Chapter Thirty
Sadie
I t’s no surprise to anyone when Riley is ten minutes late on the day we check out of the hotel and move to the boat we’ll be sailing to Amarna on, which is also where we’ll be living for the duration of the dig.
We’re all a little dusty, to be honest. The party last night migrated to Simon and Jeremy’s room once the fireworks finished, so at best, we’ve had four hours of sleep. But it was worth it to see the colours exploding over the Pyramids from the hotel rooftop. To wonder what the ancient people would think if they could see such a sight.
I would’ve helped Riley pack—in the few days we’ve been here, she’s spread herself across every flat surface in the room, including the floor—but she’s been so snaky and snarly with me since the camel incident, I thought it would cause less trouble if I left her to it.
The trip through Cairo is the same traffic chaos I’ve already learnt to expect. Finally Mo pulls the bus up to a busy little dock.
There are several feluccas, traditional Egyptian sailing boats, being loaded with everything from bags of grain to goats to wooden crates full of goodness knows what, by laughing, shouting men wearing jalabiyas. At the end of the dock a motor cruiser is moored.
The hull and railings are bright white, as though they’ve recently been painted, with a narrow, jaunty blue stripe running its length. A tall white wheelhouse with three sparkling clean windows sits towards the front with the name of the boat, Doma , printed neatly in orange lettering on the front and the side.
Behind the wheelhouse are wooden panels with tiny, high-set windows at close intervals, running almost to the back of the boat, supporting a middle deck roofed in a sandy brown tarp. Low benches are built into the short railing and are lined with colourful cushions.
At the back of the boat is a taller cabin with an open upper deck above it. Judging from the delicious-smelling smoke wafting from the small metal chimney, this must be the kitchen.
It’s small but neat and clean and cheerful. And I fall in love with it on the spot.
“That’s the ship ?” Riley squeaks as she takes in the scene. The look on her face is comical.
“It’s a boat, actually. And pretty comfortable. We stayed on this one last year.” Bless Bart and his sunny nothing-bothers-me nature.
We grab our bags from the back of the bus and make our way down the short dock. I wish I had a spare hand to take photos of all the activity. Hopefully there’ll be time for that when we board.
Standing proudly on the middle deck awaiting introductions are the crew.
As well as Ashraf, we have our captain, Khaled, deckhand Sayed, cook Marwa, and our housekeeper Noha. Mo will go ahead by road, so we have a bus to get us to and from the dig site. In fact, he’s already peeling away from the dock in a cloud of dust before we’re all on board the Doma .
Ethan gives us our cabin numbers—two to a cabin, much to Riley’s disgust—and suggests we get ourselves settled.
The staircase to below decks is steep and narrow, as is the little corridor down the middle of the boat. Cabins line either side. Bart points out the three shared bathrooms, which are little more than cupboards, two at the front and one at the back. We all ignore Riley’s complaint over the lack of ensuite facilities as she struggles and thumps down the stairs with her suitcases until Simon takes pity on her and helps.
Our cabins are small and basic, with a single set of bunk beds, a slightly rickety sink in the corner, and a small chest of drawers with hooks on the wall above for our clothes.
“If you think I’m taking the top bunk, you can think again. It doesn’t look safe,” Riley says before I’ve even had time to drop my backpack.
“Suits me. If it collapses, it’ll fall on top of you.” I suppress a smile at the way her mouth pops open in confusion and dump my pack on the bed that’s made up with crisp white sheets and a brightly coloured doona before she can change her mind. I’m happy to take the top bunk because from there, I can see out the tiny window. I’d also rather get up on deck than waste time arguing about who gets which bed.
Pulling my camera out of my daypack, I climb over the suitcases Riley’s left in the doorway and head straight back up on deck. As I climb the stairs, I can hear her asking where the aircon controls are and complaining loudly about the sink only having cold water.
By the time I get back up on deck, Sayed is already casting off, and Khaled is in the wheelhouse, preparing to steer us into the main channel of the river.
“How long will it take us to get to Amarna?” I sidle up to Ethan, who is leaning against the rail watching the river. I’ve never seen him look so relaxed. Almost happy. My breath catches and nerves come alive in places they shouldn’t as he turns to me, his eyes sparkling in his newly tanned face. It should be illegal to look that good.
“Two days. Khaled doesn’t like to push the boat too hard. It’s also good to have a couple of days to rest and prepare. Take in the scenery. We’re up at five am the day after we arrive.”
I take a few quick shots of the dock and the feluccas with their elegantly draped white sails as we start to pull slowly away.
“You were quick. Everyone else is still in their cabins stowing their gear and getting settled.” Ethan grabs a bottle of water from the cooler tucked under the table and hands it to me.
“Yeah. I can unpack later. I’d rather not miss sailing through Cairo.” I take a long pull on the water. Egypt is thirsty work.
“You’ll get the best view from up the front there.” Ethan points to the front of our little boat. “Ask Noha for a couple of cushions.” For a moment, I think he might join me. Then he sighs and makes himself scarce. Which is good. I don’t need to be seeing him in all his gorgeous handsomeness. Or smelling his aftershave. No need to put temptation in my way.
One by one, the others appear, with Riley bringing up the rear. Shocker.
Lunch is served on deck, followed by a lazy afternoon watching the crowded buildings of Cairo open up to the breathtaking Nile Valley, a narrow strip of green on either side of the river with dusty hills and cliffs beyond.
The boys start up a card game, and Riley stretches out in the shade with a book. I’m glued to the railing with my camera.
The late afternoon sun is a beautiful golden yellow when Khaled pulls the boat up to a protected spot at the bank for the night. Sayed leaps ashore and lopes off down a narrow little track through what looks like corn fields.
“Where is he going?” I ask Khaled, who’s double-checking the ropes Sayed just tied.
“There is a small village here. He has gone to announce our arrival and see if Karim, the head villager, would welcome a visit.” Khaled’s English is formal, but his face is open, warm and friendly.
“Really? We get to visit a village?” I can barely contain my excitement.
Ethan comes to stand by the rail beside me.
“If Karim says it’s okay. But he’s usually happy to see us.”
Barely fifteen minutes later, Sayed is back with a tall, stately man not unlike Ashraf, who I take to be Karim, trailing a gaggle of shouting, laughing, waving children.
“I think I’ll stay here,” Riley says after surveying the crowd.
“No. You’ll come. You will be polite. You will drink the tea you are offered without comment. Karim has seen you, and we won’t be offending him by refusing his hospitality.” Ethan’s voice is quiet, but his tone brooks no opposition.
Ethan undersold our potential welcome. Karim gives him a warm hug and invites us to tour the village and drink tea at his house. I’m down the narrow gangplank before he’s finished talking.
As the sun drops to touch the horizon, we tour the village. Karim proudly explains, through Sayed, about their crops, their school and their almost-finished village hall. Most of the houses are made of mud bricks. Women, goats, and chickens wander freely through open doorways and the children follow us as though Ethan is the Pied Piper. It’s no wonder. He hands out sweets to the little children and coins to the older kids.
A group of women are sitting in the last of the sun, leaning on the mudbrick walls and gossiping beside rounds of bread dough, set to rise on wooden paddles on the ground, as wood-fired ovens heat, ready to cook the bread for dinner.
Karim’s house is one of the few built with concrete, and at the front is an enclosed courtyard with a packed sand floor that was used for village meetings until the hall was built. The courtyard and house beyond are spotlessly clean, painted in bright aquas, blues and peach.
The children crowd in the doorway laughing and whispering, and watch us sit on thick, embroidered cushions to drink strong, sugary tea from a collection of cracked and mismatched mugs.
I look around at the shining faces of these children, at their proud head villager and his shy wife. What an honour it is to be invited into their homes. To see their lives.
Finally, Ethan stands.
“We must get back to the boat before dark, my friend,” he says. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
The children follow us back to the boat, laughing, singing, jockeying to take my hand. There is so much joy in this village.
I don’t want to leave. Because this has been the best experience of my life. And after the past few days in Cairo, that’s saying something.
Ethan catches my eye as we clamber up the gangplank.
“Thank you. That was …” I’m lost for words.
He smiles and nods. I don’t need to explain.
I’m finding it harder and harder to remember why being with Ethan is a bad idea. Because every look, every word, every action, shows me how perfect it could be. If only we weren’t so broken.