The sun forced its way in through the woefully inadequate curtains like an unwelcome party guest, filling the room with an ever growing heat to match the stifling humidity. Neal alternately stood, fidgeted, glared at the silent radio on the bed, or paced back and forth in the small, dusty guest room, stopping at each turn to look out the window to the busy alley just below.

Madeline sat on the bed, not looking at the radio at all, like she was avoiding eye contact with a regretful one-night stand.

“I’m starving,” said Neal, “we can’t sit in here all day.”

Madeline sighed, “I know, I know. I just thought we said we were going to talk further in the morning, why haven’t they beeped us, or answered our pages?”

Neal paused before answering, “I’m sure they are just dealing with the crew and getting the ship back here as soon as they can. James said they would be back in port this afternoon. I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon.”

It was nearly eleven, and they had not left Madeline’s room all morning, or strayed from the SurFeR that sat on her bed. Madeline had insisted on taking the radio to bed with her after they had all signed off, in the hope that James would take a moment to call her later on.

“How about this?” suggested Neal, “The radio is fully charged, I’ll tuck it in my bag and we’ll head to the market and get some food. If they buzz us while we’re there we can be back here in a couple of minutes.” he looked at her, but she did not look up from her seat on the bed.

He kneeled in front of her and took her hands in his, seeing in her face the concern and fear that he was refusing to acknowledge in himself. “Hey, come on.” he said softly, “We’ll both feel better if we get some food.”

She nodded, giving in meekly, and they both stood. Unplugging the radio from its charging cable, he placed it in his small messenger bag and they headed for the door.

* * *

They sat in silence in the shade of a bleached old Coke umbrella, eating freshly cooked mushroom bhajis and sipping mango lassi. The heat of the summer in southern India was profoundly oppressive, and they felt it coat them, like a hot, damp blanket clinging to every inch of their skin.

Madeline eventually broke the silence, “Neal, you’ve been very diplomatic, but it’s time we started to think about what could have happened to them.”

His eyes connected with hers, his body remaining passive in the heat, and his mouth opened as if to utter another platitude. Then it closed again, a slight sag of his shoulders his only acknowledgment that he was having as much trouble deluding himself as her.