39. Chapter 39
A ria
Aria stared out the window at the blurred landscape of vibrant summer when the trees were awash with patches of blooming colours.
The motionlessness made her drowsy, as did the warm hum of the carriage and the ache in her lower back.
The nausea was beginning to subside, and she was able to eat something besides saltines.
She'd hardly slept the night before. Her phone buzzed quietly in her lap with a new message.
It was sent just after the train had pulled away from the station.
Crispin: Six days
That was all.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She let herself hold the smile, just for a second. Then she reached into her purse and closed her fingers around something solid and familiar. The white porcelain hair clip was cool to the touch. The tiny floral inlays felt like a talisman.
The train had barely made it past the second stop before it slowed again, lurching with a groan and coming to a full, reluctant halt. An announcement followed-signal fault, delays expected .
She slid the clip back into the velvet pouch and set an alarm on her phone, just in case she drifted too deeply and missed the station.
Then she leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.
***
She could still feel the cold metal of the container floor beneath her as she crouched, clutching her little sister to her chest.
They had been told to hide there, inside a refrigerated lorry parked at the port in Calais.
She was nine, and already carrying the weight of two lives.
She remembered how the traffickers had whispered that lifejackets would be useless in the sea, so they hadn't been given any.
Before slipping into the dinghy, Aria had tucked something precious into her underwear- their mother's pearl necklace and her gleaming gold bangle.
The pearls pressed cold against her hip, the bangle dug into her skin sometimes, a reminder of home and of Mami's last hug.
She'd felt them every so often as the boat lurched-the soft prickle of pearls, the hard ring of gold. It was uncomfortable, but necessary .
When the engine roared to life, Aria pressed her back against the lorry wall, praying the driver wouldn't see them.
Every bump in the road felt like it might give them away.
Her sister, only four, shivered in her arms and whispered, "Where are we, Motra?
" Aria hummed an old lullaby she'd learned back home, hoping it would calm her.
When the lorry finally stopped, they spilled out into the damp dawn light beneath the white cliffs.
The air was thick with fog and sea spray.
It was her sister's birthday-she'd hugged Aria that morning with tears in her eyes and whispered, "It's my birthday, Motra.
.." But there was no byrek, no song, not even a wish. ..only the roar of the waves.
Her sister had looked up at her and said, "I want byrek."
Aria had swallowed hard and promised, "When we're safe, I'll bake you the best byrek you've ever tasted."
Two men had helped steer them towards a battered rubber dinghy waiting on the shingle. It sat low in the water, already brimming with other families. Every face was carved with the same fear Aria felt. The channel stretched out before them like a sheet of broken glass-cold, dark, and endless.
They climbed in.
The dinghy stank of petrol and dread. The air around them trembled. Water slapped against the sides, splashing in with every movement. Aria held her sister tighter, whispering, calming, willing her to stay quiet. If they panicked, they'd capsize .
She heard someone pray softly behind her. Someone else vomited overboard. She tasted salt on her chapped lips and heard a baby cry.
She closed her eyes and remembered Mami's face.
Her stomach rumbled so fiercely, she thought it might wake the whole dinghy.
They hadn't eaten since leaving Calais the night before, just sips of water snatched between waves.
Her sister's belly grumbled, too, and Aria pressed her hand to it to soothe her, but it only made her more aware of her sister's hunger.
She was burning up. When Aria lifted her sister's hair from her forehead, her skin was hot and damp with sweat. Too hot.
Aria tore a scrap of cloth from her shirt, soaked it in sea water, and pressed it to her skin. But every time her sister closed her eyes, Aria feared she'd slip away, just like Babi and Mami had. Her heart pounded with terror.
There was nowhere to go. No privacy, no relief. She remembered spotting a man trying to squat once, but he'd been chased off by one of the traffickers.
She squeezed her legs together until they ached, terrified she might soil herself in front of strangers.
Behind her, a woman whispered prayers.
Ahead, a teenage boy quietly wept .
Aria wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, to pretend none of it was happening. But her sister would look up at her and clutch her arm, so she stayed watchful and endured.
At one point, a man's hand brushed too close to her bottom.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
She was only a child, but she knew danger when it looked at her like that.
She shouted and kicked out.
Another passenger grabbed the man. He stammered something-an apology, maybe-but every word stank of fear. Aria shifted, shielding her sister, looping her arm through hers.
"I've got you," she whispered.
After what seemed like forever, the dinghy scraped against something submerged. A jagged object tore open a seam in the hull. Cold water surged in.
Panic rippled through the boat. People screamed, some began to bail frantically, using empty bottles, cups, anything they could find. Aria's hands joined them, cupping, scooping, tossing water overboard .
Her sister huddled close, knees drawn to her chest, too cold to cry.
Aria shrugged off her jacket and wrapped it around her tiny frame. "We'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise. There's a school waiting for you. There will be friends. A garden. It will be warm when we get there."
Above them, the cliffs loomed white and silent, the sea churning beneath.
A sudden beam of light had cut through the sea spray. A voice boomed, "Coastguard! Remain where you are!"
Relief swelled in every breath around her.
Soon, a rigid-hull inflatable was beside them, tossing down lifelines.
She helped her sister climb aboard.
When it was her turn, a tall man in orange caught her and wrapped her in a thick blanket that smelled of wool and safety.
On the cutter's deck, they gave them hot tea and dry clothes. The tea stung her tongue but warmed her hands. Her sister pressed her face into her chest and fell asleep .
It wasn't until much later, in a small holding room in Dover, that an immigration officer tried to separate them. Panic surged through her chest, the desperate grasp of her sister's hand. But someone noticed how young she was and let them stay together under the flicker of a single bare bulb.
That night, they huddled on blue plastic chairs, Aria holding her sister close. She whispered stories of home-the fields of red poppies, the sweet tang of fresh apricots-just to make the dark feel lighter.
She had to be brave.
Later, she reached under her shirt, pulled the pearls and the gold bangle from where they'd been tucked and showed them to Lule.
"For luck," she promised, "You can have them when you are older."
The days that followed blurred.
They were moved to a small white hut at Dover. It was clean and bright. The floor didn't rock beneath her feet. There were beds and warm food, and they were given soft, blue tracksuits that smelled of soap. At night, Aria lay awake on a narrow mattress with her sister cuddled beside her.
That night, her sister had whispered again, "We missed my birthday."
Aria smiled and replied, "Happy birthday." Her sister had closed her eyes and hugged her tracksuit top like it was a gift .
The shrill beep of her phone pulled Aria sharply from the deep, drowning quiet of sleep.
She startled upright, heart racing, breath caught halfway between a scream and a sob.
She reached over with trembling fingers and silenced the alarm. The dream still clung to her skin like mist, thick with salt and fear and the weight of that little body pressed against her chest.
She looked around. The train hummed steadily beneath her, the carriage half-full now, most passengers sunk into their phones or nodding off under travel-worn coats.
Her throat was dry. She swallowed hard.
The announcement came just seconds later.
"We will be arriving at Oxford Station in approximately fifteen minutes."
Aria leaned her head back against the cold glass. She touched her stomach, steadying herself with the feel of the quiet swell beneath her hand. She could almost feel Lule's tiny fingers in hers again, could almost hear the waves, could almost-
But not now .
Now, it was time to begin again.
She exhaled.
Fifteen minutes.
Just enough time to remind herself:
She was not that nine-year-old girl anymore.
She had saved her sister.
She had survived the sea.
She would survive this, too.