Chapter Twenty-Six
Sadie
I ’m in Egypt.
Gathering my eReader and headphones and stuffing my phone in the pocket of my daypack, I prepare to get off this interminable flight. Interminable not just because flying from Sydney to Cairo is a long way, especially when you add a five-hour stopover in Abu Dhabi. But because I was sandwiched between Riley and Garret. One of whom was excitedly plotting and planning the whole way to get Ethan alone once we’re at the dig site, while the other alternated between excitement and terror at the possibility of being caught in an unexpected uprising. Or bitten by a scorpion.
Cairo International Airport hits you like a brick to the face. The noise, the smell, the heat, the crowds. It’s everything I ever imagined, and I’m in love from the minute I step off the jetway.
“How much longer do you think this will take?” Riley whines when we’ve been in the immigration control queue for all of ten minutes.
“Do you think they ever use those?” Garret whispers, throwing anxious looks over his shoulder at the Tourist Police lining the room, automatic rifles at the ready. To be fair, guns are not something you see a lot of in Australia.
“I don’t know, and I don’t know.” I have no patience left after the past twenty-four hours with them. “I also don’t know why you both seem to have decided I’m in charge here.”
“Because you seem to be, I don’t know, more prepared?” Garret offers.
“I went to the same briefings you did,” I answer. Briefings that included instructions not to be surprised at how long passport control would take, not to freak out at the sight of the guns and not to argue. With anyone. Just ask for the Tourist Police or the Australian Embassy.
“I just wasn’t expecting it to be so …” Riley trails off.
“Different? Extra? Wonderful?”
“The first two, maybe,” she mutters.
By the time we’ve collected our bags and exited customs, I’ve managed to completely tune out the whining and fretting and am soaking up as much of the atmosphere as I can.
“That was quick,” says Ethan, checking his chunky watch. I don’t know how he found us in the heaving arrivals hall, but I’m grateful he did. Because I can officially hand over responsibility for Riley and Garret. He’s looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him in a lightweight linen shirt, cotton trousers and his regular battered work boots. His face and hands are already tanned, and aviator sunglasses sit atop his head, nestled in his newly sun-streaked hair.
Ethan flew in before Christmas to get all the admin stuff sorted out. And, if I had to guess, avoid his family for Christmas. I don’t ask. We don’t have those sorts of conversations anymore.
We’ll be spending a few days sightseeing in Cairo, then heading down the Nile—although technically I guess it's up the Nile—to the site of the dig at Amarna.
Despite my nervousness at being in such close proximity to Ethan for over six weeks, my body is vibrating with excitement. Finally, I’ll get to see the Pyramids of Giza. And Saqqara. And to sail down the Nile. Dream come true.
“This is Ashraf.” Ethan indicates a tall, elegant man who bows politely. His lined skin is the colour of my grandmother’s walnut dining table, and he’s wearing a pristine white jalabiya and turban. “He’s our transport and logistics supervisor. If you have any problems with your rooms, or transport, or food, anything at all, in fact, he’s your man.”
It’s clear to everyone that Riley won’t be able to manage the two massive suitcases she’s brought with her in this scrum, so Ethan throws the smaller one onto his shoulder and grabs the handle of the other. Riley shoots me a triumphant grin. I’m guessing she didn’t notice the look of exasperation between Ethan and Ashraf.
We pile onto a battered old bus that’s idling at the curb under what I recognise is a No Stopping sign.
“And this is Mo, our driver.” Ethan introduces the young guy behind the wheel, who smiles broadly, exposing blinding white teeth.
Pulling into the fast-moving traffic is a feat. Garret gasps. Riley puts a hand over her eyes. Me? I’m glued to the melee beyond the dusty window.
Ashraf and Mo start a rapid-fire conversation in Egyptian. Ethan interjects the occasional word or two. I guess it makes sense he can speak Arabic, having spent so much time here on digs. But damn, as if he needed yet another thing to make him more attractive, he’s multilingual.
The traffic moves like a solid mass. A fast-moving gridlock. Which Mo navigates without the use of indicators or brakes, it would seem. In no time, we’re at the hotel and we tumble out into the relative quiet and cool of a slightly worn, spotlessly clean foyer. Ethan takes care of checking us in and sends us to our rooms with instructions to meet back in the foyer for a briefing in thirty minutes. I’m so excited that even the reminder I’ll be sharing a room with Riley for the entire trip doesn’t dampen my spirits.
In a move that doesn’t surprise me, as soon as the door closes behind us, Riley locks herself in the bathroom and proceeds to take a ten-minute shower. I don’t care. I’m glued to the window. I can’t wait to get out there amongst everything.
After a quick shower, I throw on clean cotton trousers and a shirt, tie my hair back and stuff a water bottle, notebook, and headscarf into my daypack, along with my DLSR camera. It may be old school, but the photos are so much better than I get on a phone, and I want to document every moment of this trip. The first of many. I hope.
Riley is still lying on the bed in a short, silky robe, forearm draped across her eyes, dramatic Hollywood swoon-style.
“Do I have to? I’m so tired ,” she whines when I tell her it’s time to go downstairs.
“Yes, you have to.” I can’t believe she’s not as desperate to see Cairo as I am. Oh, wait. Maybe I can.
“I haven’t even done my makeup. You took so long in the shower.” More whining. I roll my eyes but don’t comment. I was in and out of the bathroom in under five minutes. If this is what she’s going to be like the whole time, I might have to brush up on mummification techniques.
“I’m not going to miss the briefing for your eyeliner. I’ll see you down there.” I sling my daypack over my shoulder, grab my room key and head for the door.
“You can’t leave me here. Ethan said we weren’t to go anywhere alone.” Riley sits up, clearly alarmed at the prospect of being left by herself.
“I don’t think he meant inside the hotel, Riley. I’ll tell Ethan you won’t be long.”
There’s a little sitting area off the main reception of the hotel. Ethan, Ashraf and three preppy-looking guys I don’t know are sitting around chatting.
Ethan looks up as I approach, his gaze searching behind me, I guess expecting Riley, and lifts an eyebrow when he doesn’t see her, although he doesn’t comment.
“Sadie Montgomery, this is Jeremy, Bart and Simon. They were students of mine at Cambridge. Back to torture themselves for another season.”
They all laugh, and we shake hands.
“Actually, it’s not Bart; it’s Edward. They call me Bart because my surname is Simpson. I answer to either,” says the tallest and bulkiest of the group.
“Montgomery. Montgomery,” Simon mutters, brows knit. Here we go. “You wouldn’t be related to Derek Montgomery, would you?”
I laugh, although it comes out more like a choking sound. “Yes, but please don’t hold it against me. Seven across, abandoned daughter with cliched daddy issues. Five letters. First letter S.” Making a joke of it is the easiest way I’ve found of dealing with questions about my father.
It does remind me, though, to find a moment to talk to Ethan about whether he knows if my father is here. I did some stalking before I left Sydney, which was frustratingly inconclusive, and the last thing I want is to run into him by accident.
I’m saved from more questioning by the arrival of Garret and a server with a tray of tiny tea glasses and fragrant white facecloths rolled into steaming cylinders.
“ Shukran ,” I say as I take one of each.
“Oh, well done,” says Jeremy in a plummy accent that would rival Prince William. “Picking up the lingo already. You’ll do just fine.”
And somehow, his compliment doesn’t feel half as good as the slight but approving smile Ethan shoots my way.
After introducing Garret, Ethan gets started.
“First and only warning. If you’re late to a meeting or a briefing, you miss out. They start on time. No exceptions.” The Cambridge boys all laugh and nod knowingly. I smile to myself. Riley’s going to struggle with this.
Ethan won’t be around the rest of today and tomorrow because he’s meeting with the Department of Antiquities, and the Cambridge boys are appointed our tour guides, as they’ve all been on the past couple of digs run by Ethan.
“You’re free to do what you wish this afternoon and tomorrow. On Wednesday, we’ll all go to Giza; Thursday is Saqqara, and on Friday, you will be in reception packed and ready to leave by seven am. You all have my number, and here is Ashraf’s number. Mo will be on call to take you where you’re going on occasion, but check with Ashraf first. If Mo isn’t available, there are plenty of minivan cabs to be had. You can organise them through reception.”
Just as Ethan is wrapping up, Riley arrives with full makeup in a cute, but entirely inappropriate, sleeveless shift dress.
“Good of you to join us, Riley. In future, please be on time. One of your fellow students may be able to fill you in on the plans for the next couple of days. And please check the briefing document about appropriate clothing.”
Without another word, he’s up and out of his chair, Ashraf following him out the door onto the street.
“What’s wrong with my dress?” Riley whispers to me.
“You can’t show your arms. Or your legs.”
“But we’re in the hotel.”
I shrug. I'm not going to be her keeper for the whole trip, so she might as well get used to it now.
“We thought you might like to go to the Citadel this afternoon?” Jeremy suggests.
“What? We’re not going to rest? We’ve flown all the way from Australia .” Riley groans as if Jeremy had no idea where we’d come from. “There’s a pool. We could relax out there and have cocktails.”
She’s got to be kidding.
“I’d love to see the Citadel.” I bounce out of my seat. I’m not spending my first day in Egypt at a hotel swimming pool. Jetlag will have to wait.
In the end, Bart, or maybe it’s Edward, offers to stay behind and keep Riley company.
“ Yalla habibis ,” calls a grinning Jeremy as he leads Garret, Simon, and me out to the taxi organised by reception.
Thank God I brought a spare camera battery with me because by the time we get back to the hotel, the sun is setting, and I’ve taken so many pictures it’s clear I’m going to need one.
The Citadel was breathtaking. Outside, there’s an uninterrupted view across the entirety of smoggy, noisy Cairo. Inside, there’s peace and beauty and silence in the smooth white and tan marbles, the gold detailing, the glowing lamps, the smell of the incense.
But the sights in the narrow, twisting streets were no less fascinating. Here we are in a major city, and there are donkeys carting loads of hay and fruit and vegetables. The streets are crowded with stalls selling everything from fake watches to delicious-smelling street food to spices to alabaster statues. Cairo is bursting with energy, and it’s contagious.
I have half an hour—this feels like it’s going to be a thing—to get changed for dinner.
Riley is passed out on her bed. Her face is flushed; whether it’s from too much sun or too many cocktails, I can’t tell. I get out my laptop to upload the pictures I took today. While it’s doing its thing, I have a quick shower to wash off the dust. With the photos uploaded, I put a couple on social media for Nan as promised, and try and rouse Riley, but she elects to stay in the room. Her loss.
Throwing on a flowy maxi dress I’m back in reception with two minutes to spare, as the extraordinary sound of the late afternoon call to prayer reverberates across the city.
I’m in heaven.