One Secret Summer (30 page)

‘What’s going on?’

He pulled himself back into the car. ‘Can’t really tell. There’s some sort of roadblock up ahead.’ A solid wall of cars had
piled up quickly behind them. ‘It should pass soon enough. If I don’t get the wire today I’ll—’ His voice was cut off abruptly
by an earth-shattering boom that ricocheted off the walls around them. They looked at each other warily. There was a deafening
silence, then a sudden change in the fabric of sound, a distant shuddering, the sound of air being sucked up and thrown out
in waves. They stared at each other, too surprised to speak. Ahead of them, all the way down the slight incline, people were
beginning to get out of their cars. Some were pointing to the sky. A thick plume of black smoke drifted slowly upwards; the
source was some distance away. ‘What the … ?’ Josh muttered, killing
the engine and opening the door. A second, equally ear-splitting ‘whumpf’ hit the air. People started to run back up the street,
streaming towards them. The shuddering noise grew closer, up in the sky. A high-pitched, deafening, thudding vibration in
their ears. It roared overhead. ‘It’s a helicopter,’ he shouted above the noise, pointing towards the sky. ‘I think there’s
been some sort of attack.’ Another boom split the air, followed immediately by another. People were screaming now, shoving
and jostling one another, streaming past in all directions. Josh didn’t hesitate. He yanked open the passenger door and grabbed
Niela by the arm. The scudding, whirling noise was almost directly above them. Within seconds, the street had turned to bedlam.

She felt herself being pushed this way and that, her body shoved up against the tide of people trying to run from whatever
it was that lay ahead. They were buffeted on all sides; Josh ran counter to the crowd, forcing his way through shoulders,
arms, backsides, pushing against the great wave of fear streaming towards them. His grip was unwavering. A racket of blows
shook the sky; screams of terror rose into the air. Niela’s heart was pumping furiously, all sensation in her body concentrated
on the spot where Josh’s fingers gripped her arm. She followed him blindly. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the unmistakable
rattat-tat of machine-gun fire, a sound she remembered well. A woman rushed past, shrieking, a child pressed to her breast,
disappearing into the folds of her
dirac
. They came to a crossroads. There was a narrow alleyway between the shops. ‘Follow me,’ Josh barked. She plunged after him.
He ducked; she followed. He turned once, twice. He seemed to know where he was going. Down, down a flight of stairs, running,
her lungs almost exploding. His grip held her fast, almost pulling her arm out of its socket. They jumped across a ditch –
there was the tangy, acrid smell of urine and spilled beer – and then he turned down yet another alleyway. He stopped for
a second, looked left and right again, his hand still on her arm; she could feel his heartbeat thudding in his palm.

Suddenly the rising shriek of a police car sounded behind them, left or right, impossible to tell. With a single, wordless
impulse they both scrambled up over the nearest wall and dropped down into a yard where a thin brown dog tethered to a post
snarled hysterically at them. Niela only just managed to suppress a muffled shriek before Josh kicked open the nearest door
and dragged her inside. He slammed it shut behind them and they collapsed against it, panting, too exhausted to speak. It
was dark inside; a fanlight high above their heads let in a shaft of light that came to rest on a mound of sacks. Rice, she
noted dully against the rapid-fire beat of her heart. They were in some sort of storeroom. Her arm was squeezed bloodless
where Josh had held it. He released her; her fingers went automatically to the place where his had been. There was no sound
in the small room other than their own jagged, raspy breath. Even the whirring helicopters had fallen silent. They stood there
amongst the rice sacks and crates of bottled drinks, panting, too out of breath to speak.

‘What d’you think happened?’ Her whisper was unnaturally loud in the gloom. He looked at her, then at his watch. It was almost
five. They’d been hiding for thirty minutes. It was hot and airless and he longed for a cigarette. Outside the door, the dog
barked intermittently.

‘I don’t know. A demonstration of some sort that went wrong. Those were US helicopters.’

‘Firing into the crowd?’ Her voice was disbelieving.

‘It won’t be the first time it’s happened,’ he said humourlessly. ‘Or the last.’

She sat down heavily on one of the sacks and hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Yes, it happened in Mogadishu too. But the demonstrators
brought the helicopters down. They shot—’ She stopped, unwilling or unable to go on. There was fear in her voice now.

He looked down at her. She held her eyes wide open, as if she were afraid to cry. He felt something inside him give way
suddenly, a quick surge of emotion he couldn’t contain. He knelt down and put a hand out, touching her arm where he’d grabbed
her earlier. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Did I hurt you?’ She shook her head but her fingers closed over his. He moved
closer, bringing his face level with hers. His hand went up around her head, bringing it down into the space between his chin
and his shoulder. He could feel the surrender in her body as she sank against him. He made some perfunctory sound of comfort,
of the kind he’d used countless times before, though never in circumstances like these. She was shaking. Her teeth were chattering,
despite the heat. He pressed his lips against her hair. ‘Hey,’ he murmured. ‘It’s OK. We’re safe here.’ She nodded but said
nothing, pressing her face further into his shoulder. He breathed in the smell of her hair – its cloudy perfumed mass filled
his nostrils – and his fingers sank into it of their own accord. In disbelief at himself he felt the stirrings of desire in
him. His hand slid from her hair, coming to rest on the side of her neck. He put a hand under her chin and turned her face
towards him. She made no protest at all. Astonished at his own boldness and the absurdity of their situation, he drew her
towards him and kissed her. Her mouth was warm and sweet, tasting faintly of the tea they’d drunk at Ali’s. He broke the kiss
to look at her; her face was a concentration of eyes and teeth in the last remnants of light, and he was suddenly overtaken
by the sort of desire he hadn’t felt in years. In his mind’s eye he saw again the smooth, chocolate-coloured skin of her legs,
the painted toenails, the tiny hollow at the base of her neck and the faint beads of sweat on her upper lip that must taste
salty on the tongue – countless details he’d taken in without even noticing in the fortnight she’d been around. She’d been
on his mind, he realised, ever since she’d stepped away from him and walked into the airport building that first day, the
day of their arrival.

His hand slid down her arm and stopped at the hem of the pink
dirac
. He touched it – a question? She nodded, and he placed his hand on her knee, sliding round to feel the soft, warm skin underneath.
He shifted his weight so that they faced each other.
He pushed the
dirac
up around her thighs – another question? She answered by allowing him to pull it away from her and slip it over her head.
It was too dark inside the storeroom to see her, but his hands told him all he needed to know. She was all smooth, damp skin,
firm to the touch. Her breasts were soft and full; touching them brought a sharp gasp of pleasure from her that ran through
him like fire. He was gentle with her, sensing a shyness that had as much to do with her as it did with the culture from which
she came. The same quiet stillness that he’d come to depend on as she worked beside him turned him on more powerfully than
anything he’d ever encountered. He felt his way slowly into her body, remembering to ask her if it was all right – stupid
question! She didn’t answer but he felt her whole body arch, taut as a bow, just before he was properly inside her. He gave
a muffled groan, sinking deeper into her, burying his face in her hair as his body began to race away from him. He brought
a small cry of pleasure from her, again and again. Nothing he had ever heard had been sweeter, or so it seemed.

She heard the soft strike of a match as he leaned away from her and lit a cigarette. The tip glowed red in the darkness. The
silence around them was a thick, dark blanket. He stood up suddenly and produced a small torch from somewhere. He flashed
the beam around the storeroom, seeking something. He was naked; she averted her eyes. She needn’t have bothered. Without a
trace of self-consciousness he walked towards the door, dragging several large rice sacks behind him. ‘Thought I saw these,’
he said, shoving them against the door, one next to the other. ‘Good. No one’ll get in.’ He walked back towards her and finished
his cigarette before squatting down beside her. ‘We’ll stay until daybreak. I’ll go out and see if I can find the car as soon
as it’s light.’ He ran a finger lightly down her stomach. ‘Think you can manage to sleep?’ She nodded, too embarrassed to
speak. She tried to cover herself with her
dirac
, but it was too hot. She was unsure of herself – should she move away from him, turn to one side? He seemed to have no such
doubts. His hand
lay where he’d left it on her lower abdomen, loosely connected to her body. Through her lashes she caught glimpses of him
– the strong, swollen curve of biceps, the sheen of tanned skin across his shoulders, even the dark tufts of hair under his
arms. Her body ached; a deep ache that brought a hot, sweet rush of tears to her eyes whenever she thought about what they
had just done.

The first call to prayer woke them both just before dawn. Josh stirred, mumbled something into her hair, then sat up. In the
growing light, Niela watched him put away his strong, lovely body; it disappeared in front of her into his jeans and crumpled
T-shirt. She picked up her own underwear, fastened her bra with her back turned to him and slipped her
dirac
over her head. Dressed, she turned back to him. He looked at her and laid the back of his hand across her cheek, letting
his fingers trail across her mouth, parting her lips. She was frozen with a mixture of desire and embarrassment – after all,
it was the taste of her own body that was still on his hands. She sat very still, her whole body attuned to his touch. He
stood up suddenly and walked to the door. He pulled the rice sacks away from it and opened it cautiously. There was a welcome
rush of air. He beckoned to her and she stood up. They hadn’t said a word to each other, but the sense of his withdrawal was
strong. Something else had been buttoned up alongside his clothes. She stood waiting in the doorway, her own confusion mirrored
in the confusion of his face.

Someone had procured a carton of tangerines, a rare luxury. ‘Satsumas,’ Nancy corrected smugly. She held out a couple to Niela.
‘Go on, have some. When was the last time we had fruit
that didn’t come in a tin? Here, why’nt you take him a few?’ She jerked her head in Josh’s direction. It was no secret that
Josh had little time or patience for the three other members of the team. ‘Go on. You’re the only one he talks to, anyhow.’
She looked meaningfully at Niela. Niela could feel the heat spreading across her face.

‘Thanks,’ she said, balancing half a dozen satsumas in the scoop of her T-shirt. She walked over to where Josh was squatting
on the ground, arguing mildly with one of the masons as he pointed out mistakes in the low wall. He broke off as she approached,
squinting up at her. ‘Here,’ she said, holding out a couple. ‘The others thought you might like some.’ She offered one to
the wizened old mason, who wrinkled his brow up at her, then took the fruit, holding it delicately between earth-coarsened
hands. ‘
Shukran
,’ he said, slipping it into the folds of his robe.

‘
Shukran
,’ Josh repeated with a quick grin. His face lit up. She held her breath. He stood up and tore off the rind with his teeth,
releasing the pungent acidity into the air. She caught it on the back of her throat and to avoid her confusion, picked one
up and bit into it herself. The old mason stood up and wandered off, sensing there was a break to be had. Niela sat down on
the wall, facing Josh, suddenly conscious of the curve of her legs in her jeans.

‘Thanks for yesterday,’ Josh said after a moment. He’d asked for her help in making the electricians rip out one of the circuits
they’d installed. He wanted them to redo it until he was satisfied. He was forever getting people to do things a second or
third time, the head electrician had grumbled, though not without humour.

She smiled. ‘I’m sure I got some of the terms wrong. They’re probably installing beakers, not breakers.’

‘I doubt it. Hamzeh knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s just trying to make a little on the side, that’s all. Christ,
I
would.’

‘Would you really?’ she asked curiously.

‘Of course. D’you know how many dependants he has?’

She shook her head. ‘A couple of wives?’ She hazarded a guess.

‘Thirteen. His wives, their relatives, distant family.’ It was his turn to shake his head. He looked out across the rocky
landscape to the north. ‘He had nine children. Imagine. In a place like this. How the hell d’you get enough from the earth
to feed nine children?’

‘It’s not about numbers, it’s about insurance,’ Niela said simply. ‘One of those nine will look after him and his wives in
their old age. At
least
one.’

‘But they don’t, that’s the problem. They all leave. He doesn’t have a single child left here, did you know that? They’re
all gone. To the city, abroad, God knows where.’

Niela looked at him uncertainly. ‘But that’s how it’s always been,’ she said. ‘You can’t expect them to change things overnight.’

‘No, not overnight. But if they don’t, what’s the alternative? Hamzeh’s one of the lucky ones. He’s found work. How many of
the others who live around here can say the same?
That’s
the tragedy of these wars, Niela. Not the camps or the loss of life or the pointless work we do.’