Salmek's Journey to Shambhala

By Maria Grima

Salmek has always known she has an important role to play in keeping our world safe, ever since she was given her powerful rose quartz crystal in another dimension. Back then, she didn’t understand the vast and mysterious energies of the world – or herself. 

Gradually, the true significance of the Earth’s sacred site

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Grima
• Release date: Nov 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781913036737

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

‘Well, here we are folks, Aeropuerto Internacional Benito Juárez! What a flight, I thought for a moment we’d never make it out of that plane alive!’ George muttered, scuffling along with his feet half hanging out of his sandals, and dragging his huge army bag behind him. His feet were so painfully swollen due to the cabin pressure that he’d given up trying to fully shoe-horn them into the worn, Egyptian leather sandals he now loved so much.

‘I know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a flight where the sheer power of turbulence forced me up and away from my seat – I think I must have had the seatbelt too loose,’ Gabriel said, his arm hung loosely around Salmek’s shoulders. ‘How are you doing there? It wasn’t an easy trip, pretty scary in fact.’ Gabriel smiled weakly, knowing she’d struggled during that intense, bumpy last hour of their flight.

‘I’m OK. My stomach still feels a bit wobbly, but at least we’re here now.’

Looking around, she searched for a seating area. She knew George had suffered during the long journey too, although he never let on, and she wanted him to sit and rest a little before they headed out of the airport. She’d noticed that he’d been experiencing erratic temperature changes that resulted in bouts of profuse sweating, followed by a period that shifted to cool and clammy, and she knew that meant he might have a fever.

During the course of the flight, he’d managed to charm the air hostesses into giving him as many blankets as they could spare and snuggled up beneath the layered pile before suddenly shoving them off again when he overheated. Back and forth this went during the whole flight – blankets on, blankets off. Her dad had been oblivious to it all as he was lost in the TV screen, watching movie after movie, before drifting into a deep sleep when the turbulence had abated.

‘Can we sit down for a bit, Dad?’ she asked.

‘Sure, everything OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, but I just want to sit for a few minutes before we head out into the heat.’

She patted the chair beside her and encouraged George to rest.

‘You look pale, George, are you alright?’ Gabriel asked.

‘Yes, yes, of course I am, old boy. You know what’s it’s like, too much gin and not enough tonic on a long flight makes you rather dehydrated – saps the energy. And they ran out of all citrus fruit, no lemons or limes, which is rather outrageous, don’t you think? I’m just a little fatigued, that’s all. Once I get outside and breathe in a lungful or two of that Mexican air, I’ll be as right as rain.’

He looked over at Salmek and winked. It was no good saying anything, but she knew he’d only had one small gin just after the plane took off and, even then, he’d only managed a couple of mouthfuls. He hadn’t even attempted to stockpile any of the miniature bottles from the trolley as he’d done on previous flights. This wasn’t just tiredness, she was sure of it.

They all attempted to lean back into the grey, stiff, moulded plastic chairs, observing the steady stream of people passing by, all struggling with various items of luggage piled high on trolleys along with other holiday paraphernalia. There was a large group of lobster-faced, confused-looking tourists wearing sombrero hats, clearly returning from a package holiday, scurrying after their tour rep who was marching ahead at speed, wielding a clipboard and looking flustered, desperately trying to get them to check-in on time. Salmek then became aware of two Mexican police officers marching swiftly towards them, all the while staring intently at her dad. She wondered if they were sitting in the wrong place and were going to be told off and moved on.

‘Señor, are you Mr Gabriel Somerton?’ the older of the two, with a generous stomach and a thick, well-manicured moustache, barked his question directly in Gabriel’s direction.

‘I am indeed, everything OK?’ Gabriel was in a world of his own, all the hours in the cabin of the plane, starved of good food and oxygen, had drained all the life from him.

‘Señor, we need to you come with us… and please bring your daughter and this old man with you.’ The younger officer reached out to help George to his feet but was immediately brushed away. The older of the two tried to take Salmek’s hand.

‘Please don’t do that, I can walk without your help,’ she said, frowning at the firmness of his grip, shaking her own hand away.

‘But you must come with us, it’s important.’ His tone was impatient.

‘We will come with you, but only when you explain what business you have with us,’ Gabriel stood slowly, placing his hands on his hips.

‘We understand you have taken this girl without her mother’s permission and we need to ask you a few questions.’ The older officer, whose name badge said Jorge, took Gabriel by the elbow and encouraged him to walk with him.

‘And who, may I ask, reported this?’ Gabriel sighed.

‘A Señora Emily Crompton-Brownlow,’ the officer struggled with the pronunciation but there was no doubt who he meant.

‘I might have known,’ Gabriel shook his head. ‘That woman will never tire of interfering in my life.’

‘But Gabriel, old boy, you have no need to go with these people – you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all,’ George said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief that was now soaked with sweat.

‘Please, come with us, all of you, or you will make more problems for yourselves.’ Jorge tightened his grip on Gabriel while the stern-looking younger officer tipped his head quickly to the side, indicating that George and Salmek should follow.

They were led down a long, white corridor off which branched dozens of small meeting rooms either side. Each door had a small, square window, which Jorge briefly looked into as he walked by, before eventually stopping at one numbered fourteen. There were a few chairs outside and Salmek and George were asked to sit there, before Gabriel was led inside.

‘We will speak with your father for a moment, and then we will ask you to join him,’ Jorge said, eyeing Salmek.

‘I just want to have a quick word with my daughter before I go in. We had a rough flight – turbulence – I want to make sure she’s OK.’

Jorge nodded to Gabriel and stood back, whispering to the younger officer.

‘Right, this is serious. Listen up. When the coast is clear, you need to leave the airport and head into Mexico City. George, ring Angelica and let her know where you are. When I get out of here, I’ll ring her and find out where I need to go. I don’t know what this is about, but we can’t take any chances. George, do you understand?’ Gabriel wasn’t sure George had been listening, he seemed far away and a bit spaced out.

‘Got you, roger over and out,’ George whispered.

‘This isn’t a joke, George, this is serious,’ Gabriel sighed.

‘I know it is, old boy. Don’t worry, I’ve been here before, back in the late 70s. I know my way around. We’ll find a little hotel and wait for you there – I’ve got this under control.’

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and frowned, before settling his gaze on Salmek.

‘Just do as George says, OK. Do not, I repeat, do not stay here and wait for me, alright. You need to get out of this airport as soon as you can.’

Salmek nodded – what more could she do? She could see her dad was stressed, but this was not the time to make a scene. How could her grandmother do this? How did she even know what flight they were on? Gabriel had sent a brief email to her mum from Redding airport in California, but it seemed impossible that her grandmother could have organised all this fuss in such a short space of time.

The officers led Gabriel into the meeting room and George was just about to stand up, when the younger officer returned.

‘Look old boy, oh, I see your name is Carlos… Carlos, I don’t suppose you could get us some water, could you? We’re absolutely parched, that flight was pretty rough and we’re both feeling a bit worse for wear.’

The officer frowned, not understanding. George used a little hand movement, a swift flick of the wrist, miming that he was drinking from a cup; Carlos smiled and nodded, held up one finger, indicating he’d be back soon.

‘Not very professional are they, these Mexican Police Officers?’ George smiled. ‘Come on, Salmek; let’s be off, we’ve got a hotel room to find.’ The pair of them scuttled out of the airport as fast as their legs could carry them. Thankfully, George’s swollen feet had shrunk back to nearly normal size and he was able to fasten his sandals, which enabled them to escape without too much trouble – apart from the heavy army bag that George could not be talked out of travelling with, despite its impractical size and portability.

When outside the airport, George made Salmek grab hold of his free hand.

‘Don’t let go, no matter what, don’t let go!’ And they were off, ploughing through the crowds, George somehow mustering a masterful stance that brushed all bystanders aside.

‘Señor George, Señor George!’ They heard the loud cry of Carlos above the hordes of people chattering and milling around outside the airport.

‘Don’t look back, Salmek.’ George dragged her on, pushing his way to the front of the taxi queue. He briefly let go of her hand and opened the door of the cab and shoved her in. The crowds grew angry, trying to grab hold of George’s collar.

‘She is very ill, esta enferma, esta enferma!’ he shouted, which seemed to make them all back off.

George crawled in next to her, pulling his army bag in after him.

‘She not look sick to me,’ the cab driver said, turning to glare at George over the top of his sunglasses.

George took three 100 peso notes from his top pocket and shoved them into the driver’s hand.

‘Just take us to Plaza de la Constitución please, as quickly as possible.’

‘Rapido! You crazy! It’s Día de Muertos… you know what that means?’

‘A day for dead people?’ George frowned, not understanding.

‘It’s Day of the Dead, there is a parade in the Zócalo. People everywhere!’ the cab driver tutted.

George merely handed over more pesos and smiled at Salmek. The cab driver let out a long, resigned sigh and pulled out into the heavy, impatient traffic.

‘It will be alright, Salmek girl; your dad will be with us soon,’ George squeezed her hand and she felt the strange clamminess of his sweaty palm against her own warm, relatively dry one. His skin had a strange, pale yellow tinge and appeared waxy; he wasn’t himself at all. All Salmek could do was pray that both George and her dad would be OK.

CHAPTER TWO

The cab driver crawled through the smoggy, congested streets of Mexico City, weaving in and out of traffic and people while muttering away to himself, his distorted radio speakers buzzing in the background. What should have been a journey of a few minutes, took thirty. Finally, he pulled up with a screech of the tyres in a murky-looking back alley that led to the main square, and demanded even more money from George.

‘I know you are ripping me off, dear man, but I have neither the strength nor the inclination to protest. Can you recommend a hotel for two weary travellers?’

The cab driver grabbed the notes from George, stuffed them into his partly-ripped shirt pocket, while angrily shaking his head.

‘That’s very helpful, thank you,’ George sighed as he clambered out of the back seat, holding the door open for Salmek. He only just managed to close the door before the cab driver pulled off, disappearing into the blazing midday sun, leaving them standing dazed and confused in the middle of a busy parade, fearfully clutching their luggage, with drums banging, crowds cheering and whistles blowing all around them.

‘Let’s head for the Zócalo – that should feel familiar. I was here in 1978, you know, when I was young, rather handsome and fortified with far more energy than I seem to have at my disposal these days. It couldn’t have changed that much, surely. There were plenty of low-budget hotels around there then.’

George grabbed Salmek’s hand and they shuffled slowly through the frenzied crowds. Everyone was bedecked in costumes, extravagant and elaborate fancy dress that at first seemed to bring the city to life. But life wasn’t really the focus here. Salmek soon realised that The Day of the Dead parade was just as the name indicated – everyone seemed to be dressed up as dead people! All around them were people disguised from head to toe as skeletons, with heads made to look like glittering, jewelled skulls, glistening white under the fierce heat of the sun, sunken eye sockets festooned with sparkling gems. Whilst she knew this was some kind of celebration, she didn’t want to be part of it. The atmosphere was more scary than inviting.

Salmek noticed that George’s eyes were glazed as he desperately tried to battle his way through the masses that writhed and danced around them. He would usually love a gathering like this; he’d be singing and dancing along with everyone else, but today he seemed irritated by the noise and general commotion. Sadly, she knew he was probably concerned they were being followed, but he was also struggling physically and this had been going on since Mount Shasta. When they made it to a hotel, she hoped to find out how he was really feeling. For now, it was one forceful step after the other – it was the only way to battle through the hordes of people.

Once they made it to the main square, it got worse. The crowds there were even more compressed and the atmosphere of excitement, mixed with something that felt deeper and darker, was palpable. Salmek was overwhelmed by the smell of sweat and heavy, musky perfume; there was also the aroma of vanilla that wafted from the candyfloss street vendors who were wearing strange, morbid clothes just like everyone else.

Both she and George found themselves pulled into a parade of hundreds of skeleton-people, all different shapes and sizes. Some were dressed as sombre bride and grooms, the brides donning glamorous, puffy white meringue-type dresses and long, lacy veils, with faces covered by skeleton masks, sunken wide eyes and huge mouthfuls of rotting teeth – all fake, but terrifying never-the-less.

The gory grooms wore tall, black top hats and tails as they jumped and hopped to the rhythm of the chaotic music, brandishing walking sticks that they twisted and twirled like batons. Some of them beat down on huge drums that they carried strapped around their shoulders, using sticks as big as baseball bats to bash out loud rhythms, encouraging the crowds to scream and cheer louder. A mariachi band, dressed in red, gold and green, gate crashed the bridal march and the now discordant music seemed to throb painfully in Salmek’s head and chest. She felt she was being dragged further into some kind of macabre nightmare. The atmosphere shifted and the swaying bodies felt as if they were deliberately crushing up against them; the skull heads leering at her, leaning over and peering right up close into her face, poking their tongues out and sneering.

‘George, George, please – let’s get out of here!’ she shouted as loud as she could, but the trumpeters of the mariachi band had gathered around him, blasting high-pitched notes directly into his ears. Coming towards them in the opposite direction was a gigantic skeleton with a huge cigar poking out of its bony, skull mouth. A crowd of people were operating its arms and head with wooden poles and rope attachments, so they could move it like a puppet. Its head bobbed up and down, until it was lowered right down in front of them. Salmek became aware of a man’s eyes glaring alarmingly out of the skeletons mouth – he must be part of the team operating it, Salmek thought. But before she could attempt to move aside, the man’s head shot out, followed by a fisted hand that opened out like a star, throwing black, sparkling dusk into both their faces.

‘ESTAS MUERTO!’ he yelled at them. ‘ESTAS MUERTO!’

‘Good God, Salmek girl, let’s get out of this madness!’ George pulled her back until she was jammed up against his chest, his hands frantically trying to wipe the black glitter dust out of their eyes. When he had cleared away as much as he could, he led her through a small gap that had opened up in the crowd that led to a tiny alleyway, barely wide enough for them to walk one behind the other, and dragged her in behind him.

‘Keep following – it’s bound to lead somewhere,’ he urged.

Salmek wiped her face with the back of her hand, feeling the sand-like quality of the glitter that still marked her face, scuff her skin.

After a few minutes of walking, they came out into a colourful little courtyard filled with flowers and sunshine. The noise of the parade was barely audible here, so they stood for a moment to get their breath back, leaning against the cool, terracotta-coloured brickwork.

‘What does, "estas muerto" mean, George? That man in the skeleton seemed to shout right at us as he threw that dust,’ she said, flicking some of the remains off her t-shirt.

‘It means, you’re dead,’ George said, looking lost in thought.

‘But he didn’t mean us, did he? I mean, he was just a stranger… that thing was just a skeleton puppet in the parade,’ Salmek peered up at George, seeking reassurance.

‘Oh, it was just nonsense, Salmek. Pay no attention. It was just…’

George’s eyes slowly closed as he slid gently down the wall, his head flopping to one side.

‘George, George,’ Salmek cried, kneeling beside him, taking his face between her palms. ‘Please wake up, George, please!’

Salmek felt his forehead burning beneath her cool palm. He muttered a few incomprehensible words before shaking his head from side to side and slumping further towards the cobbled pavement.

‘This can’t be happening. This can’t…’

Salmek looked all around her, but no one was there. No one she could ask for help.

‘Estas bien, chica?’

Salmek heard a voice but couldn’t make out where it was coming from.

‘Estas bien, estas bien chica?’ the voice repeated.

Salmek looked up and saw a short, squat woman leaning over her balcony.

‘My friend is ill, can you help us?’ Salmek pleaded.

‘You English, si si – I come, I help… one moment, one moment,’ she said, disappearing from sight.

‘Someone is coming, George, someone is coming.’ She sat beside him, holding his limp hand.

How did it come to this? How did her grandmother manage to cause so many problems in so many different ways? If her dad was here, he would be dealing with this, he would make sure George was OK. Now they were at the mercy of a woman they didn’t know. How could they trust her? She could be one of them – an Ophion. But she had no choice but to trust her; there was no one else around to help.

The woman came scuttling towards her carrying a bottle of water.

‘The heat, si, he has problems with the heat,’ she said, rubbing George’s hands with her own. ‘Please try to sit more up, you need to drink.’

George groaned, easing himself back into consciousness. He licked his lips and the woman held the bottle to his mouth so he could drink a little.

‘I’m Maria, and you?’ she said, looking at Salmek.

‘Salmek, and this is George.’

‘OK, OK, Salmek and George, we need to get you up to my guesthouse. She looked up to the balcony and shouted, ‘Miguel, Miguel!’

There was a pause before a teenage boy – tall, broad and with dark, shoulder-length hair – came to the balcony.

‘Come, come and help me,’ she called up to him, beckoning him to join her.

He didn’t seem in much of a hurry, flicking his long fringe back in annoyance, before turning to walk back into the apartment.

‘My son – teenager, you know, stubborn, very tiring,’ Maria said, gently wiping George’s forehead with a tissue. ‘You have this dust everywhere, this black… from the parade, si?’

‘Si, from the parade,’ Salmek nodded.

When Miguel came to stand beside his mother, she quickly spoke with him in Spanish, his face unable to hide the fact that he clearly wasn’t at all impressed with what she had to say. He raised his voice and waved his arms about, trying to get his point across before sighing loudly and bending down towards George.

‘Old man, put your arms around my shoulder. I will carry you up, come.’ Miguel’s face was taut with annoyance and George could sense his reluctance.

‘I’m fine, really I am. I can walk with no help.’ He attempted to grip the wall to get purchase, so he could get back on his feet, but just didn’t have the strength.

Miguel sighed and leant against the wall, watching George struggle.

‘Miguel, help him!’ Maria ordered.

‘You heard the old man; he doesn’t want help, he will walk alone.’ Miguel turned and started to walk back to the main door.

‘No, no, you come back here and help. You think you are big, clever man with big muscles, but real men have kind hearts, Miguel – real men help other people,’ Maria slowly shook her head and looked into George’s eyes, ‘I am sorry, my boy is a good boy, it’s just…’

‘Please, it’s absolutely fine. He’s very kind to offer help and I accept,’ George said, holding a hand up towards Miguel, admitting defeat.

Miguel shuffled back over and bent to hook his arms around George’s back.

‘Put your arms around and hold tight,’ he said sternly, scooping George up in one easy movement.

‘I feel like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind,’ George chuckled, pretending to swoon, but it was lost on Miguel. George was just an inconvenience that he wanted to let go of as soon as he could.

Once they were safely up in the reception area of the guesthouse, Miguel lowered George onto a sofa that was heavily patterned with large, colourful flowers. Salmek sat beside him and took his hand, helping him to lean back. Miguel took this as a sign that he was free to go, so he turned and swiftly marched back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

‘This feels rather odd, very slippery,’ George said, feeling the material with his palms.

‘The sofa has a plastic cover, George, that’s why,’ Salmek explained.

‘Has it just been delivered?’ he opened his eyes, looking more confused than ever.

‘No, no Señora – for protection, to keep it fresh,’ Maria said. ‘I will be back in a moment, si, one moment. Rest here.’

Salmek looked around the cramped reception area and, despite her concern for George, who had nodded straight off, she couldn’t help smiling. The room was bright and cheerful, but very ‘plastic’, very ‘kitsch’ her mum would have said. There were bright, rainbow-coloured vases filled with an array of voluptuous plastic flowers and dozens of plastic dolls dressed in what Salmek assumed were traditional Mexican costumes, crammed haphazardly onto broad shelves. One pair in particular caught her eye. The couple had small bodies but absolutely massive heads and the man had a hilarious, over-the-top moustache drawn above his lip with thick, black, felt-tipped pen.

Maria appeared from the hallway, ‘Ah, si, si, Miguel did this when he was young. Always drawing on walls, tables… and dolls,’ Maria smiled as if she was proud of his handy work. ‘Now George, you need rest, si? Can you walk some steps? I have a room for you both,’ she helped him up and assisted him as he shuffled the few steps he needed to take.

The room was very much like the reception area, bright and almost painfully colourful, with plastic dolls once more taking up all the space on the chest of drawers and sombrero hats in all different colours and sizes, hanging from the ceiling. At the end of both the beds were red, folded towels with images of fruit and vegetables embroidered neatly onto each corner. Even the alarm clock was shaped like a massive red chilli!

‘You like?’ Maria asked Salmek, as she made George comfortable, taking off his sandals and helping him to lie down, before covering him with a patchwork, knitted blanket.

‘Yes, it’s lovely, very homely,’ Salmek said, climbing up onto the bed so she could be closer to George.

‘You need doctor – this is bad fever, you are sick, very sick,’ Maria said, now with a bowl of cool water, gently mopping his brow with a white flannel.

‘Nothing that a good gin and tonic won’t cure,’ George mumbled, drifting between sleep and wakefulness.

Maria shook her head, taking George’s wrist and feeling his pulse.

‘He’s always stubborn like this?’ she asked Salmek.

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Why are you in Mexico, Salmek? Is something wrong?’ Maria looked deeply into Salmek’s pale eyes with her steady, raven black ones.

‘I think we are in some trouble; we need help.’ Salmek felt helpless without her dad and wanted to trust this woman. She had watched her tend to George so kindly that it felt genuine.

‘But you need doctor; his pulse is very fast, too fast. His skin, it looks a little yellow… even his eyes look a little yellow.’ Maria wiped George’s brow once again, disturbing his peace.

‘I’ve just got a little cold, that’s all. Please, if you could bring me a… a gin and tonic… that would be just the job,’ he said, ‘with a little ice and lemon,’ he added, before drifting off again.

‘See, these men, always about the drink!’ she smiled at Salmek. ‘Shall I call a doctor, Salmek?’

‘I… err… can we wait a little bit because…’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Maria stood up and placed her short, stubby hands on her broad waist. Her tangerine-coloured dress, made of thick cotton, edged with white piping, was pulled tight across her large chest, stomach and thighs, while her broad feet must have been forcibly wrestled into the bright green sandals she was wearing, as the flesh seemed to overflow and bulge through the gaps between the delicate straps.

‘No, not really,’ Salmek said, trying to focus her attention on George’s face so Maria couldn’t see her eyes.

‘Not really?’ Maria continued to fix her gaze on her, making Salmek feel hot and bothered.

‘We have had a problem with the police… the Mexican Police. They have my father; they took him at the airport.’ Salmek pulled a face, knowing how crazy all this sounded.

‘The police, they have your father… at the airport?’ Maria now had Salmek locked eye to eye.

‘Yes, they do.’

‘Is your father a bad man? Did he do something wrong?’

‘No, my father did nothing wrong. It’s all a big mistake.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Maria, I’m telling you the truth.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘There’s not much to say. My grandmother hates my father; she told the authorities my dad took me without my mum’s permission, which isn’t true, and that’s why the police pulled him in for questioning at the airport.’

‘Why didn’t you stay with him?’

‘Because I’ve got something quite important I need to do here in Mexico. I can’t really explain it, but if I stayed at the airport and we all got sent back to England, well, what needs to be done wouldn’t get done. That’s all I can say really.’

‘My grandmother was a strong woman, Salmek; she taught me to look in someone’s eyes and see through to their soul. The soul can never lie. I look into your eyes and I know you are telling me the truth, si, even if I don’t understand it. I will help you if I can. You know, an eagle came here this morning. An eagle stood on the roof over there,’ she pointed out the window at the building opposite, ‘and looked at me, right in the eye. I knew it was a sign, I knew it.’

‘What kind of sign?’ Salmek asked.

‘When I saw the eagle, it was asking for help. I know in my heart that I would be asked to help someone today, that I would need to help someone to be free, like an eagle. And here you are.’

‘Brown Eagle sent it, I bet he did,’ Salmek whispered, smiling to herself.

‘Is he someone special?’

‘Yes, he’s a shaman, a very powerful man. I’m sure the eagle was him… he turns into one… err… he is both a man and an…’

‘Salmek, si, it’s OK. We Mexicans are very open with this,’ she tapped her heart with her fingers, ‘we know the world works in magical ways. I believe you when you say Brown Eagle came to me today. He asked me to help you and I will.’

‘You will? Even though I haven’t told you everything, even though you don’t understand, you still want to help?’ Salmek eyes grew moist.

‘Yes, I will help you all I can. Now you rest.’

Maria leaned over and kissed Salmek’s forehead and, for a moment, she was transported back home, back to her cosy kitchen – back to her mum.

Maria smiled at her warmly and then walked towards the door, her tiny heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the terracotta floor tiles.

‘Come and get me if you need me. I will check on George, so you can sleep.’

She closed the door quietly and Salmek cuddled in close to George. He couldn’t be that ill, he really couldn’t. When she had rested a bit, she’d ask Maria if she could ring her mum and let her know where they were, and hopefully find out what had happened to her dad.

CHAPTER THREE

Salmek woke to the enticing sweet smell of baking, and it made her stomach rumble. She turned over to check on George, who was lying perfectly still, looking up towards the ceiling.

‘How are you feeling, George? You look a little better,’ she said, smiling at him. It was such a relief to see him with some colour in his cheeks.

‘I feel much better, Salmek girl. Maria has been popping in, filling me up with warm herbal teas; such a kind woman – she’s quite restored me, you know.’

‘That’s great; she’s a special woman, isn’t she, George? I don’t want to rush you, but now you’re feeling a bit better, do you think we’ll be able to call home? I think we need to tell Mum what’s going on… and I want to know if Dad’s OK… maybe they’ve let him go.’

‘I agree and I’ve already spoken with Maria – she came in to check on me when you were fast asleep – there’s a phone in reception we can use when you’re ready.’

‘Shall we do it now?’

‘Now is as good a time as any. Come along – we can eat some of the lovely donuts Maria has made while you’ve been sleeping. They smell delicious, don’t they?’ George rubbed his belly.

‘I wondered what that smell was. It’s making it difficult for me to concentrate on anything, to be honest.’

‘Off we go then. Let’s talk and eat at the same time,’ George eased himself off the bed slowly, while Salmek tentatively watched. He still wasn’t right, no matter what he said.

Both of them sat on the plastic-covered sofa waiting for Maria. They didn’t want to call out in case they disturbed any of her other guests and the bell on the reception desk was covered in dust, giving the impression it wasn’t used very often. Thankfully, they didn’t have long to wait as Maria clip-clopped her way down the corridor carrying a tray piled high with the warm, cinnamon-scented donuts.

‘Hungry, si?’ she said, smiling as she placed the tray on the low table in front of them. The donuts were very different to the ones they had at home; these were long, slightly curled at the ends and ridged, fried to a deep golden brown and liberally (very liberally) sprinkled with sparkling cinnamon sugar. They looked, and smelled, utterly delicious.

‘We’ve come to use the phone, if that’s OK,’ George said, eyeing the donuts.

‘Si, si, no problem, but have these first – only good when hot!’ she insisted, edging the plate closer to them, before picking one up herself and slowly taking one bite, then another, until it disappeared from sight.

‘Bad problem here, si,’ she laughed, licking her fingers, ‘one is not enough… ever!’ She reached for another, demolishing it in two mouthfuls, licking her fingers again before wiping them on her red, polka dot apron. ‘Quick, eat, eat… before they all run and hide from you in my stomach,’ Maria laughed, patting her belly.

Salmek felt a warm comfort rise inside. She always felt that way when someone presented something cooked with heart and soul; a sense of feeling deeply cared for. Plus she really wanted to taste one before they went cold. Ah, the bliss as she gently munched through its light crust into its soft, doughy centre. The smooth, spongy plainness inside perfectly complemented the crunchy sugar-coated exterior that was powdered with delicious cinnamon. For a moment, she was transported to donut heaven!

‘Best churros in Mexico, that’s what my son says,’ Maria laughed. ‘OK, so the phone is on the desk. You call, take your time, and I go and clean the room next-door to you for new tourists,’ she paused a moment, looking at them both intently.

‘Is everything OK?’ George asked.

Maria grimaced slightly, held her hand out, palm facing downward and shook it rapidly from side to side, indicating all was not well.

‘Is there a problem?’ Salmek asked.

‘The tourist police come here about an hour ago – they are looking for you both. They had photographs. They are searching all the hotels around here,’ Maria looked concerned.

‘Did you tell them anything?’ George asked.

Maria shook her head slowly.

‘Did they say anything?’ Salmek observed Maria intently, looking for any sign of uncertainty.

‘Yes, they said that your father is in big trouble, that he tried to steal you and they are searching for you, to protect you.’

‘That’s not true!’ Salmek cried.

‘I know, I know – I said I’ve never seen tourists like you… they gave their business card and left. It’s OK; they don’t know you’re here.’

‘But it’s only a matter of time,’ George looked tired again, a wave of exhaustion rolling through him.

‘Si, si – they will come back, I am sure,’ Maria sighed, ‘that’s why you need to tell me where you are going next. George is OK to travel now – you need to move while you still can.’

‘Palenque,’ Salmek said, ‘we need to get to Palenque as soon as we can.’

‘Ring your mum, si, and when you’ve found out more, come and get me; I will help you to get to Palenque,’ Maria said, turning to walk back down the corridor, munching on yet another churro.

‘Thank you, thank you, Maria,’ Salmek said, overwhelmed by this woman’s simple, practical kindness.