Date:14 April
Subject:Temporary escape report
Hi, you.
I did something a bit impulsive. On Friday evening I packed a bag, bought a ticket and took the train to St Claire. I wasn’t entirely sure what came over me. One minute I was staring at the same four walls and the next I was halfway to Yorkshire with a sandwich and mild panic for company.
It was worth it though. The second I got there, everything felt different. Familiar. Yours. Ours, maybe. I walked past the pub and the village green and it felt like being a little closer to you.
I even managed to be social, which I think deserves a medal. On Saturday I joined the Ramblers for one of their walks. I spent most of it near the back with Mrs Higgins and Bernard, who is very well and still has his pig. Apparently, he won’t go anywhere without it anymore so Mrs Higgins ties it to his harness with a bitof string so he can bring it along. He looked absurdly pleased with himself. You’d have been proud.
I stayed at Morton Hall, had tea at the pub (outside, of course), talked to three whole people I’d never met before, and didn’t spontaneously combust once. Progress.
I assume you haven’t had internet, since I haven’t heard from you. According to that agenda you sent, you should be crossing back into Iraq tomorrow, which hopefully means a better connection when you get to Erbil.
And now I sound like someone tracking your movements, which is ridiculous. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m making such a fuss. It’s only been a couple of weeks.
Still, it was nice to be back, even if you weren’t there.
E x
From:Eve
To:Aaron
Date:17 April
Subject:Just checking in
Hi, you.
You should be on your way home by now, or at least somewhere with signal. I know these things never runexactly to plan, but it’s been a few days and I haven’t heard from you.
Can you just drop me a line when you can? Even one word would do. I just want to know you’re all right.
E x
Chapter 19
Eve
It’s been three dayssince my last email.
Still nothing.
I’ve refreshed my inbox so many times that I could probably do it blindfolded. Each time, I tell myself I won’t check again until later. Each time, I fail within the hour.
I even tried calling him yesterday. The call didn’t connect. Just a click and silence.
There are reasonable explanations, of course. Poor signal. Travel delays. A broken phone charger. But somewhere beneath all the logic is a smaller, meaner voice that won’t shut up.
Maybe he didn’t mean what he said. That maybe his emails were just words sent from far away. Men are good at that, aren’t they? Saying the right things until something easier comes along.
The thought makes my throat tighten, though I try to laugh it off. Aaron isn’t like that. He isn’t. Still, the doubt sits there, sharp and insistent.
By the tenth inbox refresh of the day, I’ve given up pretending to work. My notes blur together, my tea’s gone cold, and my stomach won’t settle.
Then my phone rings.
