Also, digs aren’t cheap.
“Umm. I can’t afford it on top of my rent and expenses.” Embarrassing to admit, but also true. If I’d been able to continue living with my mum, I’d be fine. Financially. Emotionally? Not so much.
I’m expecting her to look disappointed. What she looks is pleased.
“If that’s all it is, then there’s no problem.” She claps her hands together gleefully as though she’s about to wind up a preschool class. “I have a discretionary fund from the Berner Institute. For use in any postgrad activity I choose. I can use it to pay your dig expenses and give you a small stipend to cover your rent. Come and see me in the morning. I’ll get the paperwork drawn up.”
And without any expectation there will be an argument, Jennifer jumps off the arm of the sofa and charges down the corridor, looking for another problem to solve. While Ethan and I climb out from beneath the piano, with stars circling the pointed bumps on our heads.
There’s no talking Jennifer out of me going on the dig when I meet her the next morning. I try. I really do. Right up to the point where she skewers me with her eyes and asks point-blank if there’s a reason I don’t want to go.
Of course there is. And, of course, I can’t tell her. So I’m going.
The frustrating thing is I’m beyond excited by the idea of going to Egypt. On a dig.
Egyptian digs have been a bit erratic for the past few years. Partly because of the lack of funds in Australian universities and partly because of the volatile political situation in the Middle East. For the most part, undergrads have not been allowed, even when digs have gone ahead. So I’ve never been able to go on one. This is what I’ve been working towards my whole university career.
This is what I want to do with my life.
And it’s all but ruined by the spectre of Ethan Carter. At the same time, I can’t think of anyone who I would rather work under. Yeah, yeah. Freudian slip. I’m beginning to sound like Riley, even if it is just in my head.
It’s a good thing the last few weeks of the semester are too busy for me to worry about how I’ll manage to avoid Ethan on such a small dig team.
I run extra tutorials to help the students under my care achieve the best results they can in their final assessments, and then I’m busy marking both papers and exams. Ethan has decided we’ll both mark all papers independently and compare the results. Blake, the guy taking the tutorials for Ethan’s other classes, complains bitterly about how it’s doubling the workload, but I can see why Ethan wants to do it. He’s scrupulous about fairness and wants to ensure all the students get the mark they deserve—good or bad.
I’m eyeballs deep in marking one night when I answer my phone without looking at the caller ID.
As is her habit, Mum starts out syrupy sweet. Experience suggests it won’t be long before she’s taking shots.
“Sadie, darling, how are you? I’ve been worried. You haven’t called inweeks.” Sometimes she reminds me a little of Riley in the way she talks in italics. I don’t point out that she hasn’t called me either.
“Hi, Mum. Yeah, busy time of year with exams and everything.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise you werestilldoing exams. I thought you were doing your PhD.” She damn well knows I am. Which burns her up because she dropped out before she finished her master’s when the scandal with my father erupted, and never went back to it. She also knows I’m working as a tutor. This is her way of telling me she feels she hasn’t been kept in the loop while having the added advantage of putting me on the defensive.
“Marking exams, Mum. I’m tutoring three courses.” I wonder if it would be unfair to the students to keep marking while she talks. Probably.
“I see. Well, I’m calling to let you know Christmas is at Nana’s this year.”
Argh. Christmas. At least having it at Nana’s will ensure there’s a buffer between me and my mother. The problem is, I’m leaving for Egypt on the twenty-seventh.
“We’ll go up on Christmas Eve and come back in time for New Year,” Mum continues. My mother’s parents live on the Mid-North Coast, about a four-hour drive from Sydney. The last thing I want is to spend four hours trapped in a car with my mother.
“Okay. That’s fine. But I’ll take my own car. I have to leave early on Boxing Day.” I’m not entirely certain my car will make it, but I don’t have much choice.
“You have somewhere more important to be than with your family at Christmas?”
“I’m going on a dig. In Egypt,” I blurt, knowing this is going to cause a fight. “We leave on the twenty-seventh.”
There’s a long, loaded silence. I can feel the chill seeping out of my phone.
“I see.”
I bite my tongue on the urge to explain. She knows what going on a dig means to an Ancient History student.
The silence drags on for another few beats.
“Since you’re going to Egypt, I presume you’ll be seeing your father while you’re there. The man whoabandonedyou.” I’m glad I’ve got her on speakerphone because my ear would be in danger of frostbite from her tone.
