Jealousy is more unwelcome than grief. It took me unaware. Tripped me and I fell into a pool of thoughts that were unreasonable, that should never have been mine. Would she sit on his lap and clean his eyelashes with her manicured hands. Would he write her notes in his large handwriting, the grotesque letters uncontrolled by the lines he couldn't see. When I was a child there was an old swing in our backyard. I resented its cumbersome chains and its wooden seat which left splinters in my hand. Only when other children came to visit, only when I saw their legs swing high, heard their confident laughter, did I fight for a chance to play on my swing. In my seat with the hum of the aircraft in my ears I fought alone my morning sickness and watched the clouds out of the window swirl around. She passed me twice, leaving behind a faint smell of sandalwood, a tinkle of her bracelets, a raised eyebrow, an attractive smile. When the aeroplane landed in Cairo, they came to say good-bye. No addresses exchanged, no promises made. New passengers boarded and took their place, an Egyptian lady and her daughter who kept writing in a small notebook. And when the aeroplane took off again, I left the Ostrich and Africa behind me as I had done once before.