Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,64

contemplation, remembering and trying to remember every single word of every bit of the conversation from that afternoon.

“Why hasn’t she been in touch?” he had choked out. “I still have the same number. I’m on Facebook. I’m on Red Cross and Red Crescent.”

The man had looked strained. “There might be a few reasons,” he said awkwardly. “If she’s in a refugee camp she may not have access.”

“Anyone can borrow a phone.”

“She may . . . Her husband may not allow her access.”

Saif’s eyes squeezed together. “Who would not let her contact her own children?”

“Someone who did not want her to have had another family,” said the man, kindly but plainly.

Saif shook his head.

“Or,” said the man, “she understands the situation all too well and doesn’t want to make life difficult for you.”

Saif frowned. “What do you mean?” He looked up. “I got a strange message that didn’t . . . I thought it might just be coincidence.”

He explained and the man shrugged.

“Well, she knows the status of jihadi brides in the West. She knows that it would be nothing other than disruptive to you. That the British government would be unhappy, would not let her enter the country. May not even let you stay. It is possible she is counting on her silence . . . keeping you safe.”

And Saif had been quiet for a long time after that.

He leaned his head on the plane window again.

It was—it couldn’t be—but it seemed to be a large angel, built of light. He couldn’t help but stare at it. An angel of light. Mikael, the archangel of mercy.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He was a doctor, a man of science. He was not the kind of person who believed that angels would suddenly appear, would suddenly manifest, just to help him, personally, out of a predicament. That made absolutely no sense at all. Of course not.

Nonetheless, he had left Mure that morning. He had dropped the children at school. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there had been absolutely nothing on the hill in front of the school, except for the little tree lanterns that were slung there every Christmas. And now . . .

Saif stared on, absolutely hypnotized. It grew bigger and brighter as they drew closer to it. It was completely otherworldly.

“Bloody hell,” said the pilot again. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m just going to . . .”

There wasn’t another plane for hundreds of miles. He took a little detour. Just to take a look. The copilot took a photo, but it only showed itself to look like a mad, massive UFO, which was even worse. They flew low to see it, but it made no more sense close up than it did from the air.

Except it was beautiful.

It was visible from the airfield, right across the other side of the island. It was almost certainly visible from everywhere, possibly including space.

Billy and Effie McGlone, who ran the airfield, rushed out to meet them as the plane taxied to a standstill.

“We’ve had everyone on the line!” they exclaimed breathlessly. “Pilots and everyone on the radio are going absolutely ballistic.”

“What on earth is it?” asked the bird-watchers.

“Apparently,” said Mrs. McGlone. “Apparently it’s our Christmas decorations.”

THE YOUNG WOMAN who was disembarking started taking loads of photographs. She’d taken a few out of the side of the plane, but they bounced back off the thick glass and didn’t show anything except a blur. She did, though, have a sense that there might be more to this story—her editor wanted more on the “Worst Hotel in Britain,” and in these days of reduced budgets and strained newsrooms, it was normally pretty difficult to find enough money to send a reporter out. But she’d convinced him that it would be worthwhile, and here she was, a zillion miles from God knows where, with one mission in mind—find the worst hotel in Britain.

Chapter 45

There was absolutely no chance Mrs. Laird could have gotten Ash and Ib to bed even if there wasn’t a large commotion about the town and various people walking the streets at unfortunate hours to see what on earth was going on up the hill.

Even without that, they weren’t so relaxed they could deal with their father going off the island, particularly as he only ever did so if it absolutely couldn’t be helped.

Ash’s eyes were looking particularly wide as he ran into his dad’s arms. It hurt Saif to look at him. So like her. So like Amena. Ib too.