by John Marrs
She checked the destination time on the car’s dashboard—it would take another twenty minutes before she reached it. She needed something to distract her from her anxiousness about what was to come next. So she decided to paint her fingernails. She opened her handbag and removed three shades of white polish.
“Which one should I use?” she asked, holding them up to the dashboard camera.
From the console in his own car, she watched as Sam looked carefully at each of them. “The white one,” he replied, and heaped another spoonful of warm porridge from a Tupperware pot into his mouth. Heidi hated it whenever she was a morning Passenger in his vehicle—it reeked of either milky oats or well-cooked bacon.
“Which white one?” she pressed, and watched Sam hesitate, as if his instinct was warning him this was a test. “The one on the left.”
“Well remembered. That’s the one I chose for our wedding day.”
“I could never forget.”
Heidi knew her husband was lying because so was she. She had worn a baby-pink polish that day. Recently, she had found herself testing him more and more frequently over the most minute and innocuous of topics, just to see how much he was prepared to fabricate.
“This colour always reminds me of sitting with Kim and Lisa in the nail bar,” she continued, making it up as she went along. “We drove the owner mad trying to decide which shade to pick. Kim kept telling me to go with the ivory to match my dress, but I wanted something with a little more sparkle.”
“You made the right choice. You looked amazing.”
Heidi tried to read his smile, quietly hoping it was genuine. She remembered him waiting at the church altar, turning his head when the organist began to play the opening bars of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” and how he dabbed at his eyes when he caught sight of her. Even now, after everything, she would do anything to relive those early, fairy-tale moments from their relationship again, even just for a moment.
“Do you remember where our first date was?” Heidi asked.
“Of course, in that fish restaurant in Aldeburgh high street.”
“No, that was the second night.”
“I don’t count the first night because that’s when we met.”
“That’s right, you were on the stag weekend from hell.”
“Bob’s best man had booked us all two static caravans in a park populated by pensioners, and the only club in town closed at eleven. Then I saw you and your friends walking back to the campsite, and the next thing I know, we’d spent the night swigging from a bottle of Prosecco and watching the sun rise over the beach.”
Heidi felt a warmth spread across the surface of her skin, mirroring how she felt when Sam had leaned in to kiss her for the first time. Back then, and following the collapse of her parents’ marriage, she hadn’t believed in happy-ever-afters. And not for a moment had she assumed she could fall in love so hard and so fast. The warm feeling dissolved as quickly as it appeared. She blew gently on the fingernails of one hand as she began painting the other.
“Who’d have thought back then that one day we’d be celebrating our tenth anniversary?” she asked.
“I did because I’d never met anyone so on my wavelength like you were. There’s no way I was letting you go. And while I remember, aside from a hacksaw to remove the ball and chain, what are we supposed to buy one another to celebrate?”
“Something made of tin.”
“So if I wrapped up a tin of spaghetti hoops you’d be happy?”
“Give it a try and see how long the proctologist takes to surgically remove it.”
“What was on that modern list of anniversary presents you googled?”
“Diamonds. Apparently, they’re still a girl’s best friend.”
“I thought I was your best friend?”
You were, Heidi said to herself. Once upon a time you were everything to me.
She watched as Sam used his tie to clean his glasses. He hadn’t worn them when they first met, but then his hair and beard hadn’t been flecked with grey either, and the skin around his eyes didn’t crease when he laughed. She wondered if he had watched her aging like she had him. Perhaps that’s how this had all started. Her genetics had been to blame. Her body was no longer as attractive to him as it once was when they were in the first flush of love. But wasn’t that what marriage was about? Not the ceremony or the grand gestures or the anniversaries, but standing by the side of someone come what may, growing older with each other and loving them regardless of all their faults. Till death do us part, she said to herself.
Heidi wondered what others saw when they looked at her. In her imagination, she was still a twenty-year-old girl with her whole life ahead of her. In reality, she was a forty-year-old mum of two whose once-thick head of blond hair was losing its lustre. Her teeth needed whitening and her jaw-line was fast losing its elasticity. As gravity pulled it south, it took with it her freckles. Nowadays they were less like cute brown dots and more like fat ink-blots. It wasn’t just her looks that had toughened over the years; so had her personality. Her job had made it harder for her to see the good in people. And she had forgotten how to cry either happy or sad tears. Sometimes she felt as if she were made of rock; break her exterior and she was just as solid inside.
“Do you ever miss those days?” Heidi asked suddenly.
“Which days?”
“The ones when we could drink and smoke and go out whenever we wanted to or bugger off around Europe on a city break without having to worry about the kids?”
“Sometimes, like when they caught that stomach bug before Christmas and the house stank like a Roman vomitorium. But on the whole, no. The adventure we’re on is much more fun with them in it.”
“If we can get a late cheap deal, we should take them to the South of France for a few days in August. Just pack up the essentials, programme the address, set off at night, and sleep in the car while it drives us there. We could be in Lyon by the morning.”
Heidi knew what Sam’s response would be before he gave it. “We’ll see,” he replied. When it came to trips abroad, he’d been “we’ll see–ing” her for most of their married life. Every other Christmas he’d visit his mother at her flat in the Algarve. However, he always went alone.
“So remind me, where are you taking me for our anniversary?” she asked.
“Oh for God’s sake, if you really want to know, then I’ll tell you. But don’t start moaning later that I’ve ruined the surprise.”
“Come on then. Spill.”
“Okay, well, I’ve hired us a caravan in Aldeburgh for the weekend and I was planning to take an early-morning breakfast picnic with us so we can start the day where it all began—under the rising sun.”
“Aww, that’s lovely,” Heidi replied, not meaning a word of it. Sam clearly assumed it to be a thoughtful, romantic gesture though. “It’s a really nice idea.”
“That’s what I thought,” he replied. “But then I remembered how my wife’s face tripped her up last year when I took her to the pub, so instead, I bought us tickets to a musical in London’s West End, followed by a slap-up dinner at a posh restaurant and a room in a Covent Garden hotel.”
Heidi knew it was never going to happen but she played along regardless. “Are you serious? Can we afford it? We’ve got James’s school ski trip coming up . . .”
“Yes, we can afford it,” Sam replied, and she recognised a hint of irritation in his voice for questioning him. “I’ve been putting some money aside for a while to pay for it.”
Heidi opened her mouth to say something else, then changed her mind. Instead, she held her newly painted white fingernails to the camera. “What do you think?” she asked, but before Sam could reply, the picture went blank. “Sam? Have we been cut off?”
Meanwhile, inside her husband’s car several miles behind, Sam slapped the dashboard to encourage the screen to func
tion again. He was paying the price for ignoring the car’s automatic reminders for its six-month maintenance check and software update. He hadn’t booked Heidi’s in yet either, but she didn’t need to know that. There was a lot she didn’t need to know.
“I can still hear you,” he replied.
“What happened there?”
“We must have fallen into a Wi-Fi black hole.”
“Then why is my GPS reprogramming itself with a different route?”
Sam placed his now-empty bowl of porridge on the seat next to him. “It does that sometimes, doesn’t it? You know, if there’s been an accident or problems ahead.” Sam glanced at his own screen. “Hold on, mine is doing the same. What . . . Where the hell is it taking . . .”
He didn’t get the opportunity to finish his sentence. The next voice to come from their speakers did not belong to either of them.
CHAPTER 5
TVNews.co.uk
NEWS REPORT 7:05 a.m.
Leicestershire Police say they have arrested twelve people in connection with human trafficking, labour exploitation, and modern-day slavery.
Officers carried out early-morning raids on two business premises in Leicester and three homes in Rugby. Two men and a woman will appear in court later today while police are questioning nine others.
SHABANA KHARTRI
I can do it, I can do it, I can do it . . .”
Shabana repeated the mantra under her breath over and over again as the car drove, leaving behind the only home she’d known for twenty years. This is really it, she thought. The unimaginable was becoming a reality.
Just thirty minutes had passed since her son, Reyansh, appeared at the front door of the family home begging for her to listen to him. Although overjoyed to see him, her first concern was for his safety.
“What are you doing here?” she replied, cupping his cheeks, her eyes flitting between her firstborn and the neighbours’ houses to check if anyone had clocked his return. He was breathless. “You know you cannot come here,” Shabana continued. “It’s not safe for you.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he replied. “Please, Mum, you have to listen to me. This is the chance you’ve been waiting for—to get out of here.”
“What are you talking about, son? What has happened?”
“It’s Dad. He’s been arrested.”
Shabana took a step back into the porch and shook her head as if she had misunderstood him. “What do you mean he has been arrested? What for?”
“I don’t know all the details; all I know is that his lawyer called, asking you to post bail for Dad. Because you don’t speak English, he phoned me. All his solicitor would say was that his arrest involved people trafficking.”
Shabana had heard the phrase before but hadn’t thought to ask its meaning.
“It’s where people are illegally smuggled out of one country and into another,” Reyansh continued. “The men are often sold on for slave labour and the women forced into prostitution.”
She covered her mouth with her hands. “And they are saying your father has been doing this?”
“It’s what they’re accusing him of, yes. Rohit and Sanjay were also arrested in the restaurant last night along with a bunch of other men at different addresses. The police say they’re part of a gang shipping children and beggars over from the Assam slums before selling them.”
Shabana recognised the other men’s names but couldn’t put faces to them. Whenever her husband, Vihaan, brought friends back to the house, she had been ordered upstairs and out of sight until they left. Often, they had remained in the dining room getting drunk on Sekmai until the early hours of the morning. It was also not uncommon for him to stay out for days at a time, so she hadn’t missed him last night.
“Mum, this is your chance to leave him,” Reyansh continued. “You are never going to get an opportunity like this again.”
Shabana knew that if what her son was saying was accurate, everything she had once dreamed of might be about to come true. But still she hesitated. “I’m not ready,” she whispered, her heart racing. “I would need to pack clothes, get the girls ready . . . What would I tell them? I have no money saved—how will we afford to eat? How will we live? Where will we go?”
“I have two taxis waiting,” said Reyansh, and turned to point to them behind him. “One to take you to a solicitor and the other to drive the girls to a shelter. Dad’s brief said there’s money hidden in the shed, thousands of pounds that’ll pay for his bail. There’s nothing to stop you from taking it.”
“But that’s theft.”
“He has stolen two decades of your life.”
“What kind of shelter?”
“It’s for families like us and women like you, wives from the Indian community who’ve spent their whole lives being controlled by their husbands, women who are sick of being beaten and bullied and treated like dogs, and who need help in starting afresh.”
“But . . . but . . .” Shabana didn’t know how to respond. For so many years, she had fantasised about escaping Vihaan. Nine years had passed since her last proper attempt, when she had made plans to travel from their home in Leicester to Newcastle, where a distant cousin lived. Mrs. Patel, who ran the local supermarket, was aiding her. Only when Mrs. Patel’s husband discovered the National Express coach tickets his wife had been hiding for Shabana and her children, he’d felt duty bound to tell Vihaan of her plans. Her punishment was a beating so severe, she still couldn’t place her full weight on her right ankle.
Since that day, her only hope was that an early death might rid the world of Vihaan. He smoked a pack of high-tar cigarettes a day, and his fatty diet meant he was at least twenty kilos overweight. It could only be a matter of time before his heart gave out. Sometimes she fantasised about watching him collapse on the kitchen floor, clutching his arm and chest and begging her to get help. “I can’t,” she would tell him. “I only speak Bengali. You wouldn’t allow me to learn English, remember?”
“Mum,” said Reyansh, bringing her back to the present. He took his mother’s hands within his own. “This is what you want, isn’t it? The opportunity to get you all away from him? Because it’s actually happening now.”
“When he gets home, he will come after us and find us and he will kill us. I know how vindictive your father is when he is pushed.”
“No, he won’t because he can’t. I met with the women who run the shelter and explained your situation, and they told me that when you were ready, you are welcome there. It’s completely anonymous; no one will ever know where you are. I spoke to them again on my way here—they can take all of you in this morning. There are beds waiting for you. And they’ve put me in touch with a solicitor who works closely with them. She will see you now to organise a restraining order against Dad. Everything is in place and ready. All we need is you and the girls.”
“But what about you? Where will you go?”
“I’ve only got a few months until I start uni. I can sofa surf until then. I’ve been lucky—being kicked out because my dad thinks being gay is worse than being dead was the best thing he could’ve done for me. Mum, the world is beautiful beyond these walls if you give it a chance.”
“Your lawyer friend, does she know I don’t speak English?”
“Yes, and she says for you not to worry; she’s seen it many times before. She wants to help you.”
“And you promise to look after the girls while I sit with her?”
“Yes, of course I will.”
Without warning, a warmth travelled quickly through Shabana’s veins, infecting every part of her. Her nods were barely perceptible until she pictured how different the future could be if she trusted her son and the people he had engaged to assist her. That they could want to help someone they didn’t know humbled her. She looked Reyansh directly in the eye. “Help me get your sisters ready,” she s
aid with growing confidence.
Shabana packed anything she might need for the next few days into two shopping bags, like clothes, underwear, and toiletries. From her bedroom, she listened as Reyansh organised his four sisters in the adjoining bedrooms. She was so proud of her only son; despite all he had learned about men by watching his father, he had still known it to be wrong. Instead, he had remained a kind, gentle, and considerate soul. The name she had given him translated to “first ray of sunlight,” and now that was the gift he was giving to her—the chance to see a new day in a new light. She was ready to leave the shadows and join a world illuminated in a way she could barely remember.
As she heard the girls make their way downstairs, she said a small prayer for them. She had begun motherhood with the best of intentions and had wanted to teach them to be independent and not to allow anyone to control them. But aged fourteen and under, they had known her only as a subservient, frightened woman. After they had grown up under that roof, she hoped it wasn’t too late for them to change their expectations of what a marriage could be. If they repeated her mistakes, it would not be their fault; it would be hers. And for that, she would never forgive herself.
With her bag packed, Shabana hurried into the kitchen to grab a key, then made her way to the padlocked shed where she had never been allowed. She yanked containers from shelves and rifled through boxes and bags until she pulled out wad after wad of cash. She was stunned by the sum. While she had been forced to micromanage a paltry food and clothing budget for a growing family, Vihaan had been sitting on thousands upon thousands of pounds. It compounded her hatred for him.
After scooping the money into her pockets, she joined the rest of her family in the lounge Vihaan had taken as his own and banned them from. She began to feel a strength she hadn’t realised was still inside her when she saw the girls with their school bags hanging from their shoulders, crammed with clothes, books, and toys. Meanwhile, Reyansh hovered nervously behind the thick net curtain, checking that all was well outside, ready for their escape. For so long that curtain had hidden what had become of Shabana from the rest of the world. But not any longer. She yanked it from the runner until it fell into a heap on the floor. Finally, she was able to see from the window with clarity. “Let them look at me,” she said defiantly.
