Camilla sat beside the bed, mute with shock and fear, praying that her father would be with her soon, dreading the moment of his arrival, counting the minutes until she might hear his step in the corridor. Hours slid away in an unmeasured haze, and when she glanced down at her watch her eyes were tired and unfocused so that she could not be sure what time it was. The nursing staff came and went, offering her cups of tea and coffee which she held in trembling hands, and a light supper that she refused. Her lips were dry and her head ached. She wanted a stiff drink, a little yellow pill to calm her, anything that would take away the apprehension and anxiety of the sterile room and the lonely vigil. Her mind was seething, as if a swarm of bees had invaded it, buzzing and stinging, constantly in motion. She could not follow any one train of thought or banish the disquiet that had invaded her.

It was impossible to imagine what she might say to her father when he arrived, or what she might do if she was alone when her mother died, waiting for the figure that they had both loved so much. There was no resentment in her heart now. The anger she had felt at both of her parents was gone, to be replaced by a feeling of isolation. She wanted to get up and go outside into the waiting room where she could light a cigarette, but she was afraid to leave Marina in case she might slip away during those few minutes. She could hear the low voices of the nursing staff at their station, and the occasional sound of a door closing on another room where another patient awaited some miracle that might never materialise. There was an unreal quality about the hospital floor that made Camilla herself feel disembodied, drifting helplessly without compass, tiller or sail.

She did not know what time it was when Marina opened her eyes and tried to tell her something, through lips that were dry. She leaned closer to hear the whispered words and the harsh sound of laboured breathing.

‘Camilla?’

‘I’m here, Mother.’

‘Don’t let me die before he comes.’ Marina tried to raise herself up. ‘Please don’t let me die now, before he gets here.’

Minutes later Camilla heard footsteps. Her heart began to hammer so that she found it difficult to stand up and be on her feet, on guard, when the door opened. He stood still for a moment, looking at Marina without a word, his eyes filled with tears. Then he opened his arms to Camilla. She ran to him and he folded himself around her as she began to sob like a small child.

‘Daddy! Oh God, Daddy! Oh, thank God you’re here.’

Chapter 22

Kenya, December 1965