was becoming a frequent occurrence since she’d been in this job.
She tried not to think about Tim and the other woman. She tried to convince herself there might be a perfectly good explanation. But then, she’d heard that cough, she was sure of that. And he’d denied it, immediately, with the vehemence of the guilty. Oh, if only she could hang onto the idea that it was all somehow a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding!
She’d always thought her marriage was solid, would never break down. It was something that happened to other people, like bankruptcy or cancer. You never expected it to happen to you. She had put time into her marriage, damn it, she had worked at it over the years. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but an affair?
If she was going to have a chance, even a remote one, at sorting out her marriage, she had to find a way home. That meant she needed to sort out this corporate and political mess first. She had to think, and she had to think fast. If she asked to call Dave Maine, the Minister might say she was wasting his time, or pretend to take offence on the basis she doubted his word. She hated playing games but she simply couldn’t afford to speak her mind this time. She had to take a leaf out of the Minister’s book.
She cleared her voice. “I feel unwell. May I use the bathroom?” There was nothing unusual about her request, with Negalese Belly rife amongst visitors. Besides, her thoughts of Tim in the car with another woman—thoughts she couldn’t stop popping into her mind no matter how hard she tried—had probably drained the blood away from her face anyway, leaving her pale enough to convincingly feign illness.
The Minister’s secretary picked up the phone, dialled an extension number and spoke in Negalese. Within seconds a young woman in a bright blue veil appeared.
With a humble smile and her eyes to the floor as a sign of respect, the young lady walked Lara down the corridor to the Turkish-s
tyle latrines.
As she entered the grey cubicle, the overwhelming smell of human faeces and urine made her gag. Lara realised there was no running water and, holding her breath, she quickly rang Dave Maine. “Can you call me back in three minutes, please?” she whispered. “It’s important. And the timing’s just as important.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t talk now. Just call me back. Please.”
She escaped into the corridor where the air was fresher and the young lady in blue was waiting for her. “There is no running water?” Lara asked her in Negalese.
The woman shook her head. “It will be cleaned at night time.” Lara thought she saw a slight reddening of the girl’s cheeks, so she asked nothing more.
In any event, there was no time to talk. She had to get back to the Minister’s office before the phone rang. Lara hurried down the corridor, thanking the young woman, and went back into the meeting.
“Are you feeling better?” Jack seemed concerned.
“Much better now.”
The Minister stood, straightening his jacket, and she gathered he was preparing to end the meeting. She put her hand in her pocket and felt her phone. What was Dave doing?
“Thank you for coming,” said the Minister. “We will talk again.”
She couldn’t believe it. Had Dave not heard what she’d said? Had he thought it a joke of some sort? Had he started doing something else, not knowing how important it was that he call her back?
The Minister shook hands with Martin. Finally, as she prepared to say goodbye to the Minister, Lara’s phone rang. “Hello? Oh, Dave. I’m in a meeting with Minister Hamed. What can I do for you?” She paused.
“Yes, I’ll have a look at it this afternoon. While I’ve got you on the phone, Dave, Minister Hamed mentioned to us earlier that he sent you a notice of breach of the PSC about six weeks ago. About the section twelve reports.”
She looked up at the Minister and as candidly as possible said, “He hasn’t received it.” She couldn’t repeat Dave’s answer, and had to suppress a smile at the expletives that accompanied it, but her sanitised version got the message across.