“Can’t. I’m in Kabul.”
“I know that, but when are you back?”
How she knows is as much a mystery as she is most of the time. “My flight’s tonight, but listen, I need to go now. Meeting with a hot guy, and possibly a hot story.”
She laughs lightly. “Okay. Give me a call when you’re free. It would be ... nice to catch up. Stay safe.”
The phone goes dead, so I shake my head at the covert nature of the phone call and keep walking. The eventual sight of him sitting on the fountain’s edge makes me hurry to get to him. This panic is horrendous, and part of me is damn indignant that I’m feeling it at all, let alone letting a man calm my nerves about it.
I stop my hurried pace and shake my shoulders out. I won’t be that woman. I wasn’t at school, wasn’t when I went through Uni, and haven’t been anywhere near being the scared type since. I am Ivy Broderick. Strong, capable, and indefinitely not in need of a man to make me feel safe and sound. Locked down with one person alone for the rest of my life? Never.
“Morning,” I announce, as I saunter up to him.
He looks up from his camera and nods at a spare coffee on the ground. “Got you a coffee. Assuming you drink it. I wouldn’t know because you left before I could test out what you liked for breakfast.”
“How sweet. Still that nice guy, I see.”
He chuckles and packs the camera into a bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “You hungry?”
“No. I’ve had some breakfast already. Brunch, actually, I suppose.”
“You have?”
“Yes. Room service.”
“Ah.” He nods and looks around the roads, his hands in his pockets. “Are you ready to go then?”
I pick up the drink from the pavement and look around for his car, noting nothing in sight at all. “We’re walking?”
“Yeah. It’s only a small hike. I can get some shots on the way up if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.”
He wanders away from me, as if we shouldn’t be too close together. It’s plainly ridiculous considering our session last night. I’d almost think he was shy if I hadn’t been the one taking the brunt of his enthusiasm between the sheets. Shy is not something I’d ever use to discuss that part of his demeanour, but there’s no denying his inability to talk openly.
Catching up, I walk at his pace and look around at all the tourist areas we pass through. They’re nothing like the real Afghanistan out there in the wild, nor behind this street we’re passing through. They’re fancy and pretentious, as if Kabul is attempting to compete with the outside world. I’d rather the back roads any day of the week while I’m here—safe or not.
I look up an avenue to the left of us the further along we get, watching as a group of men walk past in the distance. Women scuttle past them, burqas covering every inch of them. My feet have me wandering that way before I’ve recognised the fact I’m moving, desperate to find a story in the real streets rather than this falsehood we’re travelling along.
“Ivy?”
I twist back to look at Blake coming up behind me and wave my hand for him to follow. “Do you mind? I want the authenticity down there.” He looks confused. I’m not surprised. I suppose men like him think a British woman would feel safer on the dismal depictions of actuality further in the centre. He’s far from the truth if he does. I want the vitality, the story, the real image of life so I can write it and get to the bones of what being an Afghan woman actually is.
He’s by my side in seconds, his shoulder attempting to block me a little, or shield me maybe.
“Can’t you do anything with safety in mind?”
“And where’s the fun in that?”
I chuckle and move forward again at pace, eyes scanning for an angle, or objective, or anything to keep my brain motivated in this fucking heat. The sudden feel of his hand on my upper arm, of him hauling and turning me back the way we’ve come from, makes me shirk out of his grip.
“What the fuck was that?” I snap, turning back again.
“Ivy, so help me God, I will throw you over my shoulder if you do not come this way. You are not getting into trouble again.”
My feet stop, body swinging around. “Try it. I’ve dealt with a big brother all my life. I am not a child, nor do I believe in being swept off my feet. If I want to go that way, I damn well will.”
“Fine. But if you want a fucking story, I think you’ll find it’s this way.”
