Inverness, Scotland. Six months later…
‘Brace yourself, Makena. You’re not in Africa now.’
Makena pulled her scarf over her face to hide a scowl. She knew very well that she was no longer in Africa. It had been blindingly obvious from the moment the Kenya Airways flight thudded on to the rain-drenched runway at Heathrow airport. Many hours later, another delayed, gale-tossed plane had deposited her in Inverness, Scotland, a place that made London look like a tropical paradise.
And here she was, being led out into a wind with the chill factor of the freezer her parents had owned in Nairobi. On hot days, Makena had loved to lean into it and sneak spoonfuls of her mama’s homemade ice cream.
The memory brought burning tears to her eyes. Helen Stuart, who’d be fostering her for the next month, gave no sign of having noticed. It was probably just coincidence that she hugged Makena tighter as they fought their way across the dark car park to an ancient Jeep.
‘Unfortunately, this old girl has only two temperatures – sub-Arctic or Saharan sizzler,’ Helen said as she started the engine. ‘Keep your jacket on until it’s too hot to bear.’
The jacket, fleece and tartan scarf were new. So were the jeans. Gita, the Hearts4Africa volunteer who’d travelled with Makena as far as London before handing her over to a British Airways ‘unaccompanied minor’ flight attendant, had bundled her up in two cotton jumpers and leggings. Apparently, they were no defence against a Scottish winter. Helen had greeted Makena with a bag full of cold weather gear and insisted she change before they left the airport.
She looked older than Makena remembered, and whiter. Then again it was half a year since Makena had last seen her and back then she’d barely been conscious. Helen had sent her postcards of the Scottish Highlands, but Makena had barely glanced at them. From what she could tell, they were full of cheerful chitchat about the dire Scottish weather and sightings of birds and deer. There was nothing about why Helen had left so suddenly and never returned.
‘Family troubles,’ was all Edna would say.
She, Serena and Matron Wanjiru had become Makena’s surrogate mothers. They were all wonderful, even strict Matron, but Makena had not allowed herself to grow attached to any of them. Why would she? Even the best people made promises they couldn’t keep.
‘We’ll be back from Sierra Leone before you know it,’ her mama had said. ‘You won’t have time to miss us.’
‘You’re safe now,’ Helen told her. ‘I’m going to take care of you. I’ll never abandon you, I promise.’ Then she had.
Makena suspected that the orphanage director had only asked her to come to Scotland for Christmas because she felt guilty. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to the visit. Perhaps because she was curious to see the place her father had talked of so often. She’d have to guard against getting close to Helen. If you didn’t care about grown-ups, they couldn’t hurt you. It was that straightforward.
The same applied to friends. One minute she and Snow had been as close as Siamese twins. Next, Snow had disappeared without trace. Edna and Serena had done everything they could to try to find her, but she’d vanished off the face of the earth. ‘Presumed dead,’ was what Makena had overheard a detective telling Edna.
‘I can’t believe I forgot gloves,’ sighed Helen. She took Makena’s dark brown hands and rubbed them briskly between her pale ones.
Embarrassed, Makena pulled away. ‘I’m fine.’
‘How about some hot chocolate?’ Helen asked brightly, producing a flask. ‘My grandmother’s secret recipe. You can wrap your fingers around the cup. Stave off frostbite.’
Makena didn’t answer but Helen poured her some anyway. Her hands trembled as she handed it over and Makena realised that she was nervous too. Even her voice was wobbly.
‘It’s so good to see you, Makena. Thanks for coming all this way. You must be exhausted. Once you’ve settled in and have caught up on sleep, I do hope you’ll enjoy it. Nobody comes to Scotland for the weather, but it has other ways of stealing your heart.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s get moving before we turn into ice statues.’ Putting the Jeep into gear, she reversed.
A glimmer in the wing mirror caught Makena’s eye. Something darted swift and low across the tarmac. Sparks spat behind it, like the tail of a shooting star.
‘Stop!’ yelled Makena.
Helen slammed on the brakes. Hot chocolate splattered against the windscreen and poured down Makena’s front.
‘Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. Are you burned?’ Frantically, Helen swabbed her down with tissues.
‘I’m okay, I’m okay.’ Makena snatched the box and mopped her dripping jacket herself. She’d been in Scotland less than an hour and already it was a disaster. She should never have come.
‘My new clothes are ruined and it’s all my fault,’ she burst out.
But Helen wasn’t upset or cross. She was smiling. ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll pop everything into the washing machine and it’ll be clean and dry by morning. It’s really my fault for not bringing you a cup with a lid. Besides, you saved us from having an accident. What did I nearly hit?’
She twisted round to scan the empty car park. ‘What did you see?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Makena was reluctant to admit that her mind had likely been playing tricks on her. ‘I saw something. I definitely saw something.’