Home » Archive » The Broken Promise » Page 4

The Broken Promise

Page 4

Annie Ryall

Just as we were about to make our getaway, the carpet seller’s son came running out of the shop, waving something. It was my Afghan shoulder bag! In my panic I had left it behind. I threw it over my shoulder and waved an effusive thank-you. We were finally away.

There followed nail-biting hairpin bends through the Khyber Pass, curfews in Peshawar, kamikaze truck drivers in India, and a stomach-churning trip on a Russian boat from Madras to Perth, before arriving in Melbourne.

It may not surprise you, dear reader, to hear that not long afterwards I parted ways with Georges. There were three of us in this relationship, and I knew which one of us had to go. There was simply no contest.

This edition