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mask my true intentions and travel plans, which was
anyway full of holes and unpredictable in every way,
including its duration. But when my phone rang for the
third time in thirty minutes, I knew I couldn’t ignore her
any longer.
‘Hello.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Nadia... something’s happened.’ ‘What?’
‘My father’s... aunt... Milosava. She’s dead.’ ‘Really? Where
are you now?’
‘I’m going to the funeral. Driving.’ ‘Where to?’
‘Bosnia.’
‘Bosnia?’
‘Yes. Now I’m here... in Croatia.’
‘And why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just drive off to
Bosnia? Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine. It’s just... I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’
‘Seriously?’