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MARCHING POWDER

greying, and he was old enough to be my father. I was on my own for this one.

The day after the attack, Sylvia came back to visit me, just as she had promised. When she saw me come into the interview room, her hand immediately went up to cover her mouth.

'Thomas! What happened to your face?'

'I fell over when I was running down the stairs,' I answered. I didn't want her to worry, but I could tell she didn't believe me.

'That looks terrible. Here. Show me.' I moved closer to the bars and she ran her fingers over the skin next to the cuts. 'Look what they've done to you. You should report this to someone. Does the embassy know?'

I knew Sylvia meant the best for me, but there was no way someone like her could understand how things worked in a prison. If I said anything, the Bolivian authorities would only laugh. And although the British Embassy could complain, it had no power inside the prison, where it counted.

'No. It's OK. I'm fine. Really, I'm OK.'

'Are you sure?' It felt so good to be mothered again. I wished I could have been on the other side of the interview bars so that I could tell her everything that had happened to me. I wanted to tell her about the attack and what the police were like, and I wanted her to get me out of there and take me home, but I couldn't. I had to be strong.

'Well, at least be careful that those cuts don't get infected,' she said. 'It's not very hygienic in this country. I'll bring you some antiseptic cream this afternoon. Look. I brought you some more of Tim's clothes . . . are you looking after yourself in there? Do you need anything else?'

There were many things I wanted to ask her for, but I felt ashamed. Sylvia was already doing a lot just by visiting me, and if I became a burden to her, she might stop coming to see me. Besides, provided Ricardo let me stay in his room a while longer, I could probably make it through.

'I'm OK.'