Zafir clicked through the emails in his inbox. There was one from Rami but he didn’t bother opening it. Zafir had already heard about how wonderful Rami thought Dubai was. Besides he wasn’t actually that interested in his emails. He was just trying to distract himself from the thoughts that were circling like hungry crows in his head.

How could such a thing happen? Pops was a good person. He wasn’t a traitor. He didn’t criticise the government. Not like Uncle Ghazi and Abu Moussa’s son and the thousands of other people who were saying the same thing now: that the government must resign. Even Mum said it. But not Pops. Pops helped people.

The worst thought was the one about how Zafir hadn’t done anything to stop them taking Pops away. Mum had said there wasn’t anything he could have done because the security forces had guns and if he’d tried then they would have taken him away as well. Zafir knew she was right but he still felt guilty.

He thought about checking Facebook but no one in Dubai understood what was going on in Homs. A couple of friends had replied with comments like ‘keep your head down, dude’ or ‘stay smiling’ when he’d told them he could hear the shooting from Tetah’s house. They lived in another world.

Zafir walked down the stairs slowly, placing his feet in the hollowed-out grooves. He was halfway when he realised that the people whose feet had worn down these steps had all died long ago – he was stepping into dead people’s footprints. He shivered and wished he hadn’t had that thought.

Mum and Tetah were sitting at the table in silence. They looked up when Zafir came in.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Mum. She was pale and probably hadn’t slept much either. In front of her was a cup of coffee.

Zafir shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘All I can say is thank God they did not take you also,’ said Tetah. She had said that at least a hundred times the night before after he’d got back, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Tetah had her make-up on and her hair was curled and sprayed in its usual style, but her eyes were puffy. ‘Ustaaz Farook is making enquiries. He believes it’s all a mistake and that Paul will be released without charge.’ Tetah reached out and put her hand on Zafir’s arm. ‘What a terrible thing for you to witness.’

‘I’m okay,’ Zafir repeated, though he didn’t really feel that way.

‘Why did they arrest him?’ Tetah asked again, although she knew neither Mum nor Zafir had the answer. ‘He’s a doctor. He was only doing his job. He’s not a criminal or an activist.’

Rosa came in to clear away the plates and Zafir saw her hands were bright red.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mum, pointing at her hands.

‘Nothing, Madaam. It is from the red dye for the eggs,’ she said. ‘But now that sayidi, sir—’

Rosa didn’t finish her sentence because Mum stood up and clapped her hands. ‘Of course! Today is the day we paint the eggs. This is exactly what we must do. We must think about the renewal of life and how even in the dark times there can still be hope.’

‘Yes, this is a good idea.’ Tetah nodded.

A little later Mum and Tetah were dunking the eggs into a bucket filled with red dye. It looked like they were dipping the eggs into blood.

‘Come on, Zafir,’ said Mum, looking up at him, her own hands now bright red. ‘You must paint your egg too.’

Zafir stared at her hands and almost threw up. He turned away.

‘Are you okay, Zaffie?’ Mum asked.

‘I’m fine. I … I just don’t feel like doing it. It’s kid’s stuff.’

Later Zafir saw the small pile of blood red eggs sitting in a basket on a shelf in the kitchen but after that day no one ever mentioned them again.

When Zafir checked his emails on Sunday morning there was only junk mail and the unread message from Rami. He opened it. The email was long and all about how amazing Dubai was, but at the end he’d written ‘double delete this email’. Zafir frowned. There was nothing important in the email. Was there? He reread it carefully. It started with Rami apologising for not returning Zafir’s email straight away and then went into details of how they got to Dubai from Homs. He said he liked the beaches, but the Naqib had said there were dangerous sharks in the waters now and a local fisherman said the problem was getting worse. He asked how Zafir’s family was, before saying he should have known Dubai’s malls would be better than the ones in Homs. He’d wanted to leave his baby sister in one shop because she screamed so much that everyone in the mall stared at them. The last sentence before the ‘double delete this email’ said ‘I wish you were here’. It was only when Zafir read the message for the third time that he realised there were words within the sentences that were typed in a different font. The second last sentence was all in that font. He quickly wrote the words on a page of his notebook.

Not returning to Homs. Naqib says dangerous now and getting worse. Your family should leave. I wish you were here.

It took Zafir ages to reply in the code, telling Rami what had happened inside a rambling message about what he was doing for his holidays. As he pushed ‘send’, he wondered how long it would be before Rami, like his other Dubai friends, would move on in his own world and not be so interested in what was happening in Zafir’s world in Homs.

Zafir spent the rest of the day in the laneway practising a new trick on his skateboard. There was nothing else to do. Mum had gone with Abu Moussa to find out where Pops and Mohammed might be and Tetah was at church with Ustaaz Farook. She had asked Zafir to go with them. He’d nearly said yes because he wanted to see Eleni and talk to her about normal things like skateboarding and Australia, but Mum had told Presbytera Sophia about Pops so Eleni would want to talk to Zafir about it. He couldn’t face her. How could she understand why any of this had happened? She came from a place where people only knew freedom.

When Mum came home, it was almost evening. Zafir was sitting on the step near the kitchen regripping his skateboard. He watched her go through to the sitting room where Tetah had the television blaring. She walked slowly, as if her feet were dead weights, and pulled her scarf and coat off like it was hard work. Zafir could tell that she didn’t have good news.

‘Do you have any news?’ he heard Tetah ask as the volume on the television was lowered. ‘I’m so worried. Ustaaz Farook can find out nothing.’

‘Only bad news,’ Mum replied. ‘I have been to every ministry and police station possible but I can find out nothing about where Boulos could be. Sadly, we do know the fate of Mohammed. He has been sent home to be buried. His wife said the body was black and blue, as if he’d been kicked and beaten. Abu Moussa says that his family will leave Homs and go to Al-Sukhnah where his tribe is from.’

‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ said Tetah. ‘This is terrible news. I will offer prayers for the family. And to think that my son was arrested for caring for him and now all for no good reason.’

‘There’s more,’ said Mum. ‘When I went to our apartment at Al Waer I found this letter from the hospital.’

‘Mum, what is it?’ Zafir had come into the sitting room because he could tell that she was almost in tears.

Her lips wobbled up into a smile when she saw him. ‘Ya Allah, you are growing,’ she said. ‘Seeing you makes me realise I am still more fortunate than poor Abu Moussa and his family but …’ In her hands was an envelope.

‘Let me see it,’ said Zafir. He saw Mum’s hands were shaking. She handed the envelope to him without a word.

‘What does it say?’ asked Tetah.

Zafir and Tetah read the letter from the hospital. It said that as Dr Boulos Haddad no longer worked for the government then he and his family must vacate the apartment by the end of the week.

‘How can they do this?’ asked Tetah. Mum sighed and shrugged.

‘It’s signed by Dr Bassell,’ said Zafir, feeling a rise of anger against Pops’s enemy.

‘Yes,’ said Mum, sounding tired. ‘Who is now the new head of training.’

‘This is bad news indeed,’ said Tetah. ‘But you can stay here for as long as you wish. When Paul is back he will get another job. There are other hospitals. Or you could go to live in Australia as I’ve suggested many times.’ Zafir glanced over at Tetah. Was emigrating really her idea?

‘Inshala,’ Mum replied.

‘But it seems that bad news does come in threes,’ Tetah went on. ‘At church today Presbytera Sophia told me that Father Papadopoulos thinks things have become so dangerous here that she must take the children away to Greece where the family have many relations.’

Mum sat down on the hard sofa. ‘She had told me that they were thinking of this but that Petros – Father Papadopoulos – would stay. I will miss her.’ She sighed again. ‘Tomorrow I’ll go to the apartment and gather our belongings.’

Zafir went back to the step near the kitchen and sat with his head in his hands. With Pops missing, no apartment to go home to, Rami not coming back, Eleni leaving and Abu Moussa going away as well, it was like the walls of his world were crumbling.