‘Trevor. Trevor. Oh Tigger ...’
She had shot up in the bed, terrified, when she heard the feet coming down the path and the flickering lights playing on her curtains. Hutu Interahamwe. Robbers. Murderers. War has broken out; the soldiers are here. She pulls the chilly sheets up around her, then changes her mind, jumps out of bed, fumbles for her shoes, clutches her glasses, for she must be ready for whatever comes. She is many things, but she will not be a coward. Her heart is beating like a drum in her chest. Something in her shoe briefly tickles. The light switch seems to have moved from the wall. She pats at the stiff canvas in desperation.
‘Madam, Madam ... Very sorry ... Madam, Mrs Henman, someone is here.’ The bark of the male voice makes her shudder, but it’s speaking English, it’s deferential.
Is it a trick? she wonders, to make her unlock. Then her stomach sinks. Did she even lock it? But the next voice floods her with incredulous emotion.
‘Ness. Nessie. It’s me. It’s Trevor.’
‘Trevor? Trevor?’ She runs to the door. The voice, unmistakable, infinitely dear. She opens. The warm Ugandan night.
Trevor: Vanessa. They stare at each other.
It takes some time and dispensation of money to convince the GFC staff that Trevor can stay here, that he isn’t an intruder, that she’s safe with him. Mustapha speaks with passionate sincerity about ‘the security of our guests’; Trevor says, ‘Exactly, mate, you don’t want any more murders here.’ Vanessa squeaks, alarmed, ‘What murders?’ and Mustapha accepts a small wodge of notes.
Once the men have gone, they are suddenly shy. She stands, wild-haired, in pyjamas and glasses, with insect cream all over her face, shivering a little with shock and emotion. ‘How on earth did you get here?’ she asks him. ‘Am I dreaming, Tigger? Are you really here?’
She has taken his hands, both his hands in hers. They stand like children, waiting to dance.
‘You aren’t dreaming. Well, I drove.’
‘You drove? Yourself? You can’t have done.’
‘I did, Nessie. There was nothing else for it. There’s a lot to explain. But ... I was worried.’
‘You came all the way to Uganda for me?’ Her little pale face is wreathed in smiles: the torch he had carried glints softly on her lenses.
It’s too soon to explain, to wreck the moment. ‘May I say one thing? You look beautiful, Ness.’ She’s old; she’s frail; she is his Vanessa. Torchlight streaks her hair with white gold; years of affection; so many lost summers. Her long pale neck is printed with lines. She is here, and alive. She is his love. And look, she is wearing their wedding ring, the thin gold band that was all he could afford. They have passed ten minutes without quarrelling.
‘I can’t do, darling. I’m covered in Doom or whatever they call this insect cream. You must be exhausted. I should offer you something. But I’ve only got some nuts. Oh, and some bananas.’ But she can’t find them. Her foot still tickles.
‘How did you find me .... AAAAAARGH!’ She is suddenly screaming, at full volume, and in fifteen seconds there are running feet, and the men are back, knocking hard on her door, and it isn’t easy to convince them, this time, that the only trouble is a half-squashed gecko, a poor little shape in the tomb of her shoe.
Within half an hour, they’re in bed together, and this time Vanessa isn’t shivering. They are not young. They know this is precious. Each fragile inch of flesh must be loved. The thing they have always been able to do that loosens the weight of time and space, that turns everything into a single moment, the wave of the present reaching for the sunlight, the swell of the instant that floats them away ... It was lost for so long, and they’re old enough to know that one day it will be lost for ever. The wordless miracle of the body, the living body of the person who loves you.
And then it passes, and they are still here. And Trevor’s ankle doesn’t feel quite right, and Vanessa scratches some of her bites. But they stroke each other, and it all hurts less, as they tell stories, remember each other. And he is still there as she falls asleep. He’s falling too, still holding her. As the damp cold air creeps in all around them, Trevor and Vanessa cling to each other, warm and dry on their shrinking island.