Chapter 1

Ruth stood waiting and whilst she waited her eyes were drawn downwards towards her throbbing feet.  She contemplated the ridiculous sight of white flesh bulging out between the thin red straps of her new sandals, sandals that had looked elegant and well-fitted when she boarded the plane in Glasgow nearly twenty hours earlier.  She was transfixed, fascinated by feet that seemed to be growing before her eyes, wondering how, when the time came to move, she was going to put one in front of the other.

Ruth had been waiting for some time.  She couldn’t go anywhere because she didn’t know where to go.  The email she had received three days earlier, whose contents she tried visualising to make sure she hadn’t missed some vital piece of information, said that she would be met by a VSO in-country staff member.  She had been scanning the arrivals hall in vain, watching emotional reunions with more than a tinge of sadness. Unsurprisingly, her presence seemed to be arousing some curiosity and she was beginning to feel conspicuous. She tried to meet the bold stares with a smile but was not, on the whole, rewarded with the same back. Her feet provided a welcome distraction.

Then it happened.  Three single, ear piercing shots in close succession sent everyone, except Ruth, diving, face down, to the ground.  

The hall fell into total silence, broken only by the sudden echoing sound of a man’s heavy footsteps running across the exposed floor, shouting as he ran, brandishing a pistol poised for action.  Not a soul moved, not even to look at him.  He ran towards the exit, out of the glass doors, and then he was gone. And there was nothing more.

For a few seconds it was as if no-one dared breathe.  Then, slowly, cautiously, people began picking themselves up off the floor and helping others around them to stand up.  They began talking again.  Some looked quizzically over in Ruth’s direction.  Some even giggled. Ruth could only stand there, rooted to the spot, her long, wavy, red hair and pale skin shouting out, ‘Look at me, look at me!’  In, out. In, out, came the rhythm of her breathing as she brought her awareness back to her body, her heartbeat thudding in her ears all the while.

‘Ruth Ross?’

Someone had spoken to her.  It was a Scottish accent belonging to a very tall, bearded man dressed in dark blue chinos and a white t-shirt, with the purple lettering V-S-O emblazoned across the front.                                                        

She nodded, still trying to make some sense out of what had just happened.

‘Welcome to Uganda,’ the man said.