Which meant he was worrying and he didn’t know how to process it or find the words.
“It’s a common procedure. She’ll feel a lot better after it.”
“She should’ve gone to the doctors sooner. Max should’ve…” He shook his head. “It’s Mum. No one can make her do anything.”
“So don’t blame your brother.” My hand landed on his back. Physical reassurance. Touch.
He didn’t shrug me off.
“I’m not. I’m blaming myself. I shouldn’t be here.”
“And if we’re working on that premise, neither should I.” My mother was struggling at the moment, her MS at a bad point. Next week she could be completely fine. Who knew?
“I’m sorry. I forget you’ve got your own issues to deal with.”
“This isn’t a pissing competition. My mum’s MS is relatively under control. This is more unknown. But right here, there’s nothing you can do. Have you spoken to her?”
He smiled, it was watery but there. “Yes. She told me to stop being a fucking mard arse. Those were her words.”
“There you go. Don’t create more stress for her by making her worry about you.”
“True.”
My hand was now in his, the closest we had been since that one night. I’d left that morning before he’d asked me to, before he’d started to get dressed. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of him creating the distance that I’d seen him do with the chain of one-night stands he’d had at college. Those beautiful girls who came with him to the café for a coffee if they’d stayed the night, looking longingly at him and hoping they’d be the one to secure a second night and a third. He was a challenge. It hadn’t changed.
“You okay for flying tomorrow?”
“I’m as okay about flying as I ever am.” Which meant not at all. The frequency of flights on a tin can had done nothing to appease my phobia.
“There’s a barbecue happening. A last night thing before we hit civilisation.”
He had been looking forward to going to Marrakesh, telling those of us who hadn’t been there before about it, about the dust, the noise, the heat.
“Let’s go and enjoy it and try not to think about tomorrow.”
* * *
The flight was horrible.We were on a private charter, a small plane which I should’ve been used to but wasn’t and never would be, and we hit turbulence and a storm. Callum sat next to me as normal, holding my hand as normal, not complaining when I dug my nails into his skin, as normal.
It was dark when we finally landed. I needed food and alcohol and a comfy mattress with a massage and very hot shower to get rid of all the cold sweat that had coated me as the plane had bounced up and down in the sky. The order of those things wasn’t fixed, just necessary.
The airport was air conditioned and didn’t prepare us for the heat that hit us when we headed outside. The air felt thick and heavy, heated with the energy of people as well as the sun.
“Wow. This is different.”
Callum walked next to me, desperate to get to the riad where we were staying so he could charge his phone that had died and check to see how Marie was. I’d been his distraction while we were on the flight and collecting our luggage – mine was last through to be picked up which seemed to be standard.
“Different is one word for it. It can take some people a couple of days to get used to the place.”
“Will you show me the souks?” I’d been reading up on the city, its culture and people. Given that we’d been in the middle of plains and deserts for the last month, this was the first bit of civilisation and I was desperate to see the busy alleyways with the shops selling silverware and leathers, Argan oil and the other goods that the place was so famous for.
“The day after tomorrow. Just enjoy the riad first.”
There was a Hamman in the riad where you could get a massage and not just a fantasy one, and something called a black soap scrub which was apparently amazing. Given that we hadn’t actually had anything resembling a proper shower since leaving Botswana, where the water pressure had been temperamental and heat hadn’t always occurred.
We sat in the back of the taxi, Jaime with us. The rest of the crew and production team were still sorting out the equipment but there hadn’t been any reason for us to wait for them. I watched as Callum tried to switch his phone on again, probably hoping that it had magically recharged.
“Why don’t you use mine – if you know Max’s number?”
