the woman back along the corridor to her room. The curtains were drawn across the window and there on the bed were her new clothes. She stared. This is where they're going to kill me and they really want me to dress up and look like a fashion plate? She dropped the towel.
'Look; won't I do like this? Do we have to go through this pantomime? '
'Nice tits, Jane. I'm sure they'll come in handy in your new job. Pop them into this bra for now though. Good girl, I got the size just right.' Jane dressed. The clothes were good quality, the sort of things she might have worn to impress someone on a first date. She turned and caught her reflection in a mirror. There hadn't been a mirror there before.
'Cup of tea before you go?' So, that's how it was done. Nothing so crude as an injection. A nice cup of tea then off you go. How very English.
'Yes please. I don't suppose you've got a biscuit as well?
'Of course, dear; what sort do you like?' Oh, God; my last wish is for a biscuit.
'Digestive, chocolate digestive, please?'
'Of course, anything. Anything at all.'
'A biscuit's fine.' The orderly brought a tea tray; China teapot, China cups and saucers. Milk in a pretty jug. Biscuits on a plate.
'I'll be mother' said the young woman. 'How do you like it?'
'Milk, no sugar, please.' I bet the poison's in the sugar. Or, maybe it's already in the pot.
'Just as I like it.' She poured the tea, using a silver mesh tea-strainer. 'Take your pick.'
'It's in the tea, it has to be. Whichever cup I take she'll not drink hers.' The nurse picked up her cup and took a mouthful. Jane stared at her. Maybe it's the biscuits. The chocolate must disguise the taste. The nurse took a biscuit and bit it in half. How does it work, then? Not the tea, not the biscuits. I'm sitting here wondering how they plan to kill me, and this woman is drinking her tea and eating her biscuits as if it's a pleasant break from normal duty. Jane started to drink her tea. Earl Grey, she thought. There's posh. I can't dunk biscuits in this. She took a biscuit and dunked it. Delicious; really delicious.
'Your car's here, miss' the orderly told her. 'No rush, he'll wait.'
They finished their tea. No ill effects. Jane was, perhaps, free. She had work to go to, she felt relaxed, fresh, not a single ache or pain. She wasn't truly free; there was a place she had to go to but probably that was normal.
'What exactly is this job I'm going to? Do you know anything about it?'
'Some sort of social work, I think, love. We've sent a few girls on such placements and they've none of them had to return so it must be good. Never been any complaints that I know of. Finished with your cup?'
Time to go. A quick visit to the lavatory, a final look in the mirror, a door open to the outside world and she had a choice of sitting in the front or back seat. She chose the front, beside the middle-aged driver. Jane fastened her safety belt, leaned back in her seat and the car drove off and away from the clinic.
16
His new class waited for him to begin. Some of them had been waiting for two hours. Not, of course, that he was two hours late; that would have been impossibly impolite. They had been waiting because they were eager to learn, because some of them had walked in from neighbouring villages or simply they were curious to see what sort of man the boy had become. There were two hundred of them crowded into the compound of the nursery school at Malinding village.
His mother had walked with him to the school but had not mentioned the size of his class. She had led him to the Baobab tree in which her husband, his father, had sat and told stories so long ago. She introduced him, then stood back.
'Villagers, men and women, greetings to you and your families. Greetings to your parents and to your Imams and leaders. This is Ed-Lamin Edwards, son of my late husband, who has come to tell you stories and listen to your questions. Maybe he will come often to
'Look; won't I do like this? Do we have to go through this pantomime? '
'Nice tits, Jane. I'm sure they'll come in handy in your new job. Pop them into this bra for now though. Good girl, I got the size just right.' Jane dressed. The clothes were good quality, the sort of things she might have worn to impress someone on a first date. She turned and caught her reflection in a mirror. There hadn't been a mirror there before.
'Cup of tea before you go?' So, that's how it was done. Nothing so crude as an injection. A nice cup of tea then off you go. How very English.
'Yes please. I don't suppose you've got a biscuit as well?
'Of course, dear; what sort do you like?' Oh, God; my last wish is for a biscuit.
'Digestive, chocolate digestive, please?'
'Of course, anything. Anything at all.'
'A biscuit's fine.' The orderly brought a tea tray; China teapot, China cups and saucers. Milk in a pretty jug. Biscuits on a plate.
'I'll be mother' said the young woman. 'How do you like it?'
'Milk, no sugar, please.' I bet the poison's in the sugar. Or, maybe it's already in the pot.
'Just as I like it.' She poured the tea, using a silver mesh tea-strainer. 'Take your pick.'
'It's in the tea, it has to be. Whichever cup I take she'll not drink hers.' The nurse picked up her cup and took a mouthful. Jane stared at her. Maybe it's the biscuits. The chocolate must disguise the taste. The nurse took a biscuit and bit it in half. How does it work, then? Not the tea, not the biscuits. I'm sitting here wondering how they plan to kill me, and this woman is drinking her tea and eating her biscuits as if it's a pleasant break from normal duty. Jane started to drink her tea. Earl Grey, she thought. There's posh. I can't dunk biscuits in this. She took a biscuit and dunked it. Delicious; really delicious.
'Your car's here, miss' the orderly told her. 'No rush, he'll wait.'
They finished their tea. No ill effects. Jane was, perhaps, free. She had work to go to, she felt relaxed, fresh, not a single ache or pain. She wasn't truly free; there was a place she had to go to but probably that was normal.
'What exactly is this job I'm going to? Do you know anything about it?'
'Some sort of social work, I think, love. We've sent a few girls on such placements and they've none of them had to return so it must be good. Never been any complaints that I know of. Finished with your cup?'
Time to go. A quick visit to the lavatory, a final look in the mirror, a door open to the outside world and she had a choice of sitting in the front or back seat. She chose the front, beside the middle-aged driver. Jane fastened her safety belt, leaned back in her seat and the car drove off and away from the clinic.
16
His new class waited for him to begin. Some of them had been waiting for two hours. Not, of course, that he was two hours late; that would have been impossibly impolite. They had been waiting because they were eager to learn, because some of them had walked in from neighbouring villages or simply they were curious to see what sort of man the boy had become. There were two hundred of them crowded into the compound of the nursery school at Malinding village.
His mother had walked with him to the school but had not mentioned the size of his class. She had led him to the Baobab tree in which her husband, his father, had sat and told stories so long ago. She introduced him, then stood back.
'Villagers, men and women, greetings to you and your families. Greetings to your parents and to your Imams and leaders. This is Ed-Lamin Edwards, son of my late husband, who has come to tell you stories and listen to your questions. Maybe he will come often to
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