Nick That night my sleep is broken. The cooling air of the Masai Mara has got into my bones. Lauren stirs next to me. Her breathing is laboured. We don’t talk. That can wait until morning. When light finally breaks into the room, Lauren pulls herself from the bed. She stretches before going into the bathroom. As I swing my legs out and go to stand up, it hits me – I feel as if I’m under water: a sucking noise in my ears. ‘Are you all right?’ Lauren asks, when she comes out of the bathroom. She is clutching her towel in front of her, frowning. ‘I don’t feel well.’ She comes forward, presses her hand to my forehead. ‘You’re burning up.’ ‘I’m fine,’ I say, needing to get moving, to get away from this place. I reach the end of the bed and the room swirls around me. ‘Nick, you’re sick. You may need a doctor.’ ‘I need paracetamol, that’s all.
