She waited until they had both left before washing out her pants in the sink. With only one other pair, she was going to have to rotate their use. She smiled; contemplating the fact that only she would travel to the other side of the world in a daring rescue attempt, to liberate her husband from a band of religious fundamentalists, with a packet of Polo Mints and sunglasses as her weapons of choice. Miles met her outside the block. ‘Morning’. ‘Gud morrnink, Miles,’ Poppy laughed, her accent was an intriguing mix of Polish and Muppet Swedish Chef. ‘Did you sleep OK? These cots take a bit of getting used to.’ Poppy was ashamed to admit that actually she had slept brilliantly, having fallen into a deep and exhausted slumber, not stirring until there was activity outside the tent that very morning. ‘Let’s go somewhere and chat.’ He guided her off the path. They ducked into an empty Portakabin that inside looked like a makeshift internet cafe. Four high-spec computers with tired keyboards blinked on separate tables, each with a payphone to the side and a plastic chair; no comfort, no privacy.
