OF MARTIN AND ANNA
Rest in Peace
His mother – so that’s why he was here; the day before yesterday had been the third anniversary of her death. He probably couldn’t make it on the day. A memory of a slim, laughing, dark-haired woman wearing an apron with a frill flashed before her. It had been his sister’s birthday and the first time she had visited his house. She remembered what fun his mother appeared to be, and how young she looked – but then, everyone’s mother had seemed young compared to her own. Although, as she rechecked the dates, she realised that there weren’t that many years between them. Sixty-three – Jenny calculated; she had only been sixty-three when she had died; she probably had cancer. Her eyes moved to the mound of earth less than ten feet away that covered her parents. In spite of her ill health, her mother had outlived Martin’s. ‘Creaking boards last the longest,’ her mother used to say. She had been right about that.
*
Leaving the travel agents Jenny visualised bazaars filled with carpets and leather goods; rows of colourful spices piled in pyramids on top of hessian sacks. She could almost smell the cumin and sandalwood.
Cairo – the greatest city in the Islamic world comprises of half a dozen cities and spreads across the Nile towards the Pyramids at Giza. Medieval trades and customs co-exist with a modern mix of Arab, African and European influences. Its population is estimated at seventeen million, with around half a million squatting in cemeteries – the cities of the dead.
She hurried back to her car. She couldn’t wait to tell Robert.
‘Jenny, Jenny.’
She was jolted from her middle-eastern imaginings by a breathless voice. She turned around.
‘Jenny, it is you.’ A woman with short spiky dark hair and wearing an ankle-length floral print skirt over black boots, smiled and panted simultaneously, while Jenny searched desperately for a name.
‘I thought it was you. I was at the bus stop, when I saw you coming out of the travel agents. I’ve been trying to catch you up.’
‘Gail, my God – Gail,’ Jenny said recognising a chickenpox scar on her friend’s forehead. She looked younger than ten years ago, and Jenny would never have recognised her if she hadn’t been standing inches away from her face. ‘It’s been ages, Gail. Do you live around here now?’
‘Yes, in Portland Road. You know I left Chris?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Jenny remembered their last meeting. She had been pushing Lorna in her pram when she had bumped into Gail in Marks and Spencer. She had looked depressed, worse than when she had visited her at her flat. She had told her that Chris’s gambling had escalated and that she had taken the children and moved back to live with her parents. ‘You look well, Gail.’
‘Yes, I am. Once the children were at school I decided to enrol for a mature student’s teacher training course at Sussex Uni. Do you remember? You said that I might be able to. Mum and Dad have been marvellous; it was hard for them having the three of us around all the time. And guess what? I’m even back teaching at my old junior school. Would you believe it?’
‘That’s amazing Gail. I’m really pleased for you. So you got there in the end.’
‘Yes, and there might be a new man on the horizon too. I met him a few weeks ago at the local Labour Club. He’s thinking of standing in the local elections next year; how about you?’
‘Well the last few weeks have been really grim. Mum and Dad died recently.’
‘What together?’
‘Well, within two weeks of each other.’
‘Oh no, that’s terrible. I’m really sorry, Jenny. I remember your mum teaching me to crochet, well trying to. I had two left hands. Do you remember? She was so patient with me. So you’re an orphan?’
‘Well, if you can be an orphan when you’re in your mid-thirties. Robert has been marvellous. I couldn’t have coped without him, that’s what I was doing in the travel agents, treating us to a holiday in the New Year.’
‘Well, we always knew he was rock solid, didn’t we? I really envied you back then.’
Jenny glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I’ve got to get back for the children Gail. We’ve got a boy now, Nicky, so I can’t stop any longer. Look, why don’t we meet up when I come back from holiday? We can catch up properly then. I’d love to hear about your children and the teacher training.’ Jenny fumbled in her bag and scribbled her telephone number on a receipt.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Egypt – in January – I’m really looking forward to it.’
‘Wow, how exciting. I’ll give you a ring in the February half term then. Have a good Christmas, Jenny. Oh sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t think.’
‘It’s O.K. We’ll still have a good Christmas for Lorna and Nicky’s sake.’
‘See you soon then?’ Gail smiled and walked back towards the bus stop.
Driving home Jenny realised that she hadn’t given Christmas a thought until now. It would be difficult this year despite what she had said. She thought about Gail and how her life had changed for the better. She said she lived in Portland Road, so she might know something about Martin.
11
January 1982
Jenny leapt out of the way as a runaway donkey cart careered down the souk.
‘We were nearly killed just then,’ Robert said, mopping his brow.
‘Look at that shop. It’s packed with semi-precious stones, they’re so colourful; I’m going over.’
‘ ‘Engleesh – Engleesh, come here, come buy.’ They were assailed from all sides.
Jenny felt a hand squeeze her buttock. She grabbed Robert’s arm.
‘I’ve had enough of this Jen, it’s so claustrophobic. Let’s go back to the hotel.’
‘We haven’t been here long, not yet.’
‘It’s long enough.’
‘Let’s just see what’s around this corner, it might be less crowded.’
‘I doubt it. I know what’s around the corner – more hassle.’
‘But that’s what gives it the atmosphere. Look at those spices, piled in pyramids, I’ll buy some later.’
‘Look at that man leering at you. I know exactly what he’s thinking. I’ve a good mind to go and punch him on the nose.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Jenny looked up. A large man wearing a galabiyya was grinning at her lasciviously from behind the hessian sacks. ‘It’s only because we’re tourists. I’m wearing a long skirt.’
‘It’s not your skirt he’s looking at.’
Jenny looked down and fastened the top three buttons on her blouse as they were jostled forward.
‘Ah, Engleesh, Engleesh, come, come take tea with me. Sit in my shop. Try perfume. No buy – no mind – just drink tea.’ A tall young Egyptian smiled at them as he stood up from behind his hookah pipe and beckoned them into his shop.
‘Come on, let’s go in, he looks nice.’ Jenny pulled Robert into the shop where on tiers of shelves stood row upon row of small glass bottles. Every one had a brown label with Arabic writing.
After half an hour of sipping strong sweet tea and Robert discussing the relative merits of Arsenal versus Manchester United with the young man who had introduced himself as Ahmed, they were led over to the shelves.
‘In all these bottles – essence – perfumes. This one, roses from banks of Nile.’ He lifted one down, removed the stopper and waved the bottle under Jenny’s nose. ‘You like?’ He led her to the other side of the shop and took another bottle from the shelf. ‘This one – water lily – smell.’
He then reached up to the top shelf. ‘This one,’ he didn’t name it, ‘makes husband big and hard, keeps beautiful wife happy.’ Jenny blushed as she sniffed the musky aroma.
After five minutes of haggling, they emerged, with Jenny clutching a small parcel.
‘Look out,’ Robert shouted as a grey horse bore down on them. ‘That’s it Jen, I’ve had enough. I can’t stand it any longer, let’s get back. That’s if we can ever find our way out of this maze. I reckon we paid about ten time
s more than we should have done for that,’ Robert nodded towards the paper parcel.
*
‘That’s the first and last time we go in there. It takes four times as long as it should to buy anything. I hate all that haggling.’ Robert removed his sandals and collapsed on the bed.
Their hotel room in the Sharia Ramses was large and square. A wooden fan spun on the high ceiling. Long wooden shutters opened onto a small iron balcony. Although they were on the fourth floor, they might just as well have been in the street. Whistles blew and horns blared, drowning out the shouts of the street vendors below.
‘That’s what makes it exciting, it’s different. I thought it was amazing, so many stalls, and so many people, I’m going back before we go home.’ Jenny was sitting at a rattan dressing table. She started to undo the brown wrapping paper, removed the stopper from the bottle and dabbed some perfume in the hollow of her neck and on the insides of her wrists.
‘You can’t possibly go back in there on your own. God knows what would happen to you. I’d probably never see you again.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous. I’d be fine. They don’t mean any harm. They’re just trying to make a living.’
‘Can you close the shutters Jen? Let’s try and have a bit of peace for an hour.’
Jenny went over and pulled the shutters towards her. The room darkened, and the sounds from below muffled to a low blur. She felt her way over to the bed and lay down beside Robert. After a few seconds he turned to kiss her, and began unbuttoning her blouse. Jenny lifted herself making it easier for him to remove her clothes.
‘Look Jen, the perfume’s worked.’ Robert smiled at her as he sat up and removed his shorts. ‘He wasn’t having us on after all. Mmm, I can’t wait.’ He fell on top of her, covering her mouth with his own.
*
‘Christ, that was good for you too, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was.’ Feeling his detumescence slipping out of her, she wrapped her arms tightly around his back and started pushing against him again.
‘Not just now Jen, later.’
Jenny reached across to the bedside table for the box of tissues.
Jenny dozed intermittently, while Robert slept. Tiny chinks of light from gaps in the shutters flashed onto the dark wooden floor. They hadn’t made love like that for a long time. They’d hardly had sex at all for the past year. She knew he loved her, and after today, she could hardly complain that he couldn’t satisfy her sexually. She just wished that they were soulmates; that they had more in common apart from the house and children. He hardly knew a dandelion from a daisy, and she knew that he wasn’t excited about being in Egypt – he would rather have had a holiday in England. But it was impossible to have everything. He was a good husband and she must be grateful. Life could be a hell of a lot worse. She smiled as she thought about Lorna and Nicky – their absence ironing out their imperfections.
Robert stirred and flung an arm across Jenny’s breasts. ‘Why is sex in the afternoon so much more satisfying?’
‘It feels decadent I suppose.’
‘I’ve been looking forward to this break for weeks. I was hoping that… you know, we’d get back together again properly, like this.’
‘It might also have something to do with the fact that Lorna and Nicky aren’t around,’ Jenny added.
‘Yes, that’s true; and we’re not worn out. If only it could be like this all the time. Perhaps it will be – now you’ve got that perfume?’ He laughed out loud and rolled her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I think we ought to make more effort when we get home. It was a good idea of yours to get away. We both needed it, thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank Mum and Dad; if it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t be here.’
‘I’m sure that they’d be pleased that we’re enjoying ourselves.’
Jenny got up and walked over to the shutters. A muezzin was calling the faithful to prayer from a minaret. She blinked as the late afternoon sun blinded her, and then stepped back as she realised her breasts were bare.
‘Don’t open them Jen, not yet. Come back here.’
The next four mornings followed the same pattern. They visited the Pyramids and Sphinx; had the obligatory camel rides; took a felucca trip on the Nile, and then returned to their bedroom for the afternoons. On the fifth morning as they stepped out of their hotel foyer, a cold wind from the north east whipped down the street. They shivered, returned to their room for their jumpers, and booked the overnight train to Luxor.
*
Their hotel stood on the eastern bank of the Nile at the southern end of the corniche. Every time they left the foyer they were besieged by caleche drivers, offering their services into town.
‘Look we want to walk for a while, go away,’ Robert shouted, waving his arms around.
‘No walk, you English, no walk, I have good horse.’ An elderly man, his head wrapped around with a black and white chequered turban, stood up in his carriage and beckoned them over.
‘I think we better take it Robert. He sounds angry. It can’t be that much money.’
‘Alright then,’ he sighed.
They scrambled up into the carriage. The driver cracked his whip and, with them both clutching the sides the caleche, careered down the road.
‘Luxor Temple, please,’ Robert shouted above the sound of the horse’s hooves.
The driver dropped them outside the Winter Palace Hotel, tapping his watch furiously.
‘How much?’ asked Robert.
‘Ten pound – English.’
‘Not bloody likely – ten Egyptian pounds.’ Robert thrust some notes into the man’s gnarled hand and grabbed Jenny’s arm.
‘Horse, money for horse, horse hungry,’ the driver shouted after them.
‘Can’t they just leave us alone? Thieves all of them,’ Robert said as they crossed the road, dodging cars and caleches, all seemingly intent on not wanting them to see another day. A group of cruise boats sat at anchor below the promenade.
‘I think in the future, we must agree a price before we get on. Look, there’s a pied kingfisher. Do you see it?’ Jenny pointed towards a large black and white bird perched on the anchor rope of a cruise boat. ‘Let’s sit down here.’
‘Baksheesh, baksheesh,’ two barefoot boys immediately ran over to them, their hands stretched out in front of them.
‘Go away, scram.’ Robert waved them away, but they stood firm.
‘I might have some pens in my bag.’ Jenny rummaged through her shoulder bag and produced two biros. The boys beamed.
‘Imshi, imshi,’ an old man shouted and limped over to where they were seated, waving his stick. The boys ran off.
Jenny stared at the distant mountains on the far side of the Nile. ‘That must be the Valley of the Kings on the other side of the river. Let’s book a trip for tomorrow?’
‘Yes, we’d better make the most of our time here. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll cross back over to the temple. If we stay here any longer we’ll be pestered again.’ Robert looked around anxiously.
‘Have you noticed how all the women are covered in black?’ Jenny said as they passed a group chattering amongst themselves.
‘No,’ he grimaced.
‘Well they are, all of them. I wonder why. Are you alright?’
‘I need the toilet Jen. My guts were dodgy after breakfast. I thought I’d be alright.’
*
For two days Robert lay prostrate on the bed apart from numerous sorties to the toilet. Jenny made drinks of kakaday – a tea made from hibiscus flowers – which had been recommended by the hotel reception. She spent her days in the hotel garden, watching the barges chugging up the Nile, laden with sugar cane and livestock. Training her binoculars on the water birds that lurked in the green fringes of the river, she listed them in the back page of her Birds of Europe and North Africa book. She relished the jewelled green and turquoise of the bee-eaters, and the pink, black and white of the hoopoes, thinking how exo
tic they looked, well, apart from the black and white wagtail bobbing about her feet, waiting for titbits. She remembered there had been one in the churchyard the afternoon she had met Martin again. She thought about him every day, but distance made him seem unreal. Here, she could give all her attention to Robert. The distant mountains gradually changed colour – from sandy yellow in the morning, to the colour of mustard around midday, and finally golden, as the sun disappeared behind them. On the third day Robert felt well enough to get dressed and eat a few mouthfuls of hummous. In the afternoon, he walked into the garden and found Jenny sitting on a sun-lounger.
‘So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself. What are you doing?’
‘I’m making a note of the birds I’ve seen. I’ve seen over twenty just from here. Karnak was amazing this morning, Robert. I wish you’d been well enough to come. Enormous pillars, covered with hieroglyphics; the site went on for ever. I’ve taken lots of photos, but they won’t do it justice.’
‘It’s a shame we haven’t got more time.’ He bent down and placed his arm around her.
‘Well, we can always come back when the children are grown. We can see the Valley of the Kings then. They’ll still be here,’ Jenny smiled up at him.
12
March 1982
Jenny couldn’t settle. After a perfunctory wipe of the dining room table, she returned to the kitchen to finish scraping the remains of toast from the breakfast plates. She then hovered in the hall before going upstairs. Her ears bristled as she heard the letterbox open. That sounds like it, she thought, and rushed back down. A single brown envelope lay on the doormat. She picked it up and ripped the envelope open. A grin spread across her face as she read the flimsy piece of paper, savouring every word. When she was satisfied that she had saturated herself with the good news, she walked into the lounge and picked up the telephone. You idiot, they’re not there, you can’t tell them. Seven – seven – two – five – three – eight; seven – seven – two – five – three – eight. Her parents’ telephone number was embedded in her memory. She wondered how many more years would pass before she would no longer be able to recall it. She sat down on the sofa and stared out of the window. The postman on the opposite side of the road was looking intently at the addresses on a bundle of envelopes. This is when you really miss them, she thought, when you want to tell them good news.
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