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flew to when he came to Anaktue, that he’d get a taxi plane from there.
    ‘I told you, lady, we don’t cover that region.’
    ‘Can you tell me how to get there? Please?’
    ‘I do Northern Airways check-in; I’m not a travel agent.’
    A man came up to Yasmin. About forty, he was dressed in overalls, a peak cap with ‘Am-Fuels’ on it; a 9/11 pin.
    ‘You’ll need Arctic Airways,’ he said. ‘But their last flight for the day left ten minutes ago.’
    She felt rising panic and he must have noticed because he looked at her with kindness.
    ‘I might be able to get you on a flight to Deadhorse,’ he said. ‘From Deadhorse, you can get a taxi plane to most places in the north.’ He paused a moment. ‘Is Anaktue the place that’s been on the news?’
    ‘I imagine so.’
    She didn’t volunteer anything more and he didn’t press her.
    ‘Can you wait a little bit while I see my daughter onto her flight?’ he said.
    Behind him was a young woman, eighteen or nineteen, looking excited, eyes darting around, a smile reappearing every few moments, a rucksack on her back.
    Mum’s handing out the little cards I’ve written, asking people if they know anything about Anaktue and she gets really funny looks. Some rude people just put theirs in the bin right in front of us. I’m writing some more now, on the back of a different taxi place. I’m a bit worried that people will phone or email Mum thinking she’s the taxi.
    I’m still thinking a bit about the nasty girl gang at school and gossiping.
    Dad told me about this film where a preacher tells people why gossiping is so terrible. He says that when you say a bit of gossip, you’re emptying a feather pillow out of a high window into the wind, and if you want to take the gossip back you’d have to find every single feather and you could never ever do that. But it would be good if that was true of Mum’s cards and they go all over the place, and someone will know something that will help us find Dad really soon.
    Fifteen minutes later, Yasmin saw the man in the peaked cap threading his way through shoals of people towards them. She thought he looked nervous.
    ‘Jack Williams,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Sorry to take a while but I wanted to see my daughter through the departure gate. She hasn’t been away from home before. Not for more than a week anyway.’
    Yasmin liked him for being anxious.
    ‘Freedman Barton Fuels are flyin’ a load of us worker bees to the wells south of Prudhoe, via Deadhorse,’ Jack continued. ‘It’s a charter. I know the pilot and gave him a call. If you want to hitch a ride it’s fine with him. ’Course it probably ain’t legal, but he’s not goin’ to tell anyone. There’s a couple of spare seats.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Yasmin said.
    He smiled at Ruby. ‘I wish all daughters could stay put at your age. Not get all grown up and want to go off travellin’.’
    Yasmin wasn’t sure how much of that Ruby had understood, but Jack spoke clearly and didn’t put his hand to his mouth so she’d have got most of it.
    ‘Come on, I’ll show you the way. Those your cases?’
    I don’t like this man. Don’t trust him for a second. He’s all smiley-smarmy. He’s got our cases and his sleeve has wrinkled up and you can see an Omega watch. Dad has one like it, quite like it, that Grandpa left him. He says it’s much too precious to wear everyday so why’s this man wearing it on just any old day? Now he’s seen me staring.
    Yasmin had seen Ruby looking at the watch, more like glowering at it. No wonder Jack noticed.
    ‘I used to buy presents for my wife,’ he said. ‘When you work at the wells, it’s ugly and dirty and you want somethin’ nice at the end of it. I’d get her pretty things. Right before our twentieth anniversary, she took a heap of her jewellery back to the store. Swapped it with this. Gave it to me.’
    And his wife died, Yasmin thought, so he always wore her watch. She felt compassion for him in a