There’s an Australian serviceman peering into my cabin. I can see him in the doorway, outlined by the light from the passageway.
It’s Andrew, I can tell by his uniform and his ears.
When he was carrying me and Bibi onto the warship, and we were all hooked onto the cable and sliding through the air, he could see how scared we were.
‘Hang onto my ears,’ he said.
At first I thought he’d said it wrong. He speaks our language, but not that well. Then I realised he meant it.
‘When God was handing out ears,’ he said, ‘I asked for handles. Knew they’d come in useful one day. Hang on.’
So we did.
He didn’t care if it was hurting him. Australians are like that. Really generous. Also Andrew’s an officer, so he’s probably been trained to withstand pain.
‘Jamal,’ whispers Andrew now. ‘Are you still asleep?’
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘Bibi is, but I’m not.’
Andrew creeps into the cabin, careful not to trip over the piles of cables and winches lying around. He bends over Bibi’s folding bed and puts his hand gently on her forehead.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Her fever’s gone.’
He crouches next to my bed. He’s holding a tray with two plates on it.
‘Thought you might both still be hungry,’ he says, handing a plate to me. ‘The speed you ate that first meal, I thought you were going to swallow the cutlery as well.’
He clicks on a torch and shines it onto the plate.
Fish fingers, chips and peas. Same as last time. Andrew says it’s traditional Australian food. I love it.
‘Thanks,’ I whisper.
Andrew’s face falls. Suddenly he’s looking upset. ‘Jamal,’ he says quietly. ‘I want to say how sorry I am.’
I stare at him, panic turning my first dinner into a hard ball in my stomach. Why is he sorry? Why is he looking so sad? Has he heard bad news?
‘Is it Mum and Dad?’ I blurt out. ‘Has something happened to them?’
Andrew looks confused for a moment. Then he puts his hand on my arm. ‘No,’ he says gently. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re fine. Their boat must have taken a different route. We’ve got a plane out looking and once we’ve dropped you off on dry land, we’ll join the search ourselves. We’ll find them.’
Australians are really good at calming you down.
‘Or,’ I say, ‘they might be waiting for us when we arrive.’
‘They might,’ he says.
I believe him. That’s another thing about Australians. You trust them.
‘What are you sorry about then?’ I say. Another scary thought has hit me. Rashida.
‘What I’m apologising about,’ says Andrew, ‘is the time it took to get you all off your boat. You were cold and hungry and your boat was leaking. We should have done it straight away, but there was …’
I can see he’s struggling to find the right word. It can’t be easy, expressing yourself in another language.
‘… paperwork,’ says Andrew.
‘That’s OK,’ I say. ‘I understand about paperwork. My mum’s a teacher.’
Andrew smiles, but he still looks a bit upset.
‘How’s your hip?’ he says.
‘Hurts,’ I say.
‘I’m not surprised,’ he says. ‘The size of that bruise. When I was a kid a truck hit me and I didn’t have a bruise that big. I’ve spoken to the doctor who looked at it. He says it needs to be X-rayed, but we don’t have an X-ray machine on the ship.’
I’m not exactly sure what an X-ray is. Probably a traditional Australian method of curing bruises. I’m sure there’ll be loads of X-ray machines around when we land.
‘That’s OK,’ I say. ‘Thanks anyway.’
‘I’ll leave you to eat in peace,’ says Andrew.
I don’t want him to go.
‘Andrew,’ I say. ‘How come you speak my language?’
‘Night school,’ he says. ‘The navy pays you more if you’ve got a second language.’ He grins. ‘Anything else you’d like to ask?’
There are a million things.
I want to know if Bibi and I will be able to go to school at night when we’re living in Australia. I hope so, because that’ll leave the days free for soccer practice.
I want to know how to cook fish fingers, chips and peas, so I can make it for Mum and Dad and Bibi.
I want to know where Andrew lives, so if possible we can live close.
But there are even more important things to ask.
‘How’s Rashida?’ I say.
‘She’s fine,’ says Andrew. ‘She was a bit dehydrated, so the doctor’s got her on a drip, but she’ll be up soon.’ He smiles again. ‘Anything else?’
There is something else. I’m scared to ask because just thinking about it makes me remember the storm and the waves smashing over us and how some people were swept into the sea. But I have to ask anyway.
‘Have you found the boy with the soccer ball yet? His name’s Omar.’
‘Not yet,’ says Andrew. He gives me a sympathetic look. ‘People are scattered all over the ship. I’m sure he’ll turn up. And I’m sure your ball will too.’
‘It’s not the ball I’m worried about,’ I say.
Andrew nods. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘Enjoy your meal. I’ll leave Bibi’s plate on the floor. See you later.’
‘Andrew,’ I say. ‘When it’s your birthday and the government brings your cake round, I hope it’s a big one.’
‘Thanks,’ says Andrew.
He looks a bit puzzled as he creeps out. I remember I’m not absolutely sure about the Australian government and birthdays.
After a while I sit up and start eating.
A little later a voice comes out of the gloom, making me jump. ‘You can get gut-ache eating too many chips,’ it says.
I realise someone is watching me from the doorway. I hear the thump of a soccer ball bouncing on the lino in the passage.
‘Hey,’ says Omar, coming into the room. ‘Is that dinner on the floor for me?’