The Embassy of Cambodia Read Online Free Page B

misleading Sainsbury’s bags and walking towards the health centre. She spotted him from a long way off – the road was so straight and he had arrived early. He stood shivering in the drizzle. She felt sorry, but also a little prideful: it was the prospect of seeing her body that had raised this big man from his bed. Still, it was a sacrifice, she knew, for her friend tocome out to meet her on a weekday morning. He worked all night long and kept the daytime for sleeping. She watched him waving at her from their agreed meeting spot, just on the corner, in front of the Embassy of Cambodia. After a while, he stopped waving – because she was still so far away – and then, a little later, he began waving again. She waved back, and when she finally reached him they surprised each other by holding hands. ‘I’m an excellent badminton player,’ Andrew said, as they passed the Embassy of Cambodia. ‘I would make you weep for mercy! Next time, instead of swimming we should play badminton somewhere.’ Next time, we should go to Paris. Next time, we should go to the moon. He was a dreamer. But there are worse things, Fatou thought, than being a dreamer.

0–20
    ‘So you’re a guest and this is your guest?’ the girl behind the desk asked.
    ‘I am a guest and this is another guest,’ Fatou replied.
    ‘Yeah … that’s not really how it works?’
    ‘Please,’ Fatou said. ‘We’ve come from a long way.’
    ‘I appreciate that,’ the girl said. ‘But I really shouldn’t let you in, to be honest.’
    ‘Please,’ Fatou said again. She could think of no other argument.
    The girl took out a pen and made a mark on Fatou’s guest pass.
    ‘This one time. Don’t tell no one I did this, please. One time only! I’ll need to cross off two separate visits.’
    For one time only, then, Andrew and Fatou approached the changing rooms together and parted at the doors that led to the men’s and the women’s. In her changing room, Fatou got ready with lightning speed. Yet somehow he was already there on a lounger when she came out, eyes trained on the women’s changing-room door, waiting for her to emerge.
    ‘Man, this is the life!’ he said, putting his arms behind his head.
    ‘Are you getting in?’ Fatou asked, and tried to place her hands, casually, in front of her groin.
    ‘Notyet, man, I’m just taking it all in, taking it all in. You go in. I’ll come in a moment.’
    Fatou climbed down the steps and began to swim. Not elegant, not especially fast, but consistent and determined. Every now and then she would angle her head to try to see if Andrew was still on his chair, smiling to himself. After twenty laps, she swam to where he lay and put her elbows on the tiles.
    ‘You’re not coming in? It’s so warm. Like a bath.’
    ‘Sure, sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll try it.’
    As he sat up his stomach folded in on itself, and Fatou wondered whether he had spent all that time on the lounger to avoid her seeing its precise bulk and wobble. He came towards the stairs; Fatou held out a hand to him, but he pushed it away. He made his way down and stood in the shallow end, splashing water over his shoulderslike a prince fanning himself, and then crouching down into it.
    ‘It is warm! Very nice. This is the life, man! You go, swim – I’ll follow you.’
    Fatou kicked off, creating so much splash she heard someone in the adjacent lane complain. At the wall, she turned and looked for Andrew. His method, such as it was, involved dipping deep under the water and hanging there like a hippo, then batting his arms till he crested for air, and then diving down again and hanging. It was a lot of energy to expend on a short distance, and by the time he reached the wall he was panting like a maniac. His eyes – he had no goggles – were painfully red.
    ‘It’s OK,’ Fatou said, trying to take his hand again. ‘If you let me, I’ll show you how.’ But he shrugged her off and rubbed at his eyes.
    ‘There’s too much bloody