Hearts And Minds

There had been a warm breeze earlier in the evening, but now the night was still, as though the darkness had sucked away all the air. They sat on opposite sides of the table, their faces becoming murky shadows as the night wrapped itself around them.

"Let’s go inside," Lydia said. "It's getting muggy. We can watch a film while we wait for David."

As they gathered up the dishes, they heard the sound of a car engine whipping through the hot, still night. The noise grew closer and louder, until the car drew to a screeching halt outside the villa.

"Must be David," Chris said, irritation pricking his voice. "I'm going to have to have another talk with him about driving so fast. I'm starting to wonder why we ever gave him that car."

"Well I did tell you it was a powerful car for an 18 year old."

They walked inside and their live-in maid, Jenny, hurried into the kitchen to take the plates from them.

"Don't worry Jenny," Lydia said. "We'll do this. Can you fold the washing and put it away please?"

Jenny scuttled upstairs and Lydia and Chris clattered around the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher and piling plates into the sink.

After a couple of minutes, Lydia turned to her husband. "Maybe it wasn't him? Maybe that was next door's reckless teenager arriving home?"

Chris shrugged. "Sounded like he pulled up right outside. I'll go and check."

Chris headed out of the front door, closing it behind him to stop the hot air from streaming inside. As she continued clearing up, Lydia wondered to herself whether she'd ever get used to the ferocious heat of the Middle East. They had now been here for five years, but each summer she was still shocked by the sun’s attack. It would rise from its warm winter slumber and, for a couple of months, it would lazily stretch its burning limbs and prepare for battle. As soon as July hit, it would fire its first blazing missiles and it would maintain the onslaught until mid-October, when it would eventually collapse from exhaustion and rest until the following March. The humidity was the naughty younger brother of the heat, keen to play along but without the stamina. It would play hide and seek - some days so thick you felt you could grab it with both hands, other days barely more than a whisper on your skin.

Lydia heard the door slam and turned, smiling, to greet her son. The smile slid down her face when she saw him. David was hunched over, his arms wrapped around his skinny frame, his body convulsing as he sobbed. Chris stood a few feet away from him, confusion and disbelief jumbled on his face.

"What is it?" Lydia asked, nervously turning off the tap and drying her hands with a tea towel. "What's wrong?"

Chris slowly turned towards her, but his expression didn't change, as though it was permanently scratched on to his face.

"What is it?!" Lydia asked again, looking from one to the other.

"David had a car accident," Chris said, eventually.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" Lydia hurried over to her son, taking him in her arms briefly, and then holding him at a short distance so she could inspect him. "Are you hurt?"

"He ran someone over."

Chris's words skidded into her brain and exploded, shattering her thoughts into fragments of confusion.

"What?" Lydia stumbled a couple of steps back from her son. "What do you mean? Who did he run over? How?"

Panic was starting to take little bites out of her, ropes of fear twisting around her neck. She looked from her husband to her son, neither of them answering her. "Tell me what happened!"

"He was driving past the sports centre," Chris said. "Apparently a woman appeared out of nowhere and he ran her over."

"Is she okay?" Lydia asked, fear tiptoeing down her throat to her stomach.

"He doesn't know. He drove off."

David was sobbing even harder. He raised his head to look at Lydia, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "I'm sorry, mum. I was scared."

The three of them were speechless for a few moments, each of them struggling to absorb the horror of the situation. The sound of a phone ringing crashed into their silence like a stampede. They all looked at each other. Chris patted his pockets. "It's mine," he said.

The conversation was brief. Chris said very little other, but stared straight ahead, a frown carving itself deep into his forehead.

He hung up and turned to face them.

"That was the police. They know the car was in an accident. They're coming here to talk to us."

David dissolved into fresh sobs and Lydia moved to put her arms around him.

"What are we going to do?" she asked her husband, choking on lumps of panic.

"We need to pull ourselves together,” Chris said. “We can sort this out, we just need to stay calm. I think we need a lawyer. Why don't you two sit down in the living room for a few moments and I'll go and call John – he should be able to help us."

He headed upstairs, determination stamping in his footsteps. Lydia guided her son to the living room and sat next to him of the sofa, trying to comfort him.

He would be eighteen in a couple of months, but still had the gangly, skinny physique of an adolescent. He had always been a confident child, popular amongst his peers, bright at school and excellent at sports. He was the sort of kid who seemed to breeze through life, always with a smile on his face, never finding anything too difficult. Many of Lydia's friends in England had warned her that David would find it difficult to settle into a new life, with a new school and new friends, but he had embraced it all with his trademark enthusiasm. He loved the sunshine, the beach, the sparkling lifestyle where there was no grit, or grime or hardship. Children here became spoilt, accustomed to luxury and laziness. They were immature in their views of the world, ignorant to the difficulties faced outside of the expat bubble. David would soon be a man by law but, looking at him now as he sobbed pitifully, Lydia saw that he was just a helpless child.

Long minutes passed before Lydia heard the creak of the top step and looked up to see Chris walking down the stairs. Jenny was following him, her head bowed slightly.

"What did John say?" Lydia asked. She could hear the desperation puncturing her words. "Can he help us?"

"I didn't call John," Chris said.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and ushered Jenny over to the living area, gesturing for her to sit in an armchair opposite Lydia and David. Chris perched on the edge of another armchair, and faced his family.

"Listen," he began. "I think we all realise this is not a good situation. But Jenny and I have been discussing it upstairs and I think we've come up with a solution that can help everyone out."

Confused thoughts glued themselves together in Lydia’s mind, trying to make sense of what Chris was saying.

"I have made Jenny a proposition," Chris continued. "If we tell the police she was driving the car, and she goes to jail instead of David, I will do everything I can to get her out as soon as possible and will pay her 150,000 dirhams. That money will give her a children a better future...."

He faltered when he saw realisation falling down Lydia’s face through grooves of horror.

"You're paying her off?" Lydia spat out the question.

"Would you prefer our son to go to jail?” Chris asked, fear hiding behind anger. “How long do you think he would survive there?"

Lydia stared back at him, the lines of his body fuzzy with her own confusion. Every strand of integrity, every thread of rationality screamed at her to resist his suggestion. But, beating with the thud of her heart, stronger than any logical thought, was the maternal instinct that was woven into the cells of her body.

She looked at Jenny, whose body seemed to have closed in on itself – her shoulders hunched, her arms crossed, her head bowed. "Jenny, did you agree to this?"

Jenny refused to meet Lydia's eye. "Sir said I should do this for Mister David," she said. "And he will look after my family."

The sound of the doorbell ripped through the room and reverberated through each of their bodies. Chris leapt up. "Jenny! David! Both of you go upstairs. David, stay in your room. Jenny, I will call you down if necessary."

Both Jenny and David got to their feet and hurried upstairs, ushered by the urgency in Chris's voice. Once they were out of sight, Chris breathed in deeply and then went to answer the door.

"Good evening!" Lydia heard the false joviality in his voice. A brief pause and then, "Yes, of course, please come in."

Lydia got to her feet and stretched a smile across her lips. The two policemen were wearing local dress, white dish-dashes with red and white headdresses. Both had short, dark beards that cut sharply across their faces in immaculate lines. They held themselves with the self-importance that so often goes hand in hand with a position of authority.

Chris offered them a drink, which they refused, and then invited them to sit down.

"Your car has been involved in an accident tonight," one of the policemen said, his thick Arabic accent sharpening each syllable. "Do you know anything about this?"

Lydia leg was touching Chris's and she felt his muscles contract. There was a brief pause before he replied, "Well, our maid took the car out tonight. She was back about half an hour ago."

"Your maid? Well can you get her please?"

"Sure." Chris took a few paces towards the bottom of the stairs and called up. "Jenny! Please can you come down here?"

They waited a few moments, the weight of silence squashing the air in the room. Lydia glanced at the policemen, their eyes fixed on Chris and hardening with suspicion.

"Maybe go and get her?" Lydia suggested.

Chris took the stairs two at a time and Lydia heard him cross the landing to Jenny's room. She heard him knock, and call her name and then open the door. Then she heard him scream, and the sound had her out of her seat and bolting up the stairs. She reached the doorway to Jenny's room and her scream joined her husband's. Jenny's body was hanging limply from a rope tied to the curtain rail.