The Star of Simbako Read online

  She woke at dusk and lifted her overnight bag onto the bed. She had had the foresight to pack several day’s clothes and supplies. They should last until her suitcase reappeared.

  She snapped open the lock and flipped it open. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. A pink frilly shirt and some white shorts were the first things she saw, underneath which lay various pink t-shirts and lacy underwear. Hannah’s clothes.

  The evidence of her weekend away with Simon. Worse still, when she tipped everything out, she found empty condom wrappers in the inner pocket. She had taken the wrong bag. How on earth had that happened? But then she knew.

  Hannah had arrived at her parents’ house as Sam left for the airport and rushed upstairs to hide when she realised that Sam hadn't left yet. Not that Sam wanted to see her. She wouldn’t have been able to think of anything to say to her. Or to Simon either who hadn’t bothered to look for her after she left his flat. The message written in lipstick that Sam left on the bathroom mirror had been clear enough. It said, ‘These are not mine’ and an arrow pointed to down into the basin where Hannah’s knickers lay with their soiled crotch on show. Even Simon was not stupid enough to try to explain away their presence.

  Hannah’s arrival at her parent’s house disoriented Sam who had hoped to leave the country without seeing either Simon or her sister. While her mother had flapped her hands in the background, she only dimly remembered her father carrying her bags to the taxi. He must have picked up Hannah’s overnight bag by mistake. It was an easy one to make as they owned the same bag as they had both been given them by their mother for Christmas.

  So now she was forced to wear the clothes of her harlot sister, ironically taking the place of the woman who took her place. Some of them even smelt of her. They radiated glamour and were definitely not appropriate for field wear. Oh, God, could the day get any worse?

  She opened the door to her room, hoping to retrieve her dirty clothes from outside, but William had spirited them away to the laundry. She considered going downstairs in her towel to see if she might rescue them. Then she heard a voice she recognised, floating up the stairwell.

  ***

  ‘You’re Sam? Jaysus. I’d no idea. I was looking for a man.’ It was her fellow passenger, the Irish man from the plane.

  ‘Do I look like a man?’ said Sam, her expression indignant.

  ‘I meant I was expecting a man.’

  He ran his hands through his sandy hair and wrinkled his freckled face. Still handsome, still horrible. He looked her up and down as if appraising her for market and raised an eyebrow. Sam stood awkwardly at the door. She had dressed in Hannah’s frilly shirt and denim shorts and they didn’t leave much to the imagination. She tried to be nonchalant, which was hard when she felt so exposed.

  ‘You didn’t ask me my name,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Fergus Dockrell, and this fine man is Ned Hunter.’ He indicated his companion, a slim man of average height with thinning hair and piercing grey eyes who wore filthy overalls.

  ‘Alex wants me to go to Fona to start up the diamond project down there.’

  ‘By yourself?’ Fergus’s face was a picture. ‘Anyway, what kept you? I lost you in the airport. I thought you’d be on the helicopter.’

  ‘My suitcase got left behind in London, so I needed to register with the left luggage office at the airport. By the time I’d finished filling in all the forms, it was too late to buy a helicopter ticket.’

  ‘You seem to have found something to wear anyway.’ He snorted, joined by Ned.

  Sam coloured. ‘These are my sister’s clothes. It’s a long story.’

  ‘Did you come on the ferry?’ asked Ned.

  ‘Yes, a scary experience. I won’t be doing that again.’

  ‘Those things are lethal. One got swamped recently. It sank, killing most of the people on board.’

  ‘Water washed over the sides –’

  ‘Okay so, you’re here anyway. Why don’t we all eat something?’ said Fergus

  ‘Have you got repellent I might use? Mine is in my suitcase.’

  ‘Repellent? I don’t use that shite. It’ll give you cancer. Ned?’

  ‘I’m so hard mosquitos bounce off me.’ He laughed at his own joke.

  Sam pretended to laugh too. Tempted to ask to borrow trousers to keep the mosquitos away, her pride would not let her. Their cigarette smoke would do the trick. Mozzies hated it almost as much as Sam hated smoking.

  She climbed the stairs to get money.

  ***

  ‘Did you see those shorts she’s wearing? Who does she think she is? Daisy Duke? What sort of geologist is she?’ said Fergus.

  ‘Your prejudices are showing. Since when have clothes anything to do with brains? If Alex took you at face value, you wouldn’t be here either.’

  Fergus reached up to his hair and tried to smooth it down. It sprang up in the same wild arrangement as before.

  ‘It’s not like my clothes have anything to do with my ability.’

  ‘So how come you think it’s alright to criticise her for it? Anyway, didn’t she say they’re her sister’s clothes?’

  To tell the truth, Ned agreed with Fergus about Sam’s tarty outfit, but he didn't want to say so. She could be a working girl, but not the geology sort, in her miniscule shorts and frilly shirt. In fact, he rather fancied a roll in the hay with her. He imagined ripping that shirt off in double-quick time. Even the cross look on her face and the awkward way she held herself didn’t put him off.

  ‘Give her a chance. Alex’s not a fool. He must have seen something he liked.’

  ‘I’m not surprised if she wore those shorts.’

  ***

  Hannah got back to her flat and threw the overnight bag on her bed. How typical of her mother not to warn her that Sam would pass by the house before she flew to Simbako. Hannah had dropped in to see her parents on her way back from a weekend with Simon. When she spotted Sam’s luggage in the hall, she’d run upstairs and hid in the bathroom, emerging after she’d heard the door slam as Sam left to catch the train to Heathrow. Then she had to put up with her mother’s exasperated sighs and her father’s puzzled silence. She couldn’t leave there fast enough.

  She flicked the catches on the bag and flipped it open.

  ‘What on earth?’

  She picked up the khaki trousers between her thumb and index finger as if they might contaminate her with their utilitarian nature. Underneath, threadbare t-shirts, greying knickers and some field notebooks made up the contents. A bottle of deodorant rolled off the bed and under the nightstand. She realised with horror that her new shirt and shorts had gone on a trip to Simbako. Purchased on her credit cards, she didn’t technically own them yet. Sam would probably wear them in the jungle to get back at her.

  ‘Bugger.’

  ***

  Sam ate dinner with Ned and Fergus in a sports bar on a small peninsula that poked out into the Njahili estuary. A stiff breeze blew through the tables, keeping the mosquitos away. They ordered standard expat fare of steak or fish with golden chips. Everyone attacked their meals in silence and watched a game show on the television with half-naked girls and a plump moustachioed host.

  ‘Which football team do you support, Sam?’ said Fergus.

  ‘Um, Leeds. I know it’s not fashionable.’

  ‘Aren’t you from London? How come you don’t support Fulham or Arsenal?’ said Ned

  ‘My father is from Yorkshire.’

  ‘And your mother?’ said Fergus.

  ‘Cornish.’

  ‘Now that explains a lot,’ said Ned, ‘we’ve got a mining pirate in our midst.’

  ‘Steady on now,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Do you have much experience working in Africa, Sam?’

  ‘This is my first visit to Simbako.’

  ‘How do you like it so far?’ said Ned.

  Sam made a face. ‘So far, they’ve lost my bag, forcing me to d
ress like a hooker, abandoned me in the airport, tried to drown me on the ferry and swindled me in the taxi. I imagine it’s par for the course.’

  ‘It won’t get better, you know,’ said Fergus, with the air of someone who had experience in these matters.

  ‘That’s okay. I’m made of tough Yorkshire stock.’

  ‘Why do you have your sister’s clothes? I’m guessing she’s not a geologist,’ said Ned.

  ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time.’

  She made it through the evening in the restaurant without a single mosquito bite, but several of them bit her on the way back in the car. They hid under the seats and she didn’t notice until she got to the door of her room that there were the tell-tale welts on her calves.

  She dreaded sleeping unprotected in the villa with its leaky windows. To her relief, she found a brand-new mosquito net set up over her bed, tucked in to prevent invaders. William was a treasure. She made a note to pay him back in the morning and fell into bed just as the generator switched off, reviewing her day in the pitch black.

  The airport debacle hadn’t been the best start, but the day had improved once she got to the villa. Her two companions were like chalk and cheese. Fergus, being the general manager of the company, could have cramped her style, but he showed no interested in interfering with her project. ‘I’ve got my priorities.’ Whatever they were.

  And Ned seemed to be a factotum at Fergus’s beck and call, tolerating his job more than he enjoyed it. Despite her first impression, she should fit into Njahili Resources without too much pain. She couldn’t guess what awaited her in Fona, but she was ready for anything.

  Chapter IV

  Sam woke up early the next morning and opened the shutters. She gazed down at the backyard where dusty chickens pecked the concrete. To her delight, she saw her trousers were hanging on the line and they seemed dry enough to wear. Putting on her sister’s shorts and another pink T-shirt from the overnight bag, she bounced down the stairs out into the backyard. Her trousers were flapping in the breeze, pinned to a rope with some homemade clothes pegs. She reached up to remove them.

  ‘Madam, you can’t wear them yet. I haven’t ironed them,’ said William, appearing from an outhouse.

  ‘Oh, you needn't do that. It’s a waste of time to iron clothes. I’m desperate to take these shorts off.’

  ‘But I have to iron them.’

  ‘No-one will notice.’

  Sam hopped from foot to foot in her impatience. William smiled.

  ‘You will, madam. The tumbu fly will get you.’

  ‘The tumbu fly?’

  ‘Yes, it lays eggs on clothes as they dry on the line. When you wear the clothes, the eggs hatch and the grubs burrow under your skin.’

  ‘Under your skin? How do you get rid of them?’

  ‘They emerge after about three days. Or you can go to the doctor.’

  ‘Ugh, how disgusting!’

  ‘Mr Fergus wouldn’t listen and he got one in his arm.’ How unsurprising.

  ‘What does the ironing do?’

  ‘It kills the eggs. Please be patient, madam. I’ll iron them shortly and give them back to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned to go. ‘How much do I owe you for the mosquito net? I’m grateful to you for buying it.’

  ‘I’ll put the receipt on your bed with the trousers later this morning, madam.’

  Mollified, Sam went back indoors and found the men eating breakfast.

  ‘I’m starving,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t eat too much if I were you,’ said Fergus, ‘those shorts are tight already.’

  Sam blushed. She loved breakfast, but now she was too embarrassed to eat.

  ‘Don’t mind him. Help yourself,’ said Ned, sliding over a plate of ham and cheese.

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Fergus. ‘Oh, yes, the airline called. They have found your suitcase and they put it on today’s flight. It’ll be at the Grand Hotel this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ said Ned, ‘I’ve got stuff to pick up in town.’

  ‘That’d be great,’ said Sam

  ‘We need to get you up country as soon as practical. I’ve a meeting in town tomorrow morning, but we can set out after that,’ said Fergus.

  ‘As long as I have my stuff, I’m ready to go when you are,’ said Sam.

  ‘Ned, I need you to do the logistics.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  ***

  The Grand Hotel sat in the colonial district of Njahili, an area clustered with government buildings. The streets contained fewer people and newer cars. U.N. vehicles, big white Toyota four-runners with smoked glass windows, bossed the roads and took up most of the parking spaces. Aid agencies jostled for attention between the government departments, their chrome and glass exteriors contrasting with the faded glory of the colonial offices. A line of enormous palm trees grew along the centre of the road, throwing their shade onto one pavement so people congregated on the other side to stay out of the ferocious heat. Ned parked the car on the sunny side of the street and they crossed the road, avoiding the pools of green slime in the gutters.

  They entered the hotel through an ornate entrance. Two stone lions guarded the doorway and a gilded cupola embellished with irises soared over the foyer. Light flooded down from skylights onto a central waiting area bordered by large-leafed plants and a faux Louis XIV chaise longue and matching armchairs. Groups of well-dressed people murmured across tables scattered with the remnants of afternoon tea.

  ‘Wow, this is nice,’ said Sam. ‘You’d never know from the outside.’

  ‘You can’t tell a book by its cover,’ said Ned. ‘Follow me, the luggage office is under the stairs.’

  He gestured at a staircase at the back of the foyer which swirled left and right into the cupola. The carpet had long since worn out and someone had taken it away, leaving only the redundant, brass stair rods as evidence of its former existence. He headed into a corridor behind the staircase which led to a dusty room policed by a man in a purple uniform.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir and madam.’

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m here to collect my suitcase please,’ said Sam.

  ‘Which flight did it come on?’

  ‘It's on today’s flight from London.’

  ‘Ah, I’m afraid that the flight arrived late. The luggage hasn’t arrived from the ferry terminal.’

  ‘When are you expecting it?’ asked Ned.

  ‘It should arrive in an hour, sir.’

  Ned turned to Sam.

  ‘It’ll take us that long to go home and return in the rush hour. Longer. Let's have a drink instead. There’s a nice bar here.’

  ‘Yes, please, I hate being stuck in the traffic.’

  ‘Okay then. We’ll be back,’ he said to the concierge.

  ‘No need, sir. I’ll send someone to get you when the suitcase arrives. Can I take your wife’s name?’

  Ned snorted.

  ‘I’m not his wife,’ said Sam, ‘but that would be wonderful. My name is Sam Harris.’

  ‘Come on, darling,’ said Ned.

  ‘Don’t darling me,’ said Sam but she couldn’t help laughing. ‘If you’re my husband, you can buy me a gin and tonic.’

  They skirted the foyer and entered an old-fashioned snug with velvet booths and scratched mahogany tables. It smelled of cigars and her shoes stuck to the carpet, but it had an appealing atmosphere. Sam sunk into one of the soft, circular seats lining the booths.

  ‘Lemon and ice?’ said Ned.

  ‘Is the ice safe here?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Yes, they’ve a lot of foreign clients, so they can’t afford to poison them.’

  ‘Okay, lemon and ice then. Thanks.’

  Ned made his way past the tables to the grandiose bar with carved vines and grapes running around the supporting beams and posts. Sam observed him chatting to the barman and noticed how soon the man r
elaxed under the full beam of Ned’s everyman charm. Ned had shaved and changed out of his overalls, presumably due to visiting the hotel. It gave him a younger and more vulnerable appearance. He was not handsome like Fergus, but he was attractive in all sorts of ways that Fergus was not. Fergus mirrored Simon and that was enough to put her off.

  Sam tried to imagine the fallout of her departure from England, but it made her tired. Neither Simon nor Hannah had enough empathy in them to worry about how hurt she was. Although difficult to ignore, any time spent thinking about them was better spent getting on with her new job.

  ‘Earth to Sam.’

  Ned stood in front of her with the drinks.

  ‘Oh, sorry, miles away. Yum, that looks good.’

  Ned had brought a plate of olives and another of pistachios still in their shells.

  ‘Are you alright, Sam? You look sad.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just boyfriend trouble. Well, not trouble, more like extinction.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. He must be stupid to leave a woman like you.’ He hesitated. ‘I mean, someone so, so …’

  Sam looked at him in amazement.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I lost my train of thought there.’

  ‘Are you married Ned?’

  ‘No, well, yes, no, really.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

  ‘No, I, my Gemma left me for another man. We aren’t divorced yet.’

  ‘She must be stupid too,’ said Sam, drink making her braver than usual.

  ‘Thanks. Cheers. Here’s to being left on the shelf.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, immersed in their thoughts.

  ***

  Both drunk, they stumbled into the front door of the house in their compound as they giggled and tripped over Sam’s heavy suitcase.

  ‘What you got in here? Gold bars?’ said Ned.

  ‘Rocks. I’m a geologist, you know.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned that.’

  ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Fergus was sitting at the table in the dark, an empty glass in front of him.