Dogs. Lots of stray dogs and chickens. My excitement was rife. The construction was going well, soon people would have homes again. I never asked how they had lost everything; my concern was to help with the building, it was, after all, the reason we had gone to Romania.

Bucharest was hours away. Saratel, where the project was located, was far from the tourist routes. The next major city was Bistra, seven miles away, our hotel was far to the north in the shadow of the mountains. We had yet to see the hotel itself; the project came first before everything, and we were on a mission from God, like Jake and Elwood Blues.

Richard rounded us all up. Me and my brother Andy and I, giddy with excitement, were bribed with mint imperials to get into our car so we could find the hotel and get unpacked. I watched Saratel roll by as we took the E578 north.

Flashes of fields and scattered trees appeared and disappeared between the houses and shops. Bright red roofs, as hot as coals in the baking sun. Although Saratel was a sizable town in the area, its buildings were only a couple of rows deep.

Ahead, a dark slab lay across the road. We slowed down to bump over what turned out to be a railway crossing, no barrier or light, just a weird raised track. The car ground to a halt on the other side, and we quickly regained our pace. I spun, kneeling in my seat, and watched the railway vanish around a sharp bend.

The town gave way to countryside, mile after mile of it, green and dry in the September heat. There were long straights and sweeping bends curving left, then right up the flank of mountains.

A broad structure set off the roadside, fronted by white stone steps, sat in contrast to the forest backdrop. Our hotel. We pulled up into one of the spaces and sat listening to the cooling engine while Mom gave out instructions as to what to do with our bags. I still have no idea to this day what she said, my ADHD was in a thousand places, none of them helpful.

‘Emily,’ Mom was smiling despite the sharp tone.

‘Coming,’ I got a look when I dragged out the word. ‘Mommy.’ Her brow wrinkled a lot. She chased me out of the car, almost falling over the heap of bags.

The air was amazing, clean, I turned a slow circle, breathing in as much of it as I could and hefted my bag over my shoulder. One of the men took my case, not Dad; he was busy with something.

We went up the three white steps into the hotel and waited for Richard to sort out the rooms while I popped another mint imperial he had given me under my tongue.

Me and mom surged up the stairs and found our room ready for us, there were flowers in a jar and the fresh scent of air-dried linen. The room was comfy with firm beds and inviting fat pillows. A high-backed chair filled one corner with its broad wings, the kind of thing adults sit in to read and drink wine. Plain curtains framed the broad window that shed its light across the room. All was good. I shoved my stuff in a corner and went to check out the other room where my brother and dad would crash. Sure enough, they were sprawled over their beds. Mom appeared at my shoulder and gave them the look. They slid their feet off the bed and sat up. Mom squeezed my shoulder as Dad’s glare bored into us.

‘Dad?’ Andy shrank against the wall. ‘Outside.’ He pointed at the window, his head dipped toward the shaking finger.

Dad strode over, grunted something, then again as he pushed past us. ‘Dad?’ Andy ran out of the room chasing after his father. ’’Sup?’ The clump of Dad’s footsteps became silent. We sighed and drew a breath.

The door opened, ‘Restaurant’s open, you coming down?’ Mom gestured to the door, and a smile lit her face.

‘Sure.’ I rolled from the bed, taking her hand as we left the room and skipped like children down the hallway to the dining room.

Gathered around a table scarred with names carved into the wood. I ran my fingers along the dark trails, wondering if they, like us, had come as missionaries to help the locals or if they were as in love as the artistry claimed.

‘What do you want, Lucy?’ Mom bit her lip. She knew I’d struggle with local food until I’d seen it.

Time to be brave.

‘I’llhavewhatevercomes.’ There, I did it.

‘Drinks?’ Mom’s joy was contagious.

My face hurt from smiling so much. ’Tea.’

The evening passed in a blur, tiredness I guess. A long day, a long journey we all needed sleep. There was so much to do the next day.

A mug of water dredged from a well was put in front of me. Demonic faces swirled in the steam rising from the surface. Richard curled his hand around mine, forcing a packet into my palm. I withdrew my hand and peeked at the gift. PG Tips, I was saved from the swamp juice.

Another mug appeared together with a jug of milk and a flask of hot water. Richard shook his head as I decapitated the sachet and tossed the bag into the mug. The metal flask was octagonal, dull and cold to the touch. I loosened the lid and poured steaming death into the mug. There were no demons this time.

Then the food arrived.

They came on a long, narrow plate. A pyramid of rolled things. They smelled great despite their sweaty appearance. Not one for protocol (or prayers) I sank my fork into one and bit the end off. It was then I felt all eyes on me. Jean, the team leader, gave a polite cough, but I wasn’t fooled. Being the first to try the Sarmale, a dish of pork and bacon wrapped in sour cabbage leaves with tomato and herbs (they could have left that bit out when they told me). The soup they could keep; tripe, no thanks.

How did they make those things taste so yum?

‘No thanks,’ yellow tripe soup was not for me. The soup slopped in the bowl as I slid it to a safe distance; my arms were not those of an orangutan. Its aroma lingered. Richard put an arm around me and pulled me close, I always felt safe with him. He was like a father, always there.

Dinner became supper, and there was more food. No idea what was talked about, but we laughed a lot and loudly.

We don’t laugh that way anymore.

Memories …

The evening passed in a blur, and I was tired. A long day, a long journey, we all needed sleep. There was so much to do the next day.

My backpack was crammed with all the stuff I’d need for the day (or so I thought. 14-year-olds have specific needs. (It’s not crap!)  I bounded down the stairs and scoffed at something with a strange taste. The boys had already raced off in the other cars, leaving me waiting on the polished white steps, endlessly checking my backpack. Time moves more slowly when anxiety rises. Thoughts raced around inside my head like a tin of wasps angry at their captor.

The trill of Lou’s phone silenced everything. She stopped walking and grabbed Mom’s arm. My breakfast sank to my bowel when she turned to mom and said, ‘There’s been an accident.’ Mom opened her mouth. I didn’t think she was going to speak. ’No details, we have to get there.’

Lou made a call, so mechanical that life had already left and autopilot had taken over. Mom stood at her side, one hand across her shoulders as she leaned in to listen to the call. I sat fiddling with anything I could find, my bag, hair, pebbles, the skin around my wrists.

Had I stepped outside of time? Time had lost all meaning as had music, my most faithful companion when worries grew too great to control.

Eventually, our transport arrived and our guide, Luga, ushered us into the back seat while she sat in the boot space. Lou was between Mom and me, right then, I wanted Mom more than anything, but couldn’t get my mouth to work.

The phone rang again. An update. Fatality.

Countryside raced by in a hollow blur. Mile after mile, taking us to… the end. Cars began to appear in numbers. Faces came into focus as we slowed and weaved our way through the protesting crowd, which demanded that we turn back. Our driver pulled into a lay-by out of sight, away from the scene. Mom jumped out and ran through the heat of the day to get there. We all piled out and went after Mom.

I didn’t get far before Luke, the driver of our other car, trapped me in his arms, his sobs loud in my ears. I beat my fists on his arms until he let go. He kept on apologising, saying sorry over and over. I wanted to find my brother and my dad, alive.

Mom reappeared, her eyes red, with makeup and tears smeared across her face. Luke released me into Mom’s arms; somehow, she felt stronger than Luke, secure. She steered me toward an ambulance, its gaudy lights pounding at my senses. I saw in flashes: high-vis clad firemen, green-clothed ambulance crews, giant bin liners, deep grooves in the long grass, sunlight flickering through the trees, and a red car (inside and out) wrapped around a tree surrounded by diamonds. The gems were everywhere. Tiny cubes of glass?

Andy was in the ambulance. He had diamonds too! Stuck to the crimson goop on his head, face, hands, and clothes. Even his hair was peppered with sparkling stones. He stared at his hands as they clenched his thighs and poked at his bouncing knees. His tongue was bright against his lips. He ran his tongue across his lips as though they stung. When he came into contact with goo on his face, he would retract his tongue and wait before he tried again.

I reached out a hand to touch his face. He didn’t flinch or try to move. I grabbed a medical wipe from a packet and cleaned his mouth. The white tissue turned blood red. He was smothered in it. The goo was blood, spattered in all directions.

‘It’s not all mine.’ He wanted to say more. I wanted to know more. Words piled up in my throat, tumbling out of my mouth in a torrent of babble.

A scream from outside distracted us.

My brother became animated, making half-gestures and fumbling attempts to get up and get outside.

‘You’ll be back on your bike soon. Back with the cadets doing mad stuff.’ My attempt at distraction was useless. The screams got louder. Not sure how many people were screaming, but soon they became howls like when someone dies and their dog gets upset. I wondered whose dog it was.

The atmosphere in the ambulance grew thick with heat, sweat and blood. I needed air, so I stepped outside and took the longest breath.

The ambulance crew were rolling something large in the grass. They rolled it one way, then another, onto one of those huge black sacks. Then I realised what it was: Richard.

Behind them, firemen cut the wreckage from the tree, leaving white scars on the blood-spattered trunk. Glass cubes glittered everywhere. How was there so much of it?

The first of the ambulances bounced across the grass to the main road, avoiding the raised railway, where it quickly vanished in a wail of sirens and flashing lights. The others followed quickly, except the last one carrying the zipped body.

Hands grabbed my arms and drew me into the back of our sweltering car. The door opened, and bags were tossed in; the door closed. Two backpacks: Andy’s and Dad’s. I wrenched Dad’s open and rifled through it. Taking his hoodie, I wrapped it around me despite the heat. I wanted to be hugged, to be safe.

The door opened, and a camera and microphone were thrust in my face. A reporter fought to get access to me, their words were sound bites gnashing at me like wild dogs. Luga grabbed him, yanked him away, shouting at him, her eyes wild. The reporter left. I buried myself in the hoodie and stayed there, alone with my thoughts in the heat and the silence.

The car rolled up outside the hotel, the day was closing in, and a soft breeze chased the heat away. Images of the day played in my head until all I could see were blood diamonds.

I was running. Banging doors. Opening bags. Every room, everything, hunting passports and papers. I kept wiping my face on my sleeves, streaking them with makeup and snotty tears. I couldn’t stop until the hunt was over.

The adults were arguing with the police in the lobby. Uniforms wall to wall. They wanted our passports, so I gave them to Mom. We were then ushered out into more cars and driven back to town.

There was no traffic this time; no one was shouting or waving. The empty road went on and on. I held tight to those around me as we bumped over the railway. My heart raced as my thoughts rushed through, but there was no way to catch them; my brain was in overdrive, reliving the day as though it were happening all over again.

The lights of the hospital spilled across the car park, casting long shadows behind the ambulances, sirens and lights extinguished. Lost among the adults and uniforms, I entered the hospital, whining at the bright lights and white walls. Voices rang from every direction, some shrouded by curtains, others shrill sirens making urgent chimes.

We passed through double doors, dodging gurneys, wheelchairs, and fluid stands until we reached a small room ringed with hard plastic chairs and a water fountain with an empty bottle. They put me in a seat and left me.

Alone. Thinking.

White coats flashed by the porthole window, then disappeared through the door and back again. I tried to get their attention. Tried to see someone. Anyone.

Thinking: lights, blood, glass, bodies. Stop, stop, stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

A journey in the dark brought us back to the hotel where I chased everyone to get the police reports done and book flights home so we could get away from… life, and death, all meaningless. I spent the night in bed staring at the luggage in the room, which I don’t remember. I do remember Richard’s hat on a holdall. It was covered in blood. I stared at it, thinking, not of good things but…

We dragged our feet from shop to shop. We ate lunch and continued shopping. Luga led the way, trying to be cheerful, but she knew my hope had gone, my will surrendered to despair.