We pile onto a battered old bus that’s idling at the curb under what I recognise is a No Stopping sign.
“And this is Mo, our driver.” Ethan introduces the young guy behind the wheel, who smiles broadly, exposing blinding white teeth.
Pulling into the fast-moving traffic is a feat. Garret gasps. Riley puts a hand over her eyes. Me? I’m glued to the melee beyond the dusty window.
Ashraf and Mo start a rapid-fire conversation in Egyptian. Ethan interjects the occasional word or two. I guess it makes sense he can speak Arabic, having spent so much time here on digs. But damn, as if he needed yet another thing to make him more attractive, he’s multilingual.
The traffic moves like a solid mass. A fast-moving gridlock. Which Mo navigates without the use of indicators or brakes, it would seem. In no time, we’re at the hotel and we tumble out into the relative quiet and cool of a slightly worn, spotlessly clean foyer. Ethan takes care of checking us in and sends us to our rooms with instructions to meet back in the foyer for a briefing in thirty minutes. I’m so excited that even the reminder I’ll be sharing a room with Riley for the entire trip doesn’t dampen my spirits.
In a move that doesn’t surprise me, as soon as the door closes behind us, Riley locks herself in the bathroom and proceeds to take a ten-minute shower. I don’t care. I’m glued to the window. I can’t wait to get out there amongst everything.
After a quick shower, I throw on clean cotton trousers and a shirt, tie my hair back and stuff a water bottle, notebook, and headscarf into my daypack, along with my DLSR camera. It may be old school, but the photos are so much better than I get on a phone, and I want to document every moment of this trip. The first of many. I hope.
Riley is still lying on the bed in a short, silky robe, forearm draped across her eyes, dramatic Hollywood swoon-style.
“Do Ihaveto? I’mso tired,” she whines when I tell her it’s time to go downstairs.
“Yes, you have to.” I can’t believe she’s not as desperate to see Cairo as I am. Oh, wait. Maybe I can.
“I haven’t even done my makeup. You took solongin the shower.” More whining. I roll my eyes but don’t comment. I was in and out of the bathroom in under five minutes. If this is what she’s going to be like the whole time, I might have to brush up on mummification techniques.
“I’m not going to miss the briefing for your eyeliner. I’ll see you down there.” I sling my daypack over my shoulder, grab my room key and head for the door.
“You can’t leave me here. Ethan said we weren’t to go anywhere alone.” Riley sits up, clearly alarmed at the prospect of being left by herself.
“I don’t think he meant inside the hotel, Riley. I’ll tell Ethan you won’t be long.”
There’s a little sitting area off the main reception of the hotel. Ethan, Ashraf and three preppy-looking guys I don’t know are sitting around chatting.
Ethan looks up as I approach, his gaze searching behind me, I guess expecting Riley, and lifts an eyebrow when he doesn’t see her, although he doesn’t comment.
“Sadie Montgomery, this is Jeremy, Bart and Simon. They were students of mine at Cambridge. Back to torture themselves for another season.”
They all laugh, and we shake hands.
“Actually, it’s not Bart; it’s Edward. They call me Bart because my surname is Simpson. I answer to either,” says the tallest and bulkiest of the group.
“Montgomery. Montgomery,” Simon mutters, brows knit. Here we go. “You wouldn’t be related to Derek Montgomery, would you?”
I laugh, although it comes out more like a choking sound. “Yes, but please don’t hold it against me. Seven across, abandoned daughter with cliched daddy issues. Five letters. First letter S.” Making a joke of it is the easiest way I’ve found of dealing with questions about my father.
It does remind me, though, to find a moment to talk to Ethan about whether he knows if my father is here. I did some stalking before I left Sydney, which was frustratingly inconclusive, and the last thing I want is to run into him by accident.
I’m saved from more questioning by the arrival of Garret and a server with a tray of tiny tea glasses and fragrant white facecloths rolled into steaming cylinders.
“Shukran,” I say as I take one of each.
“Oh, well done,” says Jeremy in a plummy accent that would rival Prince William. “Picking up the lingo already. You’ll do just fine.”
And somehow, his compliment doesn’t feel half as good as the slight but approving smile Ethan shoots my way.
After introducing Garret, Ethan gets started.
“First and only warning. If you’re late to a meeting or a briefing, you miss out. They start on time. No exceptions.” The Cambridge boys all laugh and nod knowingly. I smile to myself. Riley’s going to struggle with this.
Ethan won’t be around the rest of today and tomorrow because he’s meeting with the Department of Antiquities, and the Cambridge boys are appointed our tour guides, as they’ve all been on the past couple of digs run by Ethan.
“You’re free to do what you wish this afternoon and tomorrow. On Wednesday, we’ll all go to Giza; Thursday is Saqqara, and on Friday, you will be in reception packed and ready to leave by seven am. You all have my number, and here is Ashraf’s number. Mo will be on call to take you where you’re going on occasion, but check with Ashraf first. If Mo isn’t available, there are plenty of minivan cabs to be had. You can organise them through reception.”
