Weeks in Naviras (26 page)

I wish this story were like ones Bobby brought home from school for me to read.
And I woke up to find it was all a dream
. I’ve thought this in the middle of the night, when I’ve woken up to a damp pillow and tremors. Would that it’d been an out-of-body experience, or near-death, but it wasn’t anything like that. It was real, or made to seem real, at any rate.

That’s not how I felt at first though, when I didn’t feel anything at all because I was out cold for sixteen hours, so James told me when he came to see me the following morning. I was tucked up in a comfortable bed wearing a hospital gown, with a little monitoring unit on a small trolley to my right, beeping softly. On my left a small window, looking out at landscaped gardens and a large sycamore tree. My limbs felt so heavy, I could barely lift up my head.

‘It’s just the sedative,’ said James. ‘It’ll wear off in a few hours, they told me.’

‘Where am I?’

‘Virginia,’ James sat down on a chair next to my bed, took hold of my hand. ‘Just outside DC. They brought us all here on Air Force One, after the attack.’

I closed my eyes, squeezed them shut. ‘We were in Israel.’ It was my most recent memory. ‘We were all getting sick.’

‘They just about saved us.’ He looked concerned for me, like I was some endangered species. ‘We were lucky.’

‘Is Rav okay?’ I tried to sit up but my upper back didn’t have the strength. ‘And Rosie?’

‘They’re fine, Rosie’s heading back to London soon. Easy, L, please.’ He leaned forward, placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Rav’s still in recovery. Everyone in our car was fine, except the driver.’ James pulled a face which said,
them’s the breaks.

‘What happened?’

‘They used a nerve agent. It killed a lot of people but we were protected from the worst of it, inside the car.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘We don’t know, yet. But we’ll find out.’

‘Did the President survive?’

‘She did, although she’s taken quite a long time to recover. Gavin’s okay, though. It seems to have affected people differently.’ He leaned forward, putting his other hand underneath mine, cupping it. ‘You, my dear, have given us all a run around the houses.’

I had many more questions but was too listless to even ask them, James looked tired too. I must’ve looked puzzled by his clothes, which didn’t quite fit him properly. ‘Trust me, you wouldn’t want the ones we had on in Israel back,’ he said.

‘How long has it been?’

‘A week, give or take,’ he looked away from me, down at his shoes. ‘The Americans had the best expertise in treating nerve agents, they induced comas in all of us before flying us over here.’

‘Are there any side-effects?’ I felt like I was missing something.

‘There’s temporary amnesia in some people, they say it’ll pass. Rav’s been struggling to recall what happened,’ he frowned. ‘Which is difficult, because there’s a lot to do and I need him.’

The door opened and two male doctors came in, both middle-aged and American. ‘Mr. Prime Minister,’ he nodded to James. ‘Good Morning, Mrs. Weeks. How wonderful to have you back with us,’ he grinned.

‘How are you feeling today, ma’am?’ The other doctor was brandishing a tablet and stylus. ‘Any discomfort?’

‘Not really, just foggy memories,’ I said. ‘And I feel so tired.’

‘Yeah, one of the ironies of being asleep for so long,’ the first doctor walked around the bed to take a closer look at me. ‘It’s normal. I just wanted to let you know that in about an hour, we’ll be taking you downstairs for a short test to make sure everything’s mending itself properly. There’s nothing to worry about, it’s just a short MRI and CT scan. After that, we might be able to put you on solids and give you some breakfast.’

Immediately I felt hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d had - what, fruit? It was my last memory of tasting anything, and came like a pregnancy craving.

‘When can I see the kids?’

‘They’re in Eppingham with Mum and Dad,’ said James. ‘They’re fine, we’ll do a video call with them as soon as these tests are done, I promise.’

The scans
took about an hour; the MRI made an endless grinding sound. I lay there in the dark and chilly room, compliant. When I was wheeled back to my room it was empty. I was desperate to call Bobby and Sadie, tried to find a call button by my bed but couldn’t. Although I fought my drowsiness I couldn’t stop myself from sleeping again and when I woke up I wasn’t alone, a slightly plump lady was sitting in the chair by the window. She said good afternoon, introducing herself as Nancy from the State Department. After a moment she walked over to my bed and handed me a clear zip-up bag containing my wedding and engagement rings, plus my watch, which I thought had broken before realising it was just five hours ahead, stuck on London time. ‘If you had a handbag, I’m afraid it wasn’t recovered from the scene, Mrs. Weeks,’ said Nancy.

‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I lied, thinking immediately about the postcard. ‘I was traveling light, anyway. I don’t suppose they have my phone?’

Nancy shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not, Ma’am.’

I shrugged. There wasn’t anything incriminating on the phone, anyway. ‘Tell me, how many people died in the attack?’

‘We lost twenty-six souls,’ she said. ‘I do not know the exact number of Israelis, I could find that out for you if you’d like.’

‘Did the deal go through okay?’

Her face darkened. ‘I’m afraid that’s been put on hold, ma’am, indefinitely. There’s been a lot of anger from all sides over the attack, some fairly serious accusations between the Israelis and Palestinians.’

‘Oh,’ I felt disappointed that we’d been almost killed for nothing. ‘Who do you think did it?’

She shrugged slightly. ‘Well, many people have claimed responsibility, it’s hard to be sure. Most likely a splinter group who weren’t happy with the treaty, but whether it’s Arab or Israeli, we don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘Unfortunately it’s all moved on so quickly since then, with the fighting this bad they’ve almost forgotten how it started.’

I was quite surprised at the level of detail she gave me, but I’d soon learn most of it had been on the news. A war of words had escalated into an Israeli incursion into Palestinian areas, allegedly acting on intelligence. Then Israel’s neighbours had threatened to intervene, claiming hardline Zionist settlers procured the nerve gas. Complicating everything was the president, or perhaps the lack of her. The VP had taken the 25th Amendment and remained in charge while Morgan was convalescing. The US had produced evidence implicating Israel’s neighbours, was trying to force a vote at the Security Council. An aircraft carrier which had been monitoring Iran had moved further into the Gulf; strategically it didn’t change much, but it sent a signal.

I was zoning out of Nancy’s litany; the loss of the postcard haunted me, felt almost like a bigger affront than the attack itself. Nancy said my husband was due soon, but as she went to leave I asked if I could check the news, she said of course, quickly returning with a remote. She promised she’d try to get me a phone, before closing the door behind her.

I’d was pleased to see there’d been a lot of concern for me; many comments wishing me the best, some even praying for me. Less welcome was the effect of the attack on James’s standing in the polls, which had gone through the roof. The government had muddled along in his absence, the renewed turbulence in the Middle East had sent the oil price rocketing but perversely that’d helped to focus minds. The Energy Bill rebels had melted away and the Bill had already cleared the Commons.

Piecing together the articles I worked out James had resurfaced one day before me, almost immediately making a statement on-camera. He must’ve known by then I was going to pull through since that’s what he’d told the news. He’d been non-committal about who was behind Ben Gurion, but called on people to pray for the families of those who’d lost loved ones. He hadn’t said so in terms but his tone implied the deal was scuppered, no hope of the treaty being signed. He confirmed as much to me when he came to see me about an hour later. ‘I’m sure Morgan will probably claim it was always a bad idea,’ he said, with a grimace.

‘How’s she doing?’

‘She’s come round, Gavin should be able to see her shortly.’ I’d assumed Gavin had been sitting at her side all along, but James suggested otherwise as he set up the video call to Eppingham. I’d expected Bobbie and Sadie to be bouncing around the screen at the other end, overjoyed to see me. Instead they seemed subdued - smiling and laughing for sure, taking turns to fill our screen as they tried to kiss my face – but still there was something missing. Perhaps they felt the pain of the disconnection as I did, felt uncomfortable because James’s parents were hovering behind them, outrageously suggesting at one point it was past their bedtime.

Maybe the kids were hoping for me to burst into tears or something, give some display of relief at seeing them, but I couldn’t articulate the pain of separation. The four of them on the screen made for a troubling image because of how they’d very nearly become a permanent family unit. I envied James’s parents for possessing them, wanted to jump on the next plane but already knew I’d have to wait another 48 hours to see them. When we eventually ended the call I thought – hoped - I might break down.

I was feeling a lot more energised when I woke up the next morning, and was quite shocked when I turned on the screen to find Morgan Cross giving a live statement. She looked godawful, her eyelids half closed. She had an imperative to get in front of the cameras quickly, was outlining how she’d formally resume the presidency at noon.

James came in while I was watching her statement and I put the screen on mute. ‘Extraordinary, isn’t she?’ He kissed me on the forehead. ‘We’re going to do a joint news conference after the constitutional stuff’s taken care of. You up to being there? You won’t have to say anything, of course.’

With the sound turned off I became focused on Morgan’s mouth, which seemed to be turning down at the corners, like she’d had a stroke. ‘Do you think she’s fit to take control again, so soon?’

James’s eyes were on the screen. ‘Everyone seems to think so, I’ve not heard anything to suggest a challenge.’

‘They’ll try to make out she’s compromised.’

James breathed in and out heavily through his nose. ‘They’ll try. But I’ve seen the numbers. She’s a shoe-in after this, privately the Democrats are already writing off the next election.’

Presumably Labour are doing just the same in London, I thought. I expected Morgan to appear angry at what happened but that’s not how she seemed. To me there was a fuzziness to her, like she was still at the scene of the attack, didn’t know what to do next as she surveyed the damage. I turned the sound back on.

‘…the revulsion at the acts we have seen, which has been felt across the world,’ she was saying. ‘The United States will be calling upon its allies and friends to hunt down and punish the perpetrators of this affront to world peace and stability. But we will also be working immediately, to ensure the efforts of those who worked to agree a comprehensive settlement will not be in vain. That is my mission, that is the mission of the US government going forward.’

All sounds good, I thought. But what she said next was unusual.

‘It should be the collective mission of all right-thinking people across that region and across the world. I thank God that both myself, the First Gentleman and the British prime minister and Mrs. Weeks have been spared. We have been granted another chance, and in this I see the work of the divine. Now if you’ll forgive me, I.. my place, it’s now back in the White House. Thankyou.’

I’d not heard Morgan use this sort of language before, never heard her falter. There was a look to her, as she got into Marine One. I caught it as she turned to wave goodbye to the press. Anxiety about something she couldn’t quite understand. It was beyond – no, beneath - the nervous exhaustion that came from knowing someone had wanted her dead. I felt the same thing at the same time. It took me half a minute to work out what was bothering me, only understanding when I turned the sound off again. It had been the whir of the propeller blades, I could hear their frequency, the circularity of their rhythm. Somehow I also knew how she felt, even after the doors were closed and I couldn’t see her. For her there was no mute button.

No explanation had been given publicly for Gavin’s absence from the news conference, why he wasn’t flying back with the president. ‘He’s staying here for a while,’ said James. ‘I think he’ll head back to Washington later, but they’ve still got some tests to do.’

‘The same ones they ran on me.’

‘Presumably, yup.’

‘I’d like to catch him before he goes.’

James frowned. ‘Not sure if that’s going to be possible, but I’ll certainly have a word. You’ll see him at the memorial ceremony, though. Now I’ve got to check in on Rav, we’ve got a country to run.’ He clasped my hand briefly before leaving.

Half an hour later the same two doctors came to see me. They were happy for me to be discharged having reviewed the scans. ‘You’ll probably feel quite lethargic now and then, perhaps for a few weeks,’ said one of them.

‘Don’t worry,’ said the other. ‘We’re expecting a full recovery and wouldn’t be releasing you if we weren’t assured of that.’

It felt so good to have my first shower in the adjoining room; I made the water as hot as possible, practically scalding myself. Once I’d changed into a slightly too-small ochre dress Nancy had provided for me I didn’t feel like going back to lie on the bed, so I sat in the chair, adverse to watching any more news and instead idly gazing at the second hand on my watch. After ten minutes I stood up and looked in vain for some shoes, before walking to open the bedroom door, stepping through, finding myself at the very end of a brightly-lit corridor.