Zafir was starving. Uncle Ghazi had left the apartment hours ago after the electricity got cut again. He’d said he’d be back about lunchtime and would bring some supplies. Zafir couldn’t wait but there was hardly anything in the fridge except for some stale bread, a dried-up falafel on a plate and some wilted lettuce in a container that said ‘Damascus Grill House’. If Uncle Ghazi had bought it in Damascus then it had to be at least five days old but Zafir didn’t care. He ate everything. It wasn’t much but at least it stopped his stomach growling and he could think more clearly.

He was pleased Azzam Azzad wasn’t around. Uncle Ghazi said he usually went out for early morning prayers but both of them had slept in and hadn’t heard him leave.

Without any lights on it was dark and quiet in the apartment. Outside Zafir could hear the hum of cars in the distance.

Because there was nothing else to do he went through his bags. The first thing he pulled out of his schoolbag was the solar cap. It was less than three months ago that Rami had given it to him. At the time it had just seemed like a clever invention but if Rami were here now he’d be able to make a fortune selling them since the electricity kept on being cut. Not that it was any use to Zafir right now. He wished he hadn’t left his smashed-up phone behind. He might have been able to make it work. The stupid thing was that he hadn’t even thought of getting the chip out of it. It was weird not having a phone and knowing he couldn’t ring anyone and that Mum couldn’t call him. It made him feel more alone than he’d ever felt before. What if Uncle Ghazi didn’t come back?

‘I can’t think like this.’ Zafir spoke out loud to break the silence and stillness of the apartment.

‘When Uncle Ghazi comes back I will find out about Mum. I’ll make him tell me where she is. I have to know the truth.’ With that intention in mind, Zafir started to feel stronger again.

Now what to do? He picked up the basketball but his ribs hurt too much to throw a hoop so he put it back down. He glanced at all the electronic equipment. There was a laptop, a printer and scanner and passport-sized backup drive. The laptop had a battery. It would still work even without power.

Zafir stared at it. If he could get online he could check out Mum’s Facebook page. It might give him some clue as to where she was. He could also send Rami and Eleni a quick email and let them know what had happened.

Zafir glanced around. He knew he shouldn’t touch someone else’s computer but there were only the names of the martyrs on the wall to see what he was up to. He quickly sat down, opened up the laptop and pressed the return key. The computer screen came alive.

The wi-fi was off, but when he clicked on the icon the small bars started radiating. Yes! There was a signal.

He went straight to Facebook and logged on but he didn’t bother going through all his messages. He found Mum’s page but her last entry was months ago. She had kept her promise to Pops even after the ban on Facebook had been lifted. Disappointed, he logged out.

He then opened his email. There was a message from Rami, not even in code, saying that the family were going to the States and he was hoping that he would finally get to meet his real father. He didn’t ask anything about how things were for Zafir in Homs. It was like Zafir had thought: the longer people are in another world, the less their old world matters.

He sent a short reply saying that he was really pleased for Rami and to keep in touch. He didn’t even tell him what it was like to be buried in rubble after a bomb had hit the house you were living in.

There was also a message from Eleni. She said that her father had told her the Bishop had ordered him to stay at his house in Damascus for the next few weeks until the siege in Homs was lifted. He said that life in the capital was quite normal but that the news in Homs wasn’t good. Eleni said she was worried about Zafir and she begged him to write back soon so that she would know he was okay.

He hit ‘reply’ and started writing. It was easier than he thought it would be to tell her everything. He was busy describing what sort of noise the bomb had made before it hit when he heard a scraping sound. The door in the wall next to the basketball hoop opened and Azzam Azzad appeared wearing shorts and a singlet, a towel draped over his shoulder. Inside the room Zafir could see a mattress on the floor. When he saw Zafir at the desk his face went dark.

‘Get away from my computer!’ he yelled.

Zafir quickly pressed ‘send’ and jumped up. ‘I was only checking my emails,’ he said.

‘You stupid kid! Do you want us all rounded up by the security police?’

At that moment, the door of the apartment opened and Uncle Ghazi came in carrying a couple of blue plastic bags filled with food. He looked at Azzam Azzad and then at Zafir, who was still standing at the desk.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘Ask your little spy here,’ said Azzam Azzad, striding across the floor and closing the lid of the laptop.

‘I was just trying to find out about Mum,’ said Zafir. ‘No one will tell me anything.’

‘I told you not to worry,’ Uncle Ghazi said. He frowned at Zafir before he turned to Azzam Azzad. ‘I’ve got footage of the damage done on Al-Korniche last night. It looks bad.’

‘Excellent,’ said Azzam Azzad. ‘If you download it, I’ll write it up and post it after my shower. I just hope they haven’t cut off the water again.’ He headed for the bathroom without saying anything else to Zafir. Uncle Ghazi ignored him too. That made it worse. Zafir felt guilty at being caught out but he was angry too.

‘You’ve got to tell me about Mum – now,’ yelled Zafir. ‘You say you tell the truth to the world but you won’t tell me. Where is Mum? Is she okay? You’ve got to tell me. I’m not a kid.’

Uncle Ghazi dumped the bags and looked over at Zafir. ‘I know you’re not a kid, but after everything you’ve been through I wanted to wait until I had some better news. And,’ he sounded sad and tired, ‘I’m still trying to deal with … things that have happened too.’

The way Uncle Ghazi looked at him, Zafir suddenly wasn’t sure if he really did want to know the truth. What if …? But he had to know.

‘Is she …?’ He hadn’t even been this scared during the bombing. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel the throb of the pulse in his head. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘dead’.

‘… alive?’ It came out as a whisper.

‘Yes.’

Zafir let out his breath and closed his eyes, picturing Mum holding out her arms to him.

‘But …?’ Zafir blinked his eyes open.

Uncle Ghazi looked grim. ‘She’s in a hospital in Beirut.’

‘Beirut? What’s she doing there? What’s wrong with her?’ Zafir was bursting with questions.

‘Sit down, Zaf,’ said Uncle Ghazi. ‘I’ll have to start at the beginning. Firstly, I was going to tell you that I had a phone call today from Eleni’s dad.’

‘Father Papadopoulos?’

Uncle Ghazi nodded. ‘Yes. Through a bishop in his church he has found out where your dad is being detained.’

‘Where?’

‘He’s in the same prison where I …’ Uncle Ghazi stopped and turned away. Zafir saw his fists clench and unclench and only after a few deep breaths did he continue. ‘Father Papadopoulos is in Damascus now and was allowed to visit your dad.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘The prison is overcrowded and the conditions aren’t good but Father Papadopoulos paid a guard some money to buy a mattress and food.’

‘Will he be out soon?’ asked Zafir.

Uncle Ghazi frowned and put his hand on Zafir’s arm. ‘Father Papadopoulos doesn’t think it’s likely. He’s concerned that he may even have to face a trial for treason.’

Zafir looked away. He felt sick in his stomach.

‘But,’ Uncle Ghazi went on, ‘I believe that if the world finds out what’s going on here in Syria then there’ll be some international pressure to release prisoners like your dad. That’s why I’ve got to keep on taking photos and videos.’

Zafir nodded. He could see now why the work that Uncle Ghazi and Azzam Azzad was doing was important.

‘And Mum. What’s happened to her?’

‘When I told your mum I was leaving Damascus and coming to Homs on Friday to stay at Azzam Azzad’s place, she decided she’d come with me to see you.’

Zafir nodded. He remembered she’d sounded excited on Thursday night when he’d spoken to her.

‘When we got here, there were no taxis and as your mother and I were looking for one to take to your tetah’s house we got caught up in a group of protestors who wouldn’t let us pass. They said they would consider us as supporting the government if we didn’t join them. Your mum didn’t need much persuading. She said she wanted her voice to be heard calling for the downfall of the president. I tried to tell her how dangerous it was …’ He stopped and his fists clenched and unclenched again before he could go on.

Zafir’s mouth was dry.

‘We ended up in the square, among so many. It was a sniper. Thank God he wasn’t aiming to kill but the bullet hit her in the arm.’

Zafir felt sick. He remembered standing up on the roof of Rosa’s room last Friday and hearing gunshots. Had he heard the one that had hit Mum?

‘We couldn’t take her to a hospital. Not after what had happened to your dad and the guy he was operating on, but luckily Azzam Azzad knew about this house where some medical students are helping people with gunshot wounds and we got her there. Her arm was smashed badly.’ Uncle Ghazi stopped and gulped.

Zafir’s whole body went cold. He shook his head, too shocked to speak.

‘They were scared she would get an infection and they didn’t have enough antibiotics. I stayed with her overnight but she was getting worse on Saturday. One of them had family who was leaving to go back to Beirut and she offered to take Nadia with her. I tried to call you on your mother’s phone to tell you, but I … I just couldn’t say the words.’

Zafir nodded. Now it all made sense.

‘Fadhila, that’s her name, the medical student, called me on Saturday night and said that Nadia is being looked after in hospital there. She said they’d tried to save her arm, but in the end they had to amputate it. It’s still touch and go. That’s all I know.’

‘But why aren’t you there, then?’ asked Zafir, suddenly angry with Uncle Ghazi. It was Uncle Ghazi’s fault. If he had got Mum back to Tetah’s house safely everything would be okay.

‘What could I do for her, if I was there?’ asked Uncle Ghazi. ‘I’m not a doctor or a nurse. I’m a photographer and the best thing I can do for her, and for your dad, is what I’m doing. And,’ he added, ‘I have to make sure you’re okay. I promised Nadia I’d be there for you if … if I was needed.’

Zafir turned away. He felt confused and angry. Would Mum be okay? Could Pops end up in jail for years for treason? What if Uncle Ghazi was caught being a citizen journalist? He’d end up in jail too and how would that help anything?