One Secret Summer (27 page)

A couple of hours later, he was finally on his way. As the plane lifted gracefully into the sky, he felt the unspoken tension
in him
lift from within. The pilot banked to the left – below him, spread out like a giant neat patchwork quilt, the countryside
to the south of the airport unfolded, mile upon mile of regularly shaped green squares, fertile and organised. It would be
the last he would see of such landscapes for a while. At Frankfurt, a woman and her child boarded and sat in the seat next
to his. He dozed fitfully as they crossed the length of Germany, then Italy, his sleep interrupted every few minutes by the
crying of the child and the mother’s low placatory murmur. The Mediterranean was spread out below them like a flat deep blue
blanket, stretched tight from shore to sandy blonde shore. They crossed into Africa and the green began to give way. Now the
landscape below them was lunar, a thousand shades of ochre, orange, red. There was turbulence; the great heat of the Sahara
flinging up currents of air that buffeted the plane this way and that. The desert was a sea of undulating crescents of sand,
great reclining figures sloping into the haze. At dusk they touched down in Addis, when the sun had fallen from its pinprick
dazzle to a soft glow before sinking out of view.

He was back. The heat was a gag placed against his mouth and nose. The driver was waiting for him. A night in one of those
standard international hotels that skirt every airport, even in Africa.
Salaam alaikum.
They pushed their way through the crowds of arriving and departing people, the black-veiled women and the men in long djellabahs
and scarves, worry beads dangling from their hands. Yes, he was back. The driver dropped him off at the Intercontinental.
It would be his last taste of luxury for a while.

At six the following morning, they were ready to go. He swung his bag on to the back seat and climbed in. He was impatient
to get out of the city, away from civilisation. The low, mud-walled villages, pierced every now and then by the index finger
of a minaret or a cluster of trees, the flashy tourist signs –
Coca-Cola, Daz, Sentou
– all swam before his eyes as they sped east towards the suburbs and the slow outline of the mountains beyond.
They began the slow descent into the desert, the rocky landscape finally taking charge. Debre Zayit, Awash, Melka Werer …
They turned and headed north, away from the Somali border and into the Yangudi Rassa National Park. The landscape changed;
it became greener, hillier … He followed it all, eyes hidden behind shades without which he might have been blinded. The light
here was fierce and alive, nothing like the watery, delicate light of Europe. They crossed the park and again it changed.
Now the immense barrenness had put a stop to everything – houses, roads, shops, billboards … all lost, swallowed up in the
expanse of bottomless eternity that lay between them and the refugee camp he called home.

JULIA

London, December 1996

Julia sat with her knees pressed tightly together, waiting for the door at the far end of the room to open and for Gerald
Starkey to walk through it with either a smile or a frown on his face. She’d was almost at the end of her first six – would
she be offered a place to continue? She could feel her heart thumping steadily in her chest. She’d done all that was expected
of her; that much she already knew. Harriet would have told her otherwise. But doing what was expected wasn’t the goal – at
Bernard, Bennison & Partners, one had to do more. Had she done it?

The door opened suddenly. She looked up. There was a moment’s awful wait and then Gerald’s face broke into a smile. The relief
was so great, Julia thought she might actually weep. ‘Well done, Julia,’ he said, walking towards her. ‘Pleased to say the
decision’s unanimous. Harriet’ll keep you on in the family unit until the end of your next six.’ Outside the door, Daniel
and Christopher were also waiting to see if they’d been offered full tenure.

‘Th … thank you,’ Julia stammered, not sure whether she should stick out a hand or not. She’d only ever met Gerald Starkey
in passing.

‘Not at all. You’ve earned it.’ Starkey solved the problem by holding out his own. ‘Oh, by the way … we’re taking on someone
next month whom I believe you already know … Aaron Keeler. You two were postgrads at Balliol together, or so I’m told. He’s
a solicitor but he’s making the jump across. His mother’s an old, dear friend of mine. Look out for him, won’t you? Show him
the ropes. I expect we’ll stick him on the corporate side of things, but it’ll be good for him to see a familiar face. Right,
I think that’s everything. Send Daniel in, will you?’

Julia’s mouth fell open. She blinked, aware that a hot flush was slowly spreading its way across her face. ‘Y … yes, sir …’
she croaked finally. She turned quickly and walked to the door. Aaron Keeler. Oh, Christ. She walked back down the corridor
to her office, distress prickling all over her skin like a rash. After the incident on the balcony the night of Dom’s dinner
party, she’d done her best to avoid him. She would sooner have died than admit it, but her feelings towards him had changed
that night. It was as though a light had suddenly been switched on – he was no longer just the most arrogant, self-centred
and pompous prick she’d ever met; he’d become someone else. Someone she wanted to talk to, be close to … be held by. His words
had produced a longing in her to hear what he thought of her. When they’d been interrupted and Minty had come out to stake
her claim, the disappointment that swept through her had rendered her speechless. She’d gone inside, her hands shaking and
her head a mass of jumbled, confused contradictions … and then he and Minty had laughed at her, together. In collusion. The
blow of disappointment was swift and complete. She’d ignored him completely for the rest of the year, hurt beyond comprehension,
especially to herself. She’d only spoken to him once
after that, the night their final exam results came through and she’d thrown a glass of champagne in his face.

Thinking about it even now made her heart start to race. She’d woken up early, like everyone else. She and Dom had had a coffee
together in the kitchen at Holywell, not speaking much. The results would be posted on the noticeboard at the Examinations
Hall on Broad Street at 11 a.m. on the dot, not a minute before. At ten minutes to, they were all gathered outside, nervously
avoiding each other’s eyes. Keeler was nowhere to be seen. Bang on time, the great wooden door was opened by the beadle. He
glared at the twenty-odd students gathered anxiously in front of it. Seen it all a hundred times, his expression implied.
Julia hung back as Dom surged forwards with everyone else. Her heart was beating fast. There were whoops of joy and muttered
groans as the list was scanned. Dom was at the front. He turned his head to her, pointing excitedly at the board. ‘Julia!
You came first!’ She felt her face flush scarlet as several other heads turned. ‘Burrows came first!’ Dom shouted again.

‘Well done,’ a girl said as she pushed her way to the front. ‘You deserve it.’ Julia stared after her. It was Minty. Julia’s
mouth dropped open. She was still staring at Minty’s back when Dom came up to her and threw an arm round her shoulders.

‘What did I tell you?’ he crowed, looking down at her and beaming with pride. ‘
Knew
you’d do it!’

‘Shh!’ Julia wriggled uncomfortably under his grasp. ‘Don’t make such a fuss!’

‘Why ever not? You came first, you silly cow! Of course you ought to make a fuss! Where’re we going to celebrate? I
passed
… I can’t believe it! I passed!’

Half an hour later, with a glass of beer in one hand and a glass of champagne that Dom had thrust upon her in the other, the
results were finally beginning to sink in. Julia looked around the crowded pub of relieved, smiling faces and felt a sudden
rush of warmth. It was just as her father had said it would be. ‘Hard work, Jules. That’s what it comes down to. Graft. That’s
what makes the difference, not what you were born with.’ She felt a
soft, sneaky tug of pride. That was another thing he’d warned her against. Pride. ‘Doesn’t ever do to be too proud, Julia.
Pride comes before a fall, you mark my words.’ He was right, of course.

Suddenly the door opened. She looked across the floor and saw Aaron Keeler, head and shoulders above everyone else, framed
in the doorway. As always, he caught her eye. But this time, his expression wasn’t as arrogant as it usually was. He nodded
at her, catching her off guard. She felt a sudden rush of embarrassment. He’d come close to the bottom. He’d passed, but only
just. Her father’s voice came to her again. ‘Generosity, Jules. Be generous to others, especially in defeat. People never
remember what you do or say but they do remember how you make them feel.’ She looked at the glass of champagne in her hand.
She’d done it; she’d proved them all wrong. Perhaps it was time to be generous? Before she knew it, she was making her way
across the room. ‘Hi,’ she said, stopping beside him. ‘Thought you might like a glass. Congratulations.’

He looked down at her, unable to hide his surprise. Peregrine stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles. Aaron studied her,
as if trying to work something out. Finally he said, ‘Is this a joke?’

Julia looked up at him. ‘A joke?’ she repeated, puzzled.

‘Yeah. Your idea of a joke.’

‘Of course it isn’t. I just thought … I just wanted to say …’ She stopped herself short. ‘Look, I just thought it would be
a nice gesture, that’s all. I just wanted to say well done.’

‘Well
done
? For coming
seventeenth
?’ There was real bitterness in his voice. Julia felt her own temper suddenly flare up. He’d passed, hadn’t he? What was he
so bitter about?

‘There’s nothing wrong—’

‘Oh,
please
,’ Aaron said, holding up a hand dismissively. ‘Don’t bother. You’ve had your five minutes of glory; now just piss off and
leave me alone.’

She glared up at him, all friendliness gone. ‘Glory? Christ, you’re even worse than I imagined. I just thought—’ She stopped
herself, almost too angry to speak.

‘What? What
did
you think?’

‘Nothing,’ she said tightly. ‘Just forget it.’

‘No, go on, Burrows. What’s this all about? Did you come over to gloat? What d’you want? A pat on the back? A thumbs-up? A
…
what the fuck
!’ His shocked gasp cut through the air. Even as Julia stared at Aaron Keeler’s dripping face, she wasn’t fully aware of what
she’d done. She looked at him, then down at her hand. The champagne glass was empty. She’d chucked it straight at him. She
stared at it for a second, then, cheeks flaming and heart racing, she turned round, thrust the empty glass into Dom’s hand
and marched out of the pub.

That was four years ago, and she hadn’t seen or heard of him since. Though it wouldn’t quite be accurate to say she’d
forgotten
him, she certainly no longer thought about him every day … until now. Now he was coming
here
?
His mother’s an old, dear friend of mine
. That was how it worked, of course.
She’d
slogged her guts out to get to Bernard, Bennison & Partners.
He’d
asked his mother to make a call. Of course. And now she’d been instructed to make
him
feel welcome? It was enough to make her weep.

JOSH

Djibouti, December 1996

The small plane tilted in the direction of the mountains, leaving a spittle of white smoke trailing in its wake. It dipped
suddenly, then righted itself slowly before coming in to land. Josh stood at the open-air bar, a steaming cup of espresso
in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other, watching it taxi down the short length of the runway and shudder to a halt.
He lifted a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the light, and squinted at the
passengers now making their way unsteadily across the tarmac towards him. There were seven of them, a couple of the men dressed
incongruously in suits. A large-bosomed blonde had taken the lead. He tipped into his mouth the last drop of melted sugar
that had settled at the bottom of the cup, tucked the cigarette behind his ear and walked out to meet them.

The blonde had seen him, singled him out. She gathered the rest of the brood and bore down on him purposefully. The men in
suits were met by an American army official, who immediately whisked them away. There were four of them left. Two men, two
women. From the memos that had been flying around over the past few days, he knew that the group would be staying for at least
a month. His eyes flickered over them in turn, coming slowly to rest on the startling figure of a young, very pretty girl
in a white tank top and a pair of turned-up jeans. She was dark-skinned, with thick curly black hair pulled into a knot on
the top of her head, jet-black eyes under smooth, perfectly arched brows. There was something incongruous about her in this
setting. She looked like a tourist, dressed for the sun.

‘Josh? Josh Keeler? Oh, thank God!’ cried the blonde as they reached him. ‘We were so worried there wouldn’t be anyone to
meet us!’ Her voice was a shrill nasal squeak.

He winced. ‘Yes, I’m Josh.’

She was clearly the group leader. ‘Nancy Shore. Cultural Adviser. USAID.’ She barked out her credentials like gunfire.

He shook each of their hands in turn. The two young Frenchmen were sanitation engineers. He came finally to the tourist. ‘Niela
Aden,’ she said in a brisk, businesslike voice. ‘I’m the interpreter.’

He stared at her. So she was the Somali interpreter he’d been sent. She ought to know better. ‘You might want to cover your
heads,’ he said coolly, throwing the two women a pointed look. ‘It’s a Muslim country, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘This is Djibouti, not Saudi Arabia,’ Niela Aden said tartly. ‘And in case
you
hadn’t noticed, this is a US army base. I don’t
see too many locals walking about. I’ve got a
dirac
with me but I’m not covering my head.’