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Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘Well then.’

They lay side by side in the dark. He was so close, solid in the dark. The room fell into silence. Casey listened to his breathing, and longed to reach out and touch him. The traffic roared outside, and she knew that he lay awake for hours.

33

33

They jumped awake when the telephone rang beside Ed’s head.

‘Mr Burton-Smith?’ It was Raz. ‘I am sorry to bother you, but the express train to Chittagong, it goes very early.’

‘That’s OK.’ Ed was rubbing his eyes. ‘We’ll be down in a minute.’

Even at this early hour, the traffic in Dhaka was solid.

‘There are fewer crashes than you’d think,’ Raz shrugged. ‘But still a lot of crashes.’

In the dawn, the station was packed.

‘How will we get on board?’ Ed said, as a train pulled into the station, and the huge crowd surged forward.

‘Not this train,’ said Raz. ‘This one is for Sylhet.’

That was where Hessa’s family was from originally, thought Casey, where the tea plantations rolled green for miles.

A wave of passengers flooded across the platform as the train stopped. They crammed through the carriage doors, pushing their way further and further into the train, squeezing into every inch. Packages, parcels, a baby, all were passed over the heads of the crowd. As the train pulled away, so slowly, men were still wedging themselves on board, hanging on to the doors with all their strength.

But the people fell away for Raz, Casey saw, when the next train arrived. The crowd edged back, as he paced through towards their carriage.

‘No problem, you see,’ he smiled, as they stepped into a first-class compartment. ‘And at the other end, our driver will meet you.’

‘You’ve been so kind,’ said Casey. ‘Thank you very much.’

It was beautiful, travelling slowly through the Bangladesh countryside. The rice was growing in the paddies now, impossibly green in the neatest of rows. Between the lines of emerald seedlings, water glittered in the sun. Here and there were small villages perched high up on embankments, peering out among mango trees and date palms. Between the villages, raised roads snaked through watery fields. Occasionally, the roads meandered all the way to solitary shacks built out on tiny islands, right in the middle of the paddies.

Low-lying Bangladesh, delta nation, half-needing, half-dreading the floods.

In the little villages, minarets poked out above stands of bamboo. Small boys raced the train, giggling to themselves. Casey pointed out the brick factories to Ed, with the high chimneys belching smoke into the air.