Anne-Marie led us up two flights of narrow stairs to an open balcony that overlooked the pool on all four sides. Four bedrooms led off it and I remembered reading that there were only eight in total in the whole property. The two riads next door were owned by Anne-Marie also and they were where the rest of the crew were staying, although they didn’t have the hammam.
My room was cool and airy, the bed huge with white sheets. Wooden furniture was scattered around, rugs and quirky decorations making it feel unique. The shower was massive, tiled in white with a window that was wide open, allowing a coolish breeze to drift through.
But before I could rinse airplane off me, I needed to lend an ear. I hoped Marie was okay, hoped it was pneumonia and not something more. Callum had said very little, but he was pre-occupied and unfocused on anything going on around him. I understood why; I just wished I could make it better.
There was a quiet knock at my door before I’d even opened my suitcase. Callum stood resting against the doorway, his eyes filled with worry.
“Phone’s there. Call him now. I’ll sit with you.”
He nodded and headed to the bed, sitting down with my phone now in his hand.
Max answered on the second ring.
“I was waiting for you to call. Was the flight okay? Did Wren manage it?”
The mention of my name woke me up.
“She’s doing better. It was a bad flight – turbulence and a thunderstorm. I think I have some skin left on my hand.”
Max laughed. “That’s good. And you have a few days now.”
“A few. How did it go?” Callum wasn’t wasting more time on small talk.
“It isn’t pneumonia. But before you get your designer boxers in a twist, no one has mentioned the word cancer. She’s in hospital still and they’re operating tomorrow.”
I moved, sitting behind Callum, pressing my chest to his back, my legs either side of his. He rested back against me and I wrapped my arms around his waist. We’d sat like this when we’d lived together during our placement.
“What is it? Why’ve they not picked up on it sooner?” His voice crackled.
I kissed the side of his neck. It was intimate, the sort of thing more than a lover would do. I didn’t analyse it. Now wasn’t the time.
There was a long sigh from Max. “Okay, listen. I’ll start with the layman’s terms. She has a hernia in her diaphragm and the doctor thinks that part of her small bowel and colon have gone through her diaphragm into her lung, which is why she’s tired and she’s thought she’s had a chest infection for months.”
“That’s usually congenital. A diaphragmatic hernia. Shit.” He closed his eyes. “What are they doing?”
“Operating tomorrow.”
“I’ll fly home as soon as I can get a flight.”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’? I need to come home.”
“You don’t. You’re back in a week and a half. The operation has the same risks as any op and they’re not entirely sure what’s going on in there until they get in. She’s scheduled to be seen first thing.” There was a pause and a groan. “Callum, if you descend tomorrow, she’ll feel like we’re waiting for her to die. This isn’t life-threatening.”
“It’s life changing. She may need a colostomy bag.”
“She might. But they don’t know. Don’t borrow trouble. Get on the group message and send us a load of pictures of what you’ve been up to because she’s worried that you aren’t okay. You and Wren get out in Marrakesh tomorrow and sightsee, take a video of you haggling for silver teapots or a rug or something and send it for when she wakes up. Send a video message to Seph insulting him or something.”
“I want to come home.”
“I know. I get that.” Max sounded like he was losing patience.
“Do Seph and Payton know?”
“Bits. Jackson’s relaying information and sorting out visiting times tomorrow. And you can see her through Facetime. She’ll like that. What she won’t like is you flying back. You know that.”
Callum was quiet. I pressed my forehead against his back and slid my hands to rest on his thighs. He put his hands on top of mine.
