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You should never have hurt me in the first place.
He deserved to spend some time wriggling on the end of her hook. She knew she ought to be gracious and allow him to show her who he was now. They had both been children. But...
He’d always said he was going to be a doctor. Always said he was going to travel the world. And here he was, doing just that. She liked it that he had stuck to his grand plan and was doing something worthwhile and noble. It showed her he wasn’t still that cruel teenage boy he had once been. That there was more to him now.
It would have been so easy for him to have stayed working in a hospital in the UK, with modern equipment and civilisation and technology all around him, but no. He had come out here. To treat the needy, to give aid to those who had none.
That was a good thing to do, wasn’t it? Heroic?
So you get some Brownie points, Quinn. I get that you’re not all bad.
Tasha reached for Abeje’s hand as a nurse, Rowan, came up to her.
‘She’s doing okay. I know it looks like nothing is happening, but we have to wait for the medications to work.’
Her Irish accent was lilting and musical. Even reassuring in a homely way.
‘How long should that take?’
‘It depends how long she’d been sick for, before we got the meds on board. The parasite she has in her system is quite an aggressive one.’
‘It could kill her.’ It wasn’t a question. Tasha knew the risks of this parasite.
‘We need to hope for the best.’
Rowan was not saying yes or no. Not promising that everything would be all right.
Tasha knew how to do that. She’d done it herself. But she’d never realised just how frustrating it sounded when she was on the receiving end of it. When you were worried sick about someone you needed someone in charge to tell you it would be okay. That they wouldn’t die. This vagueness, the non-promise, was devastating, but as a doctor she’d always assumed her vague answer would be comforting. Would give hope.
‘Will you keep an eye on her whilst I’m gone?’ she asked Rowan.
‘Of course. There won’t be any change for a while, so it’s probably best that you’re out there doing something else. It’ll help keep your mind off it.’
Tasha wasn’t sure that was true. She was hardly going to forget Abeje. The little girl was almost like a daughter. Not that she’d ever had one. But she definitely wanted children some day, and this was how she imagined it to be—worrying constantly. Fearing for their wellbeing.
‘You’ll contact me on the radio if there’s any change?’
‘Of course I will. It’s a good thing you’re doing. Going to help those villagers.’
Tasha nodded and Rowan walked away. It felt strange to her that she was going out with a medical team. It had been such a long time since she’d walked in their shoes, and it felt a little terrifying to be returning to it.
The last time she’d made a field trip with a hospital team had been out to the London bombings, back in 2005. There had been carnage. Injured people lying in the streets. Blood. Screams. She shuddered just remembering it.
What would they find in Mosa? A whole village wiped out? One or two people ill? Everyone healthy?
She hoped for the latter. Steepling her hands, she closed her eyes and began to pray to whatever god might be listening.
* * *
The Serendipity had a truck. Quinn and Tasha sat up front and two of the ship’s nurses sat in the back, along with all the medical equipment and drugs they might need. It was a two-hour drive to the village from Ntembe, and if they got out there by mid-afternoon they could have everyone vaccinated by late evening—in time to drive home again. If people were sick they’d brought tents to stay in overnight.
Quinn was driving, his muscular forearms wrestling with the wheel as it reacted to the rough road surface.
‘So, tell me something good.’
Tasha looked across at him. Something good? Sure. She could do that. In fact she yearned to make him see that she was happy and successful. That what he’d done had not had any profound effect on her life. That it had not left her scrambling for any scraps of self-esteem she might have had left. Yes, he’d torn her down, but she had rebuilt herself and done so in spite of him.
‘Qualifying as a teacher was a good day.’
He smiled, nodding. ‘That’s great! Which uni did you go to?’
‘I did my PGCE at Kingston.’
‘Fantastic! You must have felt very proud when you passed.’
She had. But not as proud as she had been when she’d qualified as a doctor. That had been after many years of hard work—not just one. But he didn’t know that teaching had been her second choice. Her fall-back position.
‘It was a lot of hard work. Lots of essays.’
‘Universities do like those essays and dissertations.’ He smiled again. ‘Tell me what it felt like the first time you had to stand in front of a class of kids.’
She sighed, thinking back to her first placement. The one that had almost made her quit. The out-of-control kids, their jeering and taunts. It had reminded her of how she’d felt once before.
‘The first one was awful. They send you out on two-week placements during training. It was like putting a kitten in front of a pack of baying, rabid dogs. The students were awful. Teenage boys. Laughing and disrespectful. On my first day I ended up running from the room in tears.’
She didn’t add that she’d felt particularly raw to teasing from teenage boys. Surely he must understand that? That she’d been weakened by him from the get-go and had never stood a chance? How it had made her feel like she was Nit-Nat all over again.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, was it?’
But maybe it was? Maybe he’d made her ripe for the picking? Those boys had sensed her nerves. Her weakness. One of her first lecturers had talked about showing no fear. Said that some kids were like packs of hyenas, looking to wear a newbie teacher down.
‘No, but...’
‘My second placement was much better. Great kids—attentive. Determined to do well. The contrast in the two places really surprised me, but it was a lesson for me to persevere. I could so easily have given up after that first experience, but I think, in a way, that you toughened me up. I was determined to carry on and succeed. Lippy teenage boys weren’t going to ruin my life.’
He nodded. Smiled. ‘Lippy teenage boys are mostly cowards. Perhaps the only way they knew to deal with someone better than them, was to try and tear them down.’
She smiled back. ‘Well, they failed.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’ He was solemn.
‘What was it like the first time you had to treat a patient?’
He laughed, clearly relieved that the conversation had taken a brighter turn. ‘Awful! I took the patient’s history okay, but then I had to take a blood sample. Something I’d done in practice many times, that I thought I was good at, but I couldn’t find a vein. The guy was like a voodoo doll by the time I’d finished with him.’
She smiled, imagining it. Remembering the first time she’d taken blood from a real, live patient. She’d actually done okay, even though her hands had been shaking with nerves. And her patient, a wonderful old lady, had been so kind to her. ‘Everyone has to learn, ducky,’ she’d said.
‘Ever lost someone?’
The question just came out, and the second it did—the second she realised what she’d said out loud—her cheeks flamed hot. Why had she said that? Why had she asked? Of course he was going to say yes. Every doctor had had someone die on them.
‘Too many,’ he answered politically. Non-specific. No details. Answering but not telling her anything. ‘It’s hard. You tell yourself you’re ready. Your lecturers and mentors try to prepare you. But...’
Tasha stared at the road ahead, terracotta sand and rocks, scrubby bushes and thorny trees. A chorus of insects could be heard faintly above the roar of the engine.
‘You can never be ready for loss.’
She looked at him. At the rigid set of his bristled jaw. His knuckles tight upon the steering wheel. He’d been the one who had first introduced her to loss. To pain and grief. She’d thought she’d known what that was, not having parents. But he’d provided her with insight into another kind with his hurtful words.
Perhaps he was right? Perhaps he had been a coward? Afraid to let his friend Dex see him as someone else.
‘No,’ she answered. ‘You can’t.’
* * *
The village of Mosa hoved into view just after four in the afternoon. It wasn’t big—twenty or thirty homes at the most. Large brown cattle grazed by the side of the dirt road and the villagers working in the fields stopped their work to stare at the truck as they drove past. They probably didn’t get a lot of visitors.
Quinn parked the truck and they all got out gladly, pleased to stretch their legs and work the kinks from their muscles. It hadn’t been a long drive, but it had been a hot one, with the air-conditioning in the truck temperamental.
Tasha smiled at one of the villagers. ‘Hello. My name is Tasha, and this is Dr Shapiro and his two nurses. We’re looking for Ada Balewa.’
The villager stared at her for a moment, and then silently pointed to a hut further down.
She beamed a smile. ‘Thank you.’
Together they walked down the track, towards the primitive hut that had been indicated.
‘Ada Balewa?’ she called out.
A small woman emerged from the depths of the hut, wrapped in a brown dress, frowning. ‘Yes? Ah! Miss Tasha!’
Tasha smiled and greeted Ada with a hug. ‘You’re looking well.’
The other woman frowned again. ‘Yes, I am, but I do not think that is why you are here.’
This was the part that Tasha had been dreading.
‘Abeje is poorly. She was bitten by a mosquito and now she’s sick with malaria. We have her in a hospital ship, but we thought maybe there might be some other people sick here. Can you tell us if anyone has a fever?’
Ada nodded. ‘Yes. A boy and a girl.’
‘Could we see them? We’ve brought medicine.’
‘I will take you to them.’
They followed Ada—Tasha, Quinn and the two nurses, Maria and Rob. As they walked Ada asked about Abeje. Tasha told her what she could. That everything was being done for her.
‘I wish I could see her.’
‘If there’s room we could take you back with us.’
‘I have my own children here. Crops to tend. I cannot leave.’
‘Then try not to worry. We’ll do our best for her.’
‘Thank you.’
The boy and girl that Ada had spoken of were brother and sister. The boy twelve, the younger girl nine. They were sweating and had been sick.
Quinn was quickly by their side. ‘Let’s do the rapid tests—double-check this is what we think it is. In the meantime let’s get them on IVs so they don’t dehydrate.’
Tasha stood back and watched him work. He was a true professional. She’d seen it before with Abeje and now she saw it again as he cared for these two siblings side by side. They were conscious, so he spoke to them, keeping his words simple in case their English wasn’t good. He smiled. Explained what he was doing. Told them not to be afraid.
Even if they didn’t understand his words they would at least understand his kind, caring tone. His unthreatening behaviour. His empathy and desire to help. It was good for her to see it. This side of him. It gave her hope.
She wished she could do more. Instead she silently watched as he worked, anticipating and expecting his every move. His care of the two siblings was exactly what she would have done herself. It was hard to stand back and do nothing.
The rapid tests confirmed malaria so he started the anti-malarials. When he’d done, he turned back to Ada. ‘Is anyone else sick?’
‘No.’
‘I really don’t want to leave these children here. They need urgent care. Would you allow me to take them back to the ship?’
Ada nodded. ‘I will speak to their parents.’
She disappeared from the hut.
Tasha stood in the doorway, afraid to stay, afraid to leave. ‘Is it wise to move them right now?’
He frowned. ‘We won’t do it straight away. I’d like them to get fluids on board first. We might have to stay here the night. Give them time to rest...get them stable before we move them.’
She’d known it might be a possibility when she came, but she’d hoped they’d be lucky enough to escape with a quick visit. Now she would have to spend the night out here with Quinn.
Tasha gave him a nervous smile. ‘I’ll go and tell Rob. Maybe get started on setting up those tents?’
She went to find the nurse. Rob was standing by the truck with Maria. It looked as if they were counting the medicines.
‘There’s more than enough here to inoculate the entire village.’
Tasha smiled. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘It’s probably best if we gather everyone in the same spot to explain what we want to do. Then we can set up a line and treat everyone.’
She nodded. It did seem the best idea. ‘I told Quinn we’d get the tents set up for an overnight stay, too.’
‘Good idea. Perhaps we all ought to get something to eat, as well,’ Maria added.
The tents went up easily—even though Tasha had never put one up in her life. Rob was clear on the instructions and they worked well together as a team. Tasha cracked open some bottles of water, so they could hydrate underneath the hot African sun. Even though it was evening, and everything was a little cooler, they still poured with sweat.
She looked out over the horizon at the vast emptiness, the grey, stony mountains in the distance. It was so different here from in Ntembe. At the port city there was always a sea breeze blowing in—there always seemed to be air and noise and life. Here in Mosa it seemed more solitary, more empty. Quieter. She missed the busyness of people. The safety of numbers.
As she hugged her arms to herself Quinn came to stand alongside.
‘You all right?’
‘I’ve only ever known Ntembe. I thought I knew more. Thought I knew Africa. But I don’t.’
‘It’s a place that can always surprise you. Its capacity to inspire, to fear, to amaze, will always keep you on your toes.’
She looked at him. ‘How are the children doing?’
‘As well as can be expected. I think they were infected earlier than Abeje. They’re sicker.’
Fear welled in her gut. ‘Are they going to die?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
He stared at her, determination in every feature.
* * *
The inoculation line was long, but each and every villager had turned up to receive medication. Tasha could see that Quinn was very happy about that. Neither of them would have liked to leave anyone out, and Ada had been instrumental in speaking to the villagers en masse and getting their understanding and trust, translating to those who didn’t understand English very well.
They sat around a small campfire later in the evening, drinking coffee with Maria and Rob, who soon disappeared for an early night, leaving Tasha and Quinn alone.
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