The Gilgamesh Conspiracy by Jeffrey Fleming Read Free Book Online Page B

eat together. He was considering how to phrase his question when she said ‘I’m really hungry. Do you fancy getting something to eat at that  curry house over there?’
    During the meal Rashid decided he would try and make the conversation more personal. ‘How come you speak such good Arabic?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh I’ve studied it at A level and at University, but also my Dad used to be in the Embassy in Damascus and in Abu Dhabi, and I picked up a lot while I was there. Where did you learn such good English?’
    ‘Actually my father is a translator; he’s completely fluent and he always encouraged us to speak it; me and my younger sister.’
    ‘Oh yes? Where does he work now?’
    ‘Well we’re originally from Jordan, but my father now works for the civil service in Baghdad,’ he admitted.
    ‘In Iraq! No wonder you wanted to be at the protest today. Is your family safe, do you think?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Rashid shrugged. ‘He works for the government, but he’s not part of it,’ he added hastily. ‘I don’t know if he would be allowed to leave Baghdad. I was going to go back a few weeks ago, but he told me to stay here.’ He fell silent, and Sandra changed the subject.
    ‘So have you managed to travel around much in the time you‘ve been over in the UK?’ she asked. Rashid smiled and they talked about places they had been and people they had met for the rest of the meal.
    They left the restaurant and walked across the road. Coming to the other side Sandra stumbled over the kerb and fell on to the pavement. She began to get up and as Rashid bent down to help her she gave a yelp of pain and clutched her ankle. ‘Oh shit! I’ve sprained it or something.’ With Rashid’s assistance she struggled to her feet, but stood heavily on one leg and said ‘Ow, ow, ow!’ as she tried to put some weight on her right foot. Rashid looked around. His own flat was just twenty metres away.
    ‘Look, come back to my place. You can rest it for a while. Maybe we can bandage it up. Perhaps we should call a taxi and get you to the casualty department at the hospital.’
    She thought for a moment. ‘Is your place on the ground floor?’
    ‘No, first floor,’ he said.
    ‘Oh well. If you can help me up the stairs I’ll see if the pain gets worse or passes off after a while.’ She raised an arm. ‘Would you give me a hand?’ He stood next to her and put an arm around her waist, trying not to appear too eager to make the intimate contact. She put her arm across his shoulders and he led her through the door and up the stairs to the flat he shared with Omar, feeling relieved that they had cleaned and tidied the place up the previous afternoon.
    He took her over to the sofa and she slumped into it gratefully. Then she bent down, unzipped her boot and took it off along with her sock and she began to massage her ankle.
    ‘How does it feel now?’ he asked.
    ‘Damn painful, but it hasn’t swollen up yet. I don’t suppose you’ve got any bandages, have you?’
    ‘Well, yes. Omar’s got a first aid kit somewhere. Hold on.’ He walked off to the bathroom and found a rolled up bandage still in its wrapper and brought it to her. He watched her unwrap it and then roll it around her foot and ankle with a facility that suggested that she had some first aid training.
    ‘Can I get you anything else? A drink perhaps?’
    She paused and looked up at him. ‘What have you got?’
    ‘There’s some beer in the fridge, or we’ve got some single malt scotch if you like that,’ he suggested.
    ‘What are you having?’ she asked.
    ‘I’ll have a scotch.’
    ‘Me too then, please. Straight; no ice.’
    He returned to the kitchen and poured out a couple of generous measures and carried them back to the sitting room. He passed her a glass and she smiled and took a sip.
    ‘That’s good stuff. Have you got some scissors, please? This bandage is rather too long. I’ll never get my boot on if I use all of it.’
    He returned to