My Sister's Bones(60)

And as I step through the chaos of the clinic I feel something depart. I can’t do this any more.

Yet I swallow my fear and go through the motions. I follow the young medic, who introduces himself as Halil, around the clinic and listen as he tells me what has happened.

We stop at a rickety stretcher where a young woman is lying motionless. She is barely out of her teens and she stares at the ceiling, her mouth wide open, while Halil fixes a tourniquet to the remains of her arm. I kneel down beside her, my heart pounding in my chest. I know there are no painkillers and that she will be in agony. I stroke her arm and as she turns her face to me I think of Hannah. She was close to this girl’s age when I last saw her. And as I sit looking at the broken body of the young woman a searing sensation rips through my own; a memory of an old wound that I had inflicted but never tried to heal.

It happened on Hannah’s tenth birthday. I had just returned from Gaza, where I had reported on the bombing of a school where hundreds of children had been killed. The experience of walking through mounds of mutilated bodies had affected me greatly and I remember thinking how lucky we were in the West, how chance dictated that some children were born into peace while others were born into conflict. Three days after I returned I was invited to Hannah’s birthday party and the little girl delighted in showing me her new doll. I have no idea what came over me but seeing Hannah in her sparkly new dress, with all her presents, made me see red. I grabbed the doll and twisted its head off. ‘Come on, Hannah,’ I shouted as I threw the doll at her. ‘Let’s play Gaza.’ I will never forget the look of fear and confusion on her face as she stood there above the remains of her doll. My mother and Sally were furious but they soon forgot it. Hannah, though, never forgot, and after that whenever she saw me, she flinched.

I blink away the memory and ask the girl her name. She looks at me blankly, her eyes cloudy with pain.

‘She is Amira,’ says Halil. ‘Her house was hit while she and her family were sleeping. Her baby was blown from her arms and her little son also died.’

I turn to the girl. She seems so young and yet she has been a mother. I look at her missing arm and imagine the baby that once lay there; one minute warm and safe and suckling its mother; the next obliterated. The young woman closes her eyes and turns away, and as Halil guides me to another bed all I can see is Hannah and her broken doll and I know that it has happened; I have finally lost my nerve.

I got back to my tent an hour ago but I couldn’t rest. All I could think about was that girl and her missing baby. My heart was thudding and it felt like I was going to collapse. I needed air. So I put my rucksack on my back and walked.

I’m sitting outside now, watching the stars come out. It’s quiet here away from the groans of the patients. My mind drifts to Paul and Sally back in Herne Bay. I wonder how they are. Paul will be worrying about Sally; I know he will. I wish she would do the right thing and stop drinking. I also think of my own demons. Coming back here has convinced me that I need to face up to my problem.

When I got back to London I assured Harry that I would talk to the company’s occupational therapist as soon as I returned from Syria. He was dubious about letting me come out here but he knows I’m the only one who can get close to what is happening. My reports sell papers and that is enough for Harry. But perhaps I will see someone when I get back, I think to myself. Perhaps it’s time.

It’s getting cold. I grab my rucksack and open it up, taking out the first item to hand, a thick woollen sweater. I pull it over my head but as I put my arm into the sleeve I feel something hard. I push my hand out and a slim black object drops on to the ground.

I stoop to pick it up and shake my head as I turn it over in my hands. Mum’s Dictaphone. Paul must have packed it thinking it was mine. I push the rucksack to one side and sit back on the grass. If it still works I can hear her one last time, my lovely mum. I curl up on my side and fiddle around with the buttons. It’s an older model than mine and it takes me a while to get it going, but finally I hear a hiss and then the unmistakable tones of my mother:

‘Testing. Testing. That’s what they say, isn’t it? I’m meant to speak into this thing cos I keep forgetting where I left my glasses. Kate says I’m going to get through a whole rainforest of Post-it notes if I’m not careful so she’s bought me this nice new thingy. Though I told her not to bother. I’m too old for all this new-fangled nonsense.’

I smile as her voice drifts through the dusty air. She’s come back for me just when I need her most. My eyes well up with tears as she carries on talking about what she needs to get from the supermarket and the Christmas bin collection dates. Silly little trivial things, but hearing her talk about them makes me feel safe. Then she stops and there is a long pause. I fast forward and hear her voice again.

‘. . . the house next door.’

I rewind a bit and wait for her to start up again.

‘I’m telling this to you because I know they’ll all think I’m barmy but I’ve seen him twice now and he was as clear as the nose on my face.’

Her voice is serious and I stand up and increase the volume, my heart thudding in my chest as she continues.

‘There’s a little lad. Tiny little thing, can’t be much more than three or four, in the house next door . . .’

It’s the last thing I hear as a shaft of bright white light blinds me and I’m flung to the ground. I hear the familiar tap, tapping of an approaching shell. I cover my face and close my eyes, then all is black.