her eyes were no longer blank; they were alive and full of sadness.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘You have sad eyes.’
‘I do?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘It’s because I just realised that I lost my platinum bracelet – you know, the one my mum gave me?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I remember.’
‘The one with the little stars.’
‘I remember.’
‘I put it on before we left. I must have lost it on the boat. It’s in the sea now.’
Sitting down on the floor beside her, I wrapped my arms around her and she rested her head on my shoulder, just like she did in the hole in the garden before we left Aleppo. She didn’t cry this time; I could feel her breath on my neck and the flutter of her eyelashes on my skin, and we stayed like this for a long while, as the cabin darkened and only the glow of the gas fire could be seen. There was noise around us: people shouting, children running, a strong wind in the trees from the sea, coming to us in waves. I wondered if Mohammed was still playing, or if he was on his way back to the cabin.
Then I went outside to cook the octopus. I put the twigs and branches in a pile on the ground; I held the octopus on a branch above the fire. It took a lot longer than I thought, even though the octopus was already slightly cooked from hanging in the sun.
When it was soft enough and cool enough, I tore it into pieces and took it in to Afra. She devoured it, licking her fingers, thanking me for making it, asking me where I found such a thing.
‘Did you get it from the sea yourself?’
‘No!’ I laughed.
‘But you couldn’t have bought it – it’s far too expensive!’
‘I found it,’ I said.
‘What, you were walking along, minding your own business, and you just found an octopus?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and she laughed from her stomach, her eyes laughing too.
I looked through the doorway, anxious, waiting for Mohammed.
Afra lay her head on some of the blankets and closed her eyes without saying another word. I lay down beside her, and after a while I heard gates opening and closing, distant doors locking. On the other side of the partition the child was crying, her father muttering words of reassurance. ‘No, the men with the guns won’t kill us. Don’t worry at all! No, they won’t. I promise.’
‘But they might shoot us.’
The man laughed now. ‘No. They’re here to help us. Just close your eyes now. Close your eyes and think of all the things you love.’
‘Like my bicycle at home?’
‘Yes, that’s good. Keep thinking about your bicycle.’
There was silence for a long time and after a while I heard the girl speak again, but this time her voice was softer, calmer.
‘Daddy,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘I felt it.’
‘What did you feel?’
‘I felt Mummy stroking my hair.’
And then neither of them spoke again, but I could almost feel this man’s heart drop in the silence. Further away there was banter, people talking and laughing. There was no shouting tonight.
I looked at the octopus and the Nutella and the bread, all placed on the floor in case Mohammed came back in the night – he would see the food and know it was for him. But the camp was closed now. I was locked in and Mohammed locked out. I got up and made my way through the grid of boxes in the dark, to the edge of the camp until I found the entrance. There were two soldiers standing at the gate, holding guns.
‘Can I help you?’ one said.
‘I need to go out.’
‘It’s too late now. You can go in the morning.’
‘So I’m locked in? Like a prisoner?’
The man said nothing in response and didn’t avert his eyes either.
‘I need to find my son!’
‘You can find him in the morning.’
‘But I have no idea where he is.’
‘How far do you think he went? This is an island!’
‘But he might be alone and scared.’
The soldiers were having none of it. They sent me away and I tried to go back to the cabin, but it was difficult in the dark, every corner was the same, and I hadn’t counted the grids so that I could find my way. Maybe this was what happened to Mohammed? Maybe he ventured out without counting and couldn’t find his way back? Maybe another family had taken him in? I decided to lie down on the ground, by the doorway of another