“I think I might join you,” she said. “Do you mind if I pray for you?”
Although she had not made a convert of me, I was grateful for the offer. Prayer was Katherine’s sincerest way of wishing me well.
“Of course not,” I said.
Her voice was low and earnest when she began.
“Father, please bless Anna and give her safe travels to Bamana. We pray she finds good things when she gets there. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Rose returned. “What happened? Are you guys asleep?”
“We’re just old,” Katherine said. “You’ll get here one day.”
Rose lay down and pillowed her head on my stomach. It was a gesture she had not made in years.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said.
“I know,” I said as I stroked her hair. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Robert drove me to the airport. He had offered, and his company was preferable to an anonymous driver. I didn’t tell Rose. She might make too much of what was a simple favor.
My flight was at 11:00 a.m. but we left at 6:00 to avoid traffic. The road to Heathrow was littered with derelict office blocks. The financial crash had destroyed the hive. The workers had flown. My final year of university, I had a summer job in an office building like that, with a cubicle overlooking a motorway. It was coveted desk space. There were others trapped in the middle of the floor, far from sunlight. It was my first real inkling that life as an architect might not be what I had envisioned.
At university, we thought we were going to be the next big thing in British architecture. We made models that would tumble over if anyone tried to build them, with roofs that curved and swooped and spiraled like orange peels. We were going to alter the skyline of every city in the UK. And then I went to work in a cubicle and then in an open-plan office in the City, drawing WCs on a screen. Marrying Robert and having a child put an end to that life of midnight deadlines. Perhaps I would have designed something notable in the end, after I’d paid my dues in air vents.
“So how are you feeling?” Robert asked.
“Groggy. Rose and Katherine came over to say goodbye last night.”
On the radio, two men argued about the Labour Party. Women hardly ever phoned into these shows, and when they did, they seemed surprised they had made it past the throng of male callers. I winced at their voices. Robert turned the dial to classical music.
“I meant how are you feeling about your trip,” he asked again.
“I’m looking forward to some sunshine.”
I had packed for three weeks. Adrian advised only summer clothes. Shorts were fine but as close to the knee as possible. The UK.gov page on Bamana was not encouraging. “Terrorists are likely to try to carry out attacks in Bamana. Attacks could be indiscriminate, including in places visited by foreigners.” When I read this out to Adrian he’d laughed and said, “London had a terror attack last year.”
“Your father,” Robert said. “How do you feel about meeting him?”
“I won’t know until we’ve met.”
In the car park Robert backed into a space in one smooth turn. He was always the better driver. At the check-in desk my bag weighed 18 kilos.
“Well, this is it,” he said, when we stood by the security gates.
“This is it,” I replied.
“I hope it all goes well.”
“Thank you. Thanks for dropping me off.”
He reached for an embrace. I stood stiffly in his arms, inhaling the cedarwood cologne that overlaid his raw, unwashed scent. At the last moment, I clung to him. What was I thinking, traveling across the world without my husband?
“I can still come if you need me. I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow. Just say it.”
His mouth was by my ear. His voice was in my head.
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “You’d need a visa. And no. Thank you, but I need to do this on my own.”
I disentangled myself.
“So you’ll let me know when you land in Bamana?”
“I don’t think we should talk while I’m there. Just to clear our heads,” I said.
“My head is clear. I know what I want, Anna.”
“Please,” I said.
“All right, then.”
“Bye,” we said together.
At security, there was a family in front of me, a father and two sons, the same shade of walnut, a set of three. The father wore a suit, the boys wore jeans and hoodies.
I took off my belt and shoes, intimate gestures to make in the open. The floor was cold, finely sanded with grit.