I don’t know how long I stare at the door, unshed tears clogging my throat, frustration flooding my heart. It’s been three days since I exchanged those messages with my father, and I haven’t heard anything from him since. The message I sent him last night, casually asking if he’d thought any more about it, went unanswered. What are the chances, I ask myself, that he would phone this morning, of all times, when I deliberately left my phone at home? I bury my head in my hands in exasperation. Just when I felt I was making progress with my father, reaching out to him after so long… in doing so I have only managed to push Harry even further away.
But Dad is coming, I remind myself. Despite everything, a shiver of elation runs through me. Dad is coming here! I must contact him. Harry said he was going to email me flight details… oh my God, this is really happening!
In that moment I realise I have two options. I can stay here in the apartment, moping, waiting for Harry to get home from wherever he’s gone. Or I can carry on with what I had planned to do when I first got home from the embassy – ask Liza to borrow her computer, print off Naomi’s sentence, and get started on it right away. And, now, read the email from my father.
Harry isn’t going to come back any sooner, or be any less angry with me, whatever I do. I stand up and try to summon back the feeling of optimism and motivation that filled me as I left the embassy.
Sod him, I think defiantly, getting up and heading towards the door. If he wants to get angry and storm out before even hearing my side of things, then let him. I’ve got a sentence to translate and a visit to arrange.
‘There you are!’ Liza exclaims, ushering me inside. ‘I’d started to wonder where you’d got to… come in, come in, Roberto and I just started watching The Colour of Sin.’
Liza leads me into the kitchen. Roberto is at the table with a steaming mug of tea between his hands, staring transfixed at a little boxy television as a passionate argument unfolds between a glamorous, dark-haired young couple.
I’d heard a bit about the telenovelas – Latin American TV shows – from Gabi. They basically sounded like UK soap operas but with more attractive characters and even less plausible storylines.
‘Hello, Kristie, sit down, have some tea. Maria is about to tell Carlos about her affair with his sister,’ Don Roberto pats the chair beside him, not taking his eyes off the TV. ‘Then you can tell us all about how it went at the embassy.’
‘Um, actually, Liza, Roberto, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me using your computer to print something off? I want to get started straight away on the …’ I falter as the woman on the TV screen starts screaming hysterically, while the man grabs a knife from somewhere and holds it dramatically against his own wrist, face screwed up in an exaggerated grimace. ‘Er… on translating the documents,’ I finally manage.
Liza is beaming at me kindly, regardless of the carnage taking place before us on the TV. ‘That’s wonderful, dear. Let me show you where the computer is. As I said to Harry, it’s very outdated – Roberto and I only really use it for keeping track of the handicraft sales, and playing solitaire of an evening – but it works well enough.’ She indicates for me to follow her.
So Harry has been using the computer, has he? Interesting. I think fleetingly that he’d never mentioned coming downstairs to borrow the computer, let alone what he might need to do that for, when we have a perfectly good laptop in the apartment that he insisted on bringing with us…
Liza is in front of me holding open one of the doors leading off the main living room. It’s a spare bedroom, virtually empty except for an ancient-looking wooden bed with flowery covers, and an even more ancient-looking desktop computer on a mahogany desk opposite.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then, dear – just call us if you need us.’
As the computer gradually whirs and clunks its way to life, I glance around the room. It has a dusty, unused feel to it – very different from the other pristine parts of the house. My eyes come to rest on the little bedside table, empty except for a complicated lace cover draping down its sides, and a framed photograph of a woman.
I glance at the door to check Liza has truly left, then – succumbing to my curiosity – lean over and pick up the picture. A pretty girl, no older than eighteen, smiles back at me from behind a sweeping fringe of glossy brown hair, wearing a navy shirt that looks like school uniform. Just from the quality of the photograph I can tell it was taken a long time ago. Is it my imagination, or do I recognise Liza’s slightly crooked smile in her face… Roberto’s twinkling eyes?
Feeling suddenly guilty, I put the photo back down and turn sharply away. In the short time I’ve known them Liza and Roberto have never mentioned any children, grown-up or otherwise, and Harry and I have not asked. It is certainly not my place to go snooping around looking at photos, or speculating about their private life. And anyway, she could be their niece.
I turn back to the computer, which has finally woken up, loading what looks like Windows 97. I open up my email, my heart starting to race faster as I see there is, indeed, a new message from my father.
All thoughts of Harry temporarily wiped from my mind, I open it.
Dear Kirsty,
It was good to talk to you the other day. I’ve tried to phone you several times since, but I think the time difference and poor signal have conspired against us.
Anyway, it was really nice of you to suggest that we come out and see you there in Ecuador. You’ll remember I told you Dorice is a professional wildlife photographer – and it would really mean a lot to her to visit a country with such wonderful photographic opportunities.
I pause, gritting my teeth. I don’t really care what it would mean to HER, I find myself thinking crossly. Keep reading, my more rational side tells me. Give him a chance.
She has already travelled to South Africa, Australia and many parts of Asia photographing their flora and fauna. Now she is really excited about the opportunity to visit South America. Of specific consequence to her are the Galápagos Islands with their unique native species, and the Ecuadorian cloud forest’s rare indigenous hummingbirds and poisonous frogs.
Bloody hell, get to the point! I shout silently at him in my head.
Therefore we have decided to take you up on your offer. Don’t worry, we will be completely independent, and make our own hotel booking in Quito. You told me you’re only going to be in Quito another few weeks, so I took the liberty of going ahead and booking a flight, arriving early next week – you’ll see the booking attached.
Oh my God… he’s really done it!
Flights were significantly cheaper if we booked today, so I hope you don’t mind us just going ahead. We’ll be in Ecuador for ten days in total, which we intend to divide between Quito, the Galápagos and the cloud forest. This is still to be negotiated with Dorice.
Negotiated?
Anyway, I’ll leave you now and had better get on with packing my suitcase
Love,
Dad.
I stare at the email for several long moments, hardly believing its content. Had my father, retired assistant manager and owner of the world’s most drab furniture, really just used a smiley face in his email? And signed it off Love Dad?
Impulsively I pull my phone out and dial his number.
‘David Morgan?’ The voice that answers is clipped and professional.
‘Dad, it’s me!’ I practically shout. ‘I’ve just got your email!’
‘Oh, hi, Kirsty.’ The professional tone stays in place, but I refuse to let that dampen my spirits. ‘I hope this is okay. It was a bit of a last-minute decision to book the ticket today, but… Dee really wanted to do it.’
‘Yes, it’s fine, I’m really excited about it, too,’ I tell him, yearning to hear some of my enthusiasm reciprocated. ‘Do you want me to start looking at hotels for you? Planning things to do in Quito?’
There’s a brief silence, then I hear my father muttering something in the background, and a woman’s voice replying. Everything sounds suddenly muffled as if he’s got his hand over the receiver.
‘Listen, Kirsty, sorry, but I can’t stop,’ he says, returning to the line. ‘We’re just about to go out. Plus, this must be costing you a fortune. But I’ll see you next week. And until then let’s keep in touch over message, okay?’
‘Right, yes, of course, I…’ I look down at my phone and realise Dad has already gone.
Oh well, we’ve got plenty of time to talk if he’s going to be coming to Quito for a whole week. I’m not quite sure what he meant about negotiating that time with Dorice… briefly, I wonder what she’s like. But the main thing is, Dad is coming out here… and I made it happen! Well, I had the idea for it, anyway…
I decide I really must talk to Harry as soon as he’s back, calmly and firmly, to explain just why this is so important to me. Once I’ve apologised for springing it on him, he will have to understand…
Until then, I turn my focus to Naomi’s sentence, feeling tentatively hopeful about Dad’s visit and emboldened to face Harry when he gets home. I send the document to print, and as the pages slide one by one out of Liza’s ancient, dusty printer, I pick them up and start to read.
Within minutes, I’m utterly engrossed. By the second page, I lose myself in the word-by-word transcript of Naomi’s arrest and subsequent hearing, the lurid description of her capture at Quito airport documented as a series of events down to the hour and minute, all transporting me to that moment so vividly I feel I am there, experiencing the horror of being caught, all myself.
I read the description of how an X-ray machine had picked up on the small packages in Naomi’s stomach. How she’d been locked in a room until they passed naturally, with no human contact apart from a cold, professional observer. How in the hearing she’d begged and sobbed and pleaded against the sentence, imploring the judge to consider her children, to remember that this was her first ever offence of any kind, to believe she had only made the decision out of ‘financial desperation’; how her hysteria meant she had to be dragged from the room afterwards. Tears blurred my vision as I came to the stark biometric data of her arrest report: female, twenty-six-years old, Caucasian race. No distinctive physical features except caesarean section scar on abdomen (recent).
I work through the document, making notes, underlining the words I don’t understand, ready to start typing it up on the laptop tomorrow.
At some point Liza pokes her head round the door to let me know that she’s left some dinner out for me and Harry, and that she and Roberto will be going to bed shortly.
Is that the time already? She and Roberto always go to bed really early, but even so… I finally put the sentence document to one side and stand up to stretch. Harry still isn’t back. I tell myself he must just be with Ray, but even so feel a wrench of worry. We never usually stay angry this long…
Just then, I hear a noise outside and realise it’s the sound of someone heading up the stairs, shortly followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock upstairs. Thank goodness… it must be him.
I gather up the papers and switch off the light, after casting one last, curious glance at the photo of the young girl with Liza’s smile. Darkness is just falling outside and the lights of the buildings in the valley below us are twinkling up at me in the half-light. It’s such a beautiful evening, it can’t be the evening for an argument, it just can’t. I fix a conciliatory smile on my face as I open the door to the apartment.
‘Hey,’ I call, hearing the sound of Harry cleaning his teeth in the bathroom.
‘Hey,’ he mutters, his mouth sounding full of toothpaste. I wait for him to come out.
‘I was at a bar with Ray and Luke,’ he tells me, appearing from the bathroom with his hair standing slightly up on end and a towel over his shoulder. ‘They were playing old sixties Latin American music… it was weird.’
‘Right. Harry, listen…’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Dad. I honestly didn’t think he was going to go ahead and book a ticket. It was just a crazy idea I had after the prison visit… I left him a voicemail asking if he wanted to come out here.’
‘But why?’ Harry is frowning at me, looking at me like I’ve descended in a time machine again. ‘You hardly ever see your dad. And you don’t have anything to talk about with him when you do see him. Why would you want him out here with us, in the middle of our travels?’
‘Well, we’re not actually travelling anywhere at the moment, are we?’ I remind Harry. ‘And I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but meeting that prisoner, Naomi, really made it hit home to me that life is precious. Time keeps on passing and I barely know my father. What if now is the time to do something about that?’
‘But…’ Harry’s frown deepens. ‘All he ever does is make excuses, reasons for not inviting us over to his or for not ever coming to visit us.’
I swallow, the truth in Harry’s words hitting me hard. ‘I know. But what if I can be the one to break that cycle? To invite him somewhere? When was the last time we actually phoned him up and invited him over, just for the sake of it, not because it’s Boxing Day or graduation or because we’re going travelling… but, because we actually wanted to?’
Harry turns away from me, shrugging.
‘They’re only going to be in Quito for a week, anyway,’ I continue determinedly. ‘And it coincides perfectly with the remainder of our time here. We’ve been here two weeks now… so by the time Dad leaves, we’ll be free to move on to our next stop, right? Machu Picchu, the Inca trail…’
Harry turns round again, rubbing his eyes blearily. ‘You don’t have to convince me, Kirst. It’s already clear your dad’s coming out here, whatever I think. I just…’ He sighs, and sits down. ‘I just didn’t expect all this when we decided to go travelling.’
‘All what?’ I stare at him. ‘What did you expect, then?’ I feel suddenly emboldened. ‘Weren’t you the one who told me life is too short, we should be striving for what we want, following our dreams, and all that? Well… that’s what I’m doing, Harry.’
Harry runs his hands through his hair and gets up, walking towards me and taking my hands. ‘You’re right. Forget I said anything… look, if this is really what you want, I’ll support you.’ He leans down to kiss me softly on the lips, and I get a vague waft of beer. ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt, for your dad to let you down again…’
I squeeze his hand and smile firmly. ‘Well, that’s a risk I have to decide to take for myself.’
Despite the bravado in my voice, as I turn away to get ready for bed I can’t help wondering why increasingly these days Harry is looking at me like a total stranger.