Sammia woke from her rest with backache, and the blow-up mattress was like a bed of nails. It was the Christian festival tomorrow and tonight was their concert. Youssef suggested they should make an appearance, as a gesture of goodwill, but the thought of a bumpy ride, on the back of a scooter along the dark track, made Sammia shiver.
Last night they had shared supper with the Papadakis family, delicious chicken in lemon sauce with roast potatoes, followed by crisp baklavas in a honey syrup with ice cream. Karim played with their boys, who showed off their Christmas tree. As they were leaving, Melodia gave Maryam a little present for Karim. ‘St Nicholas comes to all children,’ she whispered, as she hid the gift in a plastic bag out of his sight.
Sammia was embarrassed that they had nothing to give in return, as was the custom. How kind the family were to invite them and how concerned they were to get them housed again, but nothing had been forthcoming. It was hard not to look back on their life in Damascus and at the international school, where Christmas was celebrated with singing, dressing up and parties. A Christmas tree festooned with baubles had stood in the school hall and there were invitations to gatherings from fellow staff members.
‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a stitch.’ Maryam gave her a funny look.
‘Are you in pain?’
‘No, not really, just aching. I can watch over Karim.’
‘Then I will stay too,’ Maryam replied, waving the men off, as the scooter spluttered down the track. It was getting colder. They lit more lamps and the Primus stove to boil water for spiced tea, and hot-water bottles.
When Sammia rose to relieve herself, outside in their makeshift pit, she felt snow on her cheeks. ‘Look!’ she shouted. ‘The world is turning white.’ The flakes were swirling around them and the hillside fell silent as they settled.
Maryam was always a worrier. ‘How will they get back here if it sticks? They will wander into a snowstorm and be lost.’
‘I should think they know the way blindfold by now. Don’t worry. Karim will have fun in the morning, playing in the snow.’
‘But I do worry. It is not right to be here in midwinter, with you almost ready to give birth. You must go into the clinic, when your time comes. This is no place to have a baby.’
Sammia retired back onto her bed, content. They were snug and wrapped in rugs and blankets, as the candles flickered. She woke early in the morning with a searing pain in her back, one she could no longer ignore, and as she stood up, she felt warm liquid trickling down her skirt. It was starting: the baby was impatient to be born.
‘Wake up! Youssef!’ She shook him hard to rouse him. His eyes opened and he saw her face twisted in pain. He shot out of bed.
‘I didn’t hear you come in last night,’ she said.
‘We had to walk back. The snow was blinding and our scooter stopped halfway up the hill. It will have melted by now.’ He went to pull back the plastic sheeting, to reveal total whiteness with drifts of snow piled by their entrance. The blizzard was still swirling around them.
Sammia hobbled over to see for herself, as another pain made her bend over in agony. No one was going anywhere in this, she thought, trying not to panic. They were trapped, isolated, with a child eager to arrive in this bleak wintry world.