by Wilbur Smith
Xander and I had been wrong about the hospital. The building was small but it looked recently whitewashed and the little garden in front of it was full of bright ferns and carefully tended roses. The reassuring smell of disinfectant blotted out their perfume as Marcel and I stretchered Xander through the little lobby into a busy waiting room. The nurse who examined him wore the whitest uniform imaginable, and had one of those little watches pinned to her top pocket. She told us there’d be a bit of a wait.
‘That’s fine,’ sighed Xander.
‘How long a wait?’ asked Amelia.
‘Maybe an hour and a half, two …’ said the nurse apologetically.
‘That’s inside NHS targets,’ Amelia replied.
The nurse had a warm smile but I could tell that she didn’t know what Amelia was on about.
Unusually, so could Amelia. ‘When I cracked my head on the side of the pool doing backstroke and needed twelve stitches, I had to wait in A & E at St Thomas in London for three hours and forty-nine minutes,’ she explained. This raised a smile in Xander, though the nurse remained none the wiser. A doctor would see Xander as promptly as possible, she confirmed as she left.
In fact an orderly whisked him off for an X-ray pretty quickly, which was just as well because it meant he wasn’t there when Amelia started thinking out loud about the trauma this hospital must have seen in recent years. Marcel appeared not to want to talk about it, but that rarely stops Amelia, and all it meant was that she delivered her monologue to me.
‘Right here, the Eastern DRC, is the epicentre of the worst conflict on earth since the Second World War, in terms of casualties. Around six million people have been killed in these parts since 1996, and many more displaced.’ Her eyes had that faraway look that I know so well; ever since we were little kids she’s worn that expression while reeling off the facts about whatever she was interested in at that point in time, whether it be dog breeds or table-tennis bats. I did what I’ve always done, which is smile and let the detail wash over me, as she talked about a Rwandan genocide which prompted mass immigration, disputes with neighbouring Uganda and Rwanda in the wake of it, endemic corruption and the proliferation (her words, not mine, though I got what they meant more or less) of armed militia fighting for power and natural resources in the absence of government control. ‘It’s not just soldiers and militants who’ve been killed and hurt. Everyday civilians, women, the elderly and so many kids. It barely makes the news back home for some reason, but recent history here has been a tragic mess. The doctors in this hospital must have seen some horrific injuries. Not to belittle what’s happened to Xander, but I imagine they’ll make short work of a broken leg, if that’s what it is.’
I would have felt awkward listening to this in front of Marcel. This ‘tragic mess’ was his country, but although we’d only been waiting ten minutes he’d already gone off, saying he was going to tell the nurse what Caleb had said about his father’s name. All three of us told him that wasn’t necessary, but he waved us away. It seemed almost as if he was worried that failure to do as Caleb had asked might cost him something.
27.
As expected, the X-ray confirmed that Xander’s leg was broken. He’d fractured his tibia, to be precise. It was a closed fracture, the doctor explained to us in the waiting room. When I asked her what that meant, Amelia butted in with, ‘More serious than a hairline fracture, yet not misaligned or worse still poking through the skin, but then we knew that. At least it’s unlikely to need surgery.’
The doctor had plump fingers with very pink cuticles. She did a little thumbs-up gesture and said, ‘Impressive!’
‘Thank you, but am I correct?’ said Amelia.
‘You are.’
It was a relief to hear they hadn’t whisked Xander off to surgery. When I broke my wrist falling off my bike I had to have it pinned. Not pleasant. Neither is a plaster cast though, and that’s what he was having fitted. When he emerged he was on crutches, his lower leg a solid orange boot.
‘Do you like it? I got to choose the colour,’ he said.
‘Very … cheerful,’ I replied.
‘How long do you have it on for?’ asked Amelia
‘Six to eight weeks.’
‘That’s your trekking over and done with this summer then,’ she pointed out matter-of-factly.
One of the best things about Xander is the way he looks on the bright side. ‘At least I got to see the gorillas before it happened,’ he said.
‘Yeah, up pretty close,’ I said.
‘Too close,’ Amelia pointed out.
The three of us dropped our heads at that. It seemed inconceivable that Innocent had lost his life trying to show us the best of his immense country, but it had happened, and though I couldn’t think of a way there and then, I knew I’d have to do something, however small, to make amends.
‘Too close,’ Amelia repeated.
Xander, risking a joke to break the tension, said, ‘Really?’
‘Yes, because …’ Noticing Xander smiling at me, Amelia cottoned on and said, ‘Oh,’ instead of finishing her sentence.
It turned out that Uncle Langdon’s private plane was occupied. Caleb looked crestfallen telling us this. Possibly he’d hoped to claw back some of his man-of-the-world status by spiriting us back to Kinshasa immediately, or maybe he was just disappointed at having failed in an honest attempt to be helpful. I’d charged my phone in the hospital waiting room, and as soon as it registered a signal I tried to contact Mum and Dad to tell them what had happened. Neither picked up. They were probably in meetings. I set the ringer to loud and waited for them to call me back, but neither did that day. It didn’t matter – I’d fill them in soon enough. Whatever painkillers they’d given Xander, combined with the relief of knowing his leg had been properly seen to, gave him the energy to use his French to organise tickets on a commercial flight back to the capital. Amelia went with him to sort this. Later he told me it was a good job she had, since although it was only a domestic flight they’d needed our passport details, and apparently she’d memorised them in a moment of boredom. ‘When I asked if she was sure they were right, she didn’t even answer,’ he explained later. ‘She just started reeling off other random numbers she knew, like the serial number for her laptop, her parents’ TV licence, the ISBN numbers of her favourite books, et cetera. She’s properly weird, you know.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, and I laughed with him, feeling oddly proud at the same time.
Caleb didn’t object to the risk of taking a normal Congo Airways flight this time. He knew it wasn’t as foolhardy as provoking a silverback, I suppose. Still, he got antsy with the flight attendant supervising the boarding when she said it might not be possible to swap Xander into a seat with extra legroom to accommodate his cast.
‘Course it’s possible. What you’re saying is that you’re not prepared to do it,’ he said.
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘And if your best isn’t good enough, you’ll regret it,’ Caleb insisted.
Amelia tried to help, pointing out, ‘She hasn’t said it’s impossible,’ as the flight attendant retreated.
‘I’ll cope either way. It’s not like I can’t bend my knee,’ said Xander.
‘That’s good, but not the point. These people –’
Xander cut him off kindly, saying, ‘Listen, thanks anyway.’
Caleb had to make do with carrying all Xander’s luggage as well as his own. I would have helped, but Amelia beat me to it, and of course my cousin told her the extra weight was no bother to him. There were no free trolleys in the airport. Although we didn’t have to walk far to drop our stuff off, it was a hot day, and by the time we made the plane Caleb was bright red with effort. They put Xander in a standard seat. He was fine with it and mercifully Caleb didn’t argue. He just sat there, next to Amelia, stewing. My cousin had drawn in his spikes for now, but I couldn’t help feeling he was likely to do a different kind of damage when he eventually lashed out again.
28.
When booking plane tickets Xander had got a message through to the hotel, so I was hopeful Mum or Dad – possibly both of them – might be at the airport in Kinshasa to meet us. I was surprised to see Uncle Langdon there instead. He was wearing a yellow Hawaiian number today, and somebody in the bustling airport crowd had just bumped his takeaway coffee cup, slopping some of its contents down his shirtfront. He was annoyed by that and seemed more bothered by the stain – he kept dabbing at it with a handkerchief – than he was concerned to see how we were. I imagined that meant he hadn’t heard about the gorilla attack, Xander’s leg or the death of Innocent, but when he finally gave up with the coffee spot his offhand, ‘Bad luck,’ to Xander suggested that he knew exactly how it had happened.
I watched carefully, and he didn’t so much as shoot Caleb a look, which seemed strange. My uncle has always been tough on my cousin when he’s messed up, punishing even the smallest mistakes hard. One of my earliest Langdon memories is of him locking Caleb out in the garden, in the rain, because he’d failed to take his shoes off coming into the house and had tracked mud across the kitchen floor. Caleb was about seven. Langdon refused to let him back inside until Mark and I had finished our dinner. I remember what we ate, sausages and mash, because the sausages were incredibly hot and when Mark told me to eat up quickly I burned the roof of my mouth.
Was he waiting today until he had Caleb alone before tearing into him? Apparently not. Once we’d made our way – slowly, Xander wasn’t that good on his crutches yet – to where his driver had parked up his big, blacked-out SUV, and all climbed in, he turned from the front seat and, addressing Caleb, said, ‘Terrible shame about young Innocent. First guide to be killed in a gorilla attack for years apparently.’
When Caleb didn’t reply I said, ‘It was absolutely awful.’ The words sounded ridiculously hollow, and I didn’t improve things by adding, ‘A complete tragedy.’
Langdon glanced at me, sniffed and said, ‘Must have been. Still, I suppose it’s a valuable lesson. Nature’s unpredictable, no matter how experienced you are. Big animals like that can always turn.’ Nodding at Xander he went on, ‘Not something you’ll forget in a hurry, eh … boy.’
Two things were clear. First, that he couldn’t remember Xander’s name. And equally obviously, that he wasn’t bothered about Innocent. If Caleb was a self-regarding idiot, here was a reminder of where he got it from.
‘It’s not really something any of us are likely to forget,’ said Amelia. ‘Unless we develop amnesia.’
Langdon looked her up and down before conceding, ‘S’pose not.’ He went on, seemingly out of a sense of duty, ‘No, it’s an awful tragedy for Innocent’s family, you’re right. We should just be grateful that – your leg aside, sonny – none of you were hurt or worse. I’ve made arrangements to compensate the family.’ Then he turned to face the road again, gripping the handle above the door to steady himself as we swerved to avoid a woman cycling on an ancient bike with a basket balanced on her head. This little speech seemed to have drained the goodwill from my uncle. As the driver pulled back into our lane Langdon turned to him and snapped, ‘Take it easy. It’s not a race!’
We rode on in silence. So Langdon knew about the accident, but not apparently Caleb’s role in it. I wasn’t about to change that. One thing was for sure – Caleb didn’t need his dad to make him feel he’d done something wrong. Though the signs were subtle – he’d stared out of the plane window the entire flight home, rather than looking for the usual excuses to big himself up, and more than once I’d caught him shaking his head, as if in disbelief – he was clearly struggling guilt-wise. The longer we drove without speaking, the more our silence seemed to come from him, or be his fault at least. If Amelia, Xander or I had started talking about what we’d witnessed, we might have dropped him in it.
But that didn’t explain Langdon’s apparent lack of curiosity. By the time we arrived at our hotel the passive, stare-straight-ahead stuff was really bothering me. What was going on?
I found out soon enough. Caleb tagged along while Langdon got us checked back in to the hotel. To his credit, he made sure the concierge gave Xander a room on the ground floor. But there was something strange about his attentiveness, as if, like Caleb, he was only stepping up because he felt guilty. I wanted to get away from him, so said, ‘I’ll be back down in a minute. Mum and Dad are probably out lobbying or something, but I just want to see if they’re in their room.’
‘Ah, yes, Jack,’ said Langdon. ‘I need to talk to you about that. Let’s take a seat, shall we?’
He put a hand on my back and steered me, with Amelia and Xander following, through to the bar area by the pool. A hollowness ran through me as he made a show of ordering us all Cokes (his had Jack Daniels in it) and sitting us down and asking the waitress to bring some bar snacks to go with our drinks.
‘You must be hungry,’ he said to us. ‘I know I am!’
‘Not particularly,’ said Amelia.
‘What do you mean, you need to talk to me?’ I asked.
‘It’s nothing serious,’ he said, in a way that made me think the opposite was true. ‘Just that your mum and dad didn’t imagine you’d be back here so soon, obviously, and they’ve gone on a little research trip, out east as it happens, not a million miles from where you’ve just been. Only they’re still out there, and you’re back here, and I’ve got a hundred and one work things to do, as has Caleb now, so you guys will have to stay put in the hotel, do a bit of recuperating, just until they return.’
‘Researching what?’ I asked.
‘It’s no hardship hanging out here though, is it? Games room, pool – not that sonny here can use it, but still – good food.’
‘He’s called Xander,’ said Amelia.
‘Course he is. Xander, with the duff leg. This is as good a place as any for it to mend, don’t you think?’
‘Where exactly have they gone, and what are they doing?’ I said.
‘Eh? Research, as I say. Into mining. They wanted to see how a responsible outfit like ours can contribute both economically and environmentally. I wasn’t really in favour of them taking the risk since our operation reaches into some quite … spicy … territories, but you know what they’re like.’
One half of me was reassured by this, since it made sense of why neither of them had called me back. If they were somewhere remote there was probably no signal. But I didn’t like Langdon’s use of the word spicy, and the fact that neither had left me a message before they set off was odd. Perhaps there’d be a note in my room. I must have looked worried.
Amelia, no doubt trying to help, said, ‘You’re concerned. But you yourself suggested they go and take a look at your uncle’s mines.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. At dinner on our first night. You were sitting at that table over there, in the seat on the corner. The one with a red back. You were drinking a –’
‘I get it, Amelia.’ To Langdon I said, ‘When are they due back?’
‘Ah, here we are,’ said Langdon as our order arrived.
The waiter seemed nervous. He set everything down very gingerly, comically concerned he might spill something. It took ages.
Langdon didn’t hurry him though. When the man had finally finished and retreated with a little bow, my uncle still didn’t answer my question, preferring to sit back in his chair and take an appreciative sip of his drink instead.
‘When are they due back?’ I repeated.
‘Well …’ he said reluctantly, ‘travel plans in the DRC can be difficult to pin down.’
‘I know. But when were they aiming for?’
‘They didn’t intend to stay long.’
‘That doesn’t answer the question,’ Amelia said for me.
Langdon shot her a look. ‘There’s no cause for alarm. We would have expected them to have been in touch by now, but they’ve probably taken the opportunity to go exploring. You know how wilful your mother can be. Communications out east are patchy. It’s n
othing unusual.’
‘You’re not telling me everything you know,’ I said. The statement came out more forcefully than I intended, and Caleb, who’d seemed uninterested in the conversation until that point, glanced up sharply to see how his father would take it.
Langdon put down his drink. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said levelly.
‘All I mean is, please don’t keep anything from me.’
‘I wouldn’t, Jack.’ His smile revealed his teeth. ‘I’m a little concerned my people haven’t given me an update. I’ll admit that. But it’s probably nothing. I certainly don’t want to alarm you with guesswork at this stage.’
His reassurances were making the hollow feeling in my stomach twist in on itself with nervous dread.
‘What can we do to track Jack’s parents down?’ asked Amelia. ‘Who do we contact for help?’
‘I’ve made all the appropriate enquiries,’ Langdon said firmly. ‘Right now we just sit tight. I’m sure we’ll hear from them very shortly.’ He drained his glass. ‘Make the most of the facilities here in the meantime, like I say,’ he went on, waving vaguely towards the pool and games room. It was a muggy day and his shirt had sweat rings under his yellow-patterned armpits. In that moment I hated Hawaiian shirts more than anything in the world.
29.
I had no choice but to do as my uncle said and wait for news. It was hard. I turned the hotel suite upside down in search of a note or any other clue that might have put my mind at rest, but found none. All I could do after that was keep my phone fully charged with the ringer on in case anyone called. Though I tried not to I must have checked it every other minute, but it stayed infuriatingly silent and message-less. By the end of that first day waiting I felt like chucking the phone in the pool. I didn’t though: I’m not a complete idiot.