offered. Even then, he was aware of his desire to make it up to her, to prove to her that she had, in fact, picked well. This desire had no doubt made him more ambitious than he might otherwise have been. He has loved her well, he believes.
But are we are really meant, by nature, to be monogamous? These days, people live such long lives. Last week in
Time
magazine heâd read and memorised a quote describing exactly how he feels and has felt for the last two years:
The world is big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark
.
He checks the cupboards. There are several tins of Vienna sausages and a couple of onions. He can fry these up, and make a kind of hot dog: a Safiya special. The first time she made it, they had come home late, hungry. After a few minutes of scrabbling in the kitchen, suddenly, there it was: a delicious spicy sausage mix squished between two slices of bread. Safiya had a knack for making something from nothing.
Georgia is lying on her bed, the small bedside lamps throw a soft amber light. It is cool; clever girl, she has figured out how to use the air conditioner.
âDinner in ten. Is that okay?â
âSure!â
He notices that her bed is nearest the door and he wishes itwasnât. There is something about sleeping away from the door that offers more protection; like walking on the inside of the pavement. He would like to tell her but she will complain that he is being overprotective. It is curious to him how the need to safeguard his daughter never goes away. His mother had warned him, when you have children you will understand why I worry so. Georgiaâs delicate frame, her gentleness, has always made him feel overly protective. That, and, of course, the other more obvious reason, has turned him, where she is concerned, into something of a worrier.
He remembers one afternoon, her primary school teacher telephoned to say that Georgia had fallen in the playground and taken a ânasty bumpâ. Martin left the station and drove there at once. When he saw her small face bloody and scuffed, her gaping chin, heâd actually cried. These last months he has felt her absence deeply like a limb lopped off. In her young hands she carries his heart. He has talked to Safiya about this. Georgia is the one thing that always stops him in his tracksâhis red light.
And yet, if it wasnât for Georgia, he might not be in Trinidad. Three years ago, after thirty years of service, heâd retired. Using his chunky lump sum, they moved from their detached, modern estate house to a five-bedroom farmhouse with two acres, and a paddockâand enrolled Georgia in an excellent private school. He carried on working in the same post as a civilian; with a smaller salary and his pension, they could more than manage. The Home Office warned of cuts but it was still a surprise when redundancies were announced and, more so, when his post was axed, along with an entire department of Community Safety Officers.
Miriam returned to work full-time, but they soon found themselves struggling to pay the £15,000-a-year school fees. It was either sell the house, put Georgia into a local comprehensive, or he must find another job. He registered with recruitment agencies in Birmingham, Leicestershire, and Nottingham. He was beginning to despair when, out of the blue, Nigel Rush telephoned about opportunities for former army and police officers in Trinidad. Easy money, Nigel said. Tax-free; expenses covered, accommodation included, along with regular flights home. Apparently, he fitted the criteria, perfectly.
You could do this standing on your head with your eyes shut
. Martin wasnât sure exactly where Trinidad was.
Miriam calculated, if he worked for eighteen months, Georgia could carry on at the school; they could put money aside for university, and even allow themselves a holiday or two. Eighteen months wasnât long; time would fly by. He spoke with Raymond on Friday, and the
But are we are really meant, by nature, to be monogamous? These days, people live such long lives. Last week in
Time
magazine heâd read and memorised a quote describing exactly how he feels and has felt for the last two years:
The world is big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark
.
He checks the cupboards. There are several tins of Vienna sausages and a couple of onions. He can fry these up, and make a kind of hot dog: a Safiya special. The first time she made it, they had come home late, hungry. After a few minutes of scrabbling in the kitchen, suddenly, there it was: a delicious spicy sausage mix squished between two slices of bread. Safiya had a knack for making something from nothing.
Georgia is lying on her bed, the small bedside lamps throw a soft amber light. It is cool; clever girl, she has figured out how to use the air conditioner.
âDinner in ten. Is that okay?â
âSure!â
He notices that her bed is nearest the door and he wishes itwasnât. There is something about sleeping away from the door that offers more protection; like walking on the inside of the pavement. He would like to tell her but she will complain that he is being overprotective. It is curious to him how the need to safeguard his daughter never goes away. His mother had warned him, when you have children you will understand why I worry so. Georgiaâs delicate frame, her gentleness, has always made him feel overly protective. That, and, of course, the other more obvious reason, has turned him, where she is concerned, into something of a worrier.
He remembers one afternoon, her primary school teacher telephoned to say that Georgia had fallen in the playground and taken a ânasty bumpâ. Martin left the station and drove there at once. When he saw her small face bloody and scuffed, her gaping chin, heâd actually cried. These last months he has felt her absence deeply like a limb lopped off. In her young hands she carries his heart. He has talked to Safiya about this. Georgia is the one thing that always stops him in his tracksâhis red light.
And yet, if it wasnât for Georgia, he might not be in Trinidad. Three years ago, after thirty years of service, heâd retired. Using his chunky lump sum, they moved from their detached, modern estate house to a five-bedroom farmhouse with two acres, and a paddockâand enrolled Georgia in an excellent private school. He carried on working in the same post as a civilian; with a smaller salary and his pension, they could more than manage. The Home Office warned of cuts but it was still a surprise when redundancies were announced and, more so, when his post was axed, along with an entire department of Community Safety Officers.
Miriam returned to work full-time, but they soon found themselves struggling to pay the £15,000-a-year school fees. It was either sell the house, put Georgia into a local comprehensive, or he must find another job. He registered with recruitment agencies in Birmingham, Leicestershire, and Nottingham. He was beginning to despair when, out of the blue, Nigel Rush telephoned about opportunities for former army and police officers in Trinidad. Easy money, Nigel said. Tax-free; expenses covered, accommodation included, along with regular flights home. Apparently, he fitted the criteria, perfectly.
You could do this standing on your head with your eyes shut
. Martin wasnât sure exactly where Trinidad was.
Miriam calculated, if he worked for eighteen months, Georgia could carry on at the school; they could put money aside for university, and even allow themselves a holiday or two. Eighteen months wasnât long; time would fly by. He spoke with Raymond on Friday, and the
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