Hidden

by Miriam Halahmy

  That stops her. Kim looks at me with her hazel-green eyes, unblinking, and then she says in this breathy voice, “He’s amazing. He gave me this for luck today.” She pulls out a silver chain with a locket from under her sweater. “Look inside,” and she opens it. There’s a tiny bar of black music notes drawn beautifully on a piece of creamy card.

  “Wow,” I say. Will anyone ever love me, I think, with a pang of jealousy? But when do I have time for love right now?

  Steven comes back with the coffees. He sits down and looks impatiently at his watch. “They should have been here twenty minutes ago.”

  “Which group did you get hold of?” I mumble through a mouthful of foam.

  “RROK, RefugeeRightsOK. They’ve said they can help Mohammed to get justice and hopefully the right to stay in Britain. They have lawyers who specialize in refugees. I spent ages on the phone to them yesterday. Mum reckons they’re the best on the south coast. I told her it was research for Citizenship.”

  “Good one.” I nod and then I see Lindy outside in the square and coming toward her, spread out in a line, are Terrence and two of his gang, including blond Gaz from the beach. Now what?

  Lindy shoots a glance across at us and there’s something in her look that makes me put my cup down. She nods toward the far corner of the square and to my horror I see Samir. His head is down and his hood up so he hasn’t noticed the gang. Yet.

  “Come on,” I say, springing to my feet.

  “No, Ali,” says Kim, grabbing my arm. “It’s not safe.”

  But I shrug her off. “I’m not leaving Samir on his own with Terrence ever again.”

  But really I’m terrified and I’m secretly hoping Liam will turn up. I mean, he’s twenty, so much older than Terrence, surely he’d get rid of him and his gang.

  But as I go outside the burger bar there’s no sign of Liam, just Terrence and that horrible Gaz and another smaller boy who looks just as mean. Samir has reached me now and I hear Steven and Kim coming up behind. Lindy has stopped and because it’s only midmorning on a Wednesday there’s hardly anyone else around.

  “Oy! Paki!” yells out Terrence, and we freeze. “Got ya now, ain’t we!” What does he mean?

  “Tell him what ya done, mate.” Gaz laughs and he sounds so evil.

  “Phoned the police about your Taliban friend. Didn’t ya hear the sirens? They’ll rip that hut apart and chuck him back in the sea!” roars Terrence.

  The whole gang starts to laugh and push each other around and jump up and down with their arms hanging low, like apes.

  I can’t believe it! They’ve given Mohammed away, betrayed him to the police, and that means we’re all in deep trouble.

  But there’s no time to think straight because Samir sweeps the hood from his head and screams at Terrence, “You bastard, I’ll kill you!” and before I can do anything he launches himself at Terrence, fist and feet flying and they both tip over to the ground. For a few seconds Terrence is under Samir and I even think that Samir is going to win. And then there is a terrible groan. Just that. One big groan.

  Samir goes limp and Terrence swats him away like a fly and yells to his gang, “Run!”

  The gang are gone in a second. There’s blood everywhere.

  All over Samir’s hands and sweatshirt and the pavement. His face is white as sea mist, his eyes shut. He’s dead, I think, numbly. Like all the people on Auntie Selma’s wall.

  No, he can’t be!

  The blood is making me feel sick just like back at the hut, and my mind whirls with images and words all jumbling up together.

  Already people are gathering and I can hear sirens blaring. Tears are pouring down my face and I’m whispering, “Don’t die, don’t die.”

  Then Samir’s eyes flicker open and I cry out in relief. His lips move slowly and then he croaks, “Go to the hut. Save him.” And his eyes close again.

  “He’s alive! Where’s the ambulance?” I yell to Kim.

  But Kim is speaking to me and she’s telling me to go to Mohammed. I can’t take it in at first but she keeps saying over and over in a low voice, “I’ll stay with Samir, don’t worry, Ali, you must go.”

  And I know she’s right. Then I’m running toward the bus station. I can hear someone running behind me but I don’t look back. In my pocket is Dad’s twenty-pound note. There’s no time for a bus and I see a minicab, wrench open the door and yell, “Sandy Point, as quick as you can!”

  But as I throw myself into the backseat the other door opens and someone else gets in.

  It’s Lindy!

  33. Tracked Down

  The taxi pulls away at a cruising speed. I want it to go faster but the driver won’t break the speed limit, even though I tell him it’s an emergency.

  “Ring the police then, love,” he says. Well, I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?

  I turn on Lindy, “What’re you doing in my taxi? Why did you tell your disgusting brother about the hut?”

  Lindy shrugs and stares out the window. I grab her shoulder and wrench her around. “What’s your game, you cow?”

  Lindy eyes me as if I’m some sort of slug and then she says, “What if Terrence follows you? What’ll you do then?” That makes me go cold. She’s right. I can’t face Terrence on my own. But it still doesn’t add up. “How does he know about Mohammed anyway, you must have told him.”

  Lindy’s staring out of window again and she says in her bored voice, “He guessed, I didn’t say nothing.”

  “Liar,” I yell, and I feel like smacking her one. “How could he guess where the hideout was?”

  The driver is getting fed up with us and he snaps over his shoulder, “Settle down, girls, I don’t want any trouble, and which one of you is going to pay for this?”

  I show him the twenty-pound note and he relaxes. At least Dad’s good for something for once, I think.

  “Terrence guessed the same way I did, saw you running in and out of the bushes. You bunch of losers,” says Lindy. “No idea how to keep a secret.”

  You can imagine the secrets they keep in her family. We’re on the last mile before the yacht club road and it feels as if we’re moving in slow motion. We must get there before the police and smuggle Mohammed away to my house. Mum will have to cooperate or I’ll threaten to run away from home. This is desperate.

  Then Lindy says, “Is Two Percent dead?”

  “What do you care?” I snarl back and she gives a slight shrug but she doesn’t look away.

  “I don’t know,” I say grudgingly, “but he spoke to me before I left.”

  She gives a brief nod and not for the first time I wonder if she really is as bad as the rest of her family. After all, she could have given Mohammed away herself and instead she helped him with his wounds. But I still don’t trust her.

  We finally get to the top of the yacht club road and the driver refuses to go any farther. “Private road, I’ll get a ticket,” he complains, but I think he’s just lazy.

  I pay him and leap out of the car and start running. I can feel panic rising up inside me and then Grandpa’s voice sounds in my head. “When you’re out at sea,” he used to say when we were standing on the beach and watching all the boats tack from side to side, “keep your rudder steady, don’t sail too close to the wind, too risky.”

  Just having Lindy here feels like taking a huge risk, but it’s too late now.

  I slow my breathing as I run to calm myself, like my marathon trainer taught us. At least I don’t have to get into the newspapers to get Dad’s attention. Don’t need to now if he keeps his promise. That would be a first.

  I can hear Lindy puffing away behind me trying to keep up. Then I’m crawling through the hole in the fence and she’s close behind me, complaining about snagging her tights on the wire. I scramble through the bushes panting hard, terrified what I will find. But the padlock is still gleaming on the locked door.

  When we get around the side Lindy says, “I’ll stay here, keep an eye out for Terrence.”

  I
hesitate for a nanosecond and then throw myself through the window, calling out, “Mohammed, get up, grab your stuff!”

  But Mohammed is slumped in the sleeping bag and I have to shake him awake. “The police are coming.”

  That does it. His eyes open and fear floods his face. He starts muttering in Arabic and fumbling with the zip.

  I grab a plastic bag and start filling it. The bag splits almost immediately and everything spills back onto the floor. Mohammed climbs slowly out of his sleeping bag and starts pulling on his shoes.

  “Use the sleeping bag, you muppet,” sneers Lindy through the window. Of course, that’s what I did the first time! Very quickly I’ve packed up everything and emptied the hut, leaving just a patch on the floor where some juice spilt.

  I bundle Mohammed out the window and throw the sleeping bag onto the ground. Outside Mohammed leans up against the hut wall, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. How far can he get like this? And then I hear the sirens.

  Lindy and I lock eyes and for a second she looks as scared as me.

  Did I misjudge her too?

  “We have to get out of sight,” I hiss.

  I grab Mohammed with one arm and stagger off toward the bushes, practically dragging him along. Lindy tags behind, dragging the sleeping bag along the ground.

  The sirens have stopped and I can hear men’s voices near the Lifeboat Station, shouting, “Over here, must be that old hut.”

  Did Terrence give them the GPS coordinates as well?

  We stumble toward the bushes and I’m nearly in tears. Mohammed falls down twice and Lindy drags the sleeping bag while I pick him up. I’m waiting for her to yell to the cops, “This way!” but she doesn’t say anything.

  We finally reach the bushes beyond the hut. They are really dense and for the first time since Samir was stabbed I feel a flicker of hope. We’ll burrow deep inside the thicket, wait for the police to give up and leave. Then we’ll go back to my house and . . .

  But my imagination fails me as Mohammed’s legs give way and he falls so heavily against me I tip backward and crack my head on the ground. I can almost feel my brains rattle and I lie there with my eyes closed for what seems like ages.

  When I open my eyes again the sky spins above me and there is a sharp pain in the back of my head. Mohammed is sprawled across my body and I can hardly breathe. Freezing water from a puddle is soaking my hair and I’m thinking, It’s over, give it up while you can.

  But Mohammed is groaning and he needs me more than ever. So still feeling really groggy I manage to push him off and get up on my knees.

  Lindy is standing over us, staring down.

  “Pick up the bag,” I snap, “and get it in the bushes.” She gives me a surprised look and then just does it silently.

  I grab Mohammed’s face with both hands and whisper, “Come on, nearly there,” but he doesn’t move. There’s nothing for it, I have to pull him myself. I grab him by the feet and heave and heave until I think my shoulders will dislocate. I can only move him a few yards at a time.

  We’re not going to make it, I think in a panic, as the voices of the police come closer and closer.

  But I finally get him under the bushes and out of sight. Just in time!

  Squinting through the leaves, I can see two policemen come around the corner of the hut and lean into the open window.

  It’s Good Cop and Bad Cop.

  If Lindy even looks as though she’s going to call out I’ll throw myself on her and throttle her.

  But instead of Lindy giving us away there is a terrifying rustle in the bushes behind us.

  Oh my God! We’ve been discovered!

  34. Enemy or Friend?

  “I came as soon as I could. The bus went so slowly.” It’s Trumpet Steven and he’s whispering in my ear.

  He spots Mohammed lying in a heap on the ground and in a louder voice he says, “Oh God, he’s dead.”

  I slap a hand over his mouth and pull him down. “No, he’s not,” I hiss.

  When I let him go he whispers back, “What are we going to do now?”

  I’ve never heard him sound so uncertain. His voice has lost that cool, grown-up tone and he looks a real mess, twigs in his hair, mud smeared all down his jacket.

  Then he catches sight of Lindy crouching under a bush. “What are you doing here?” he hisses at her.

  Lindy snorts and says, “She’d never manage by herself, would she?” She nods toward me and, of course, she’s right. “Anyhow, I’m sick of Terrence, he bullies me all the time.”

  Well, that makes sense. Terrence bullies everyone, it’s hardly surprising he started at home.

  Then I hear Bad Cop roar out in his gunshot voice, “Nothing here, better search the area.”

  They’re coming!

  Has it all been for nothing, the lies and the hiding?

  Maybe Mum and Dad are right and this is what it means to run wild, even though I’m not pregnant or on drugs.

  But if I can’t keep Mohammed safe now, then Samir will never forgive me. Those pleading eyes will turn to defeat and he’ll never trust anyone again. Samir will stay an ice man for the rest of his life.

  “Alix, quick, what shall we do?” hisses Steven, his face tense with fear.

  I’m beginning to realize that brains plus trumpet playing don’t necessarily equal common sense.

  I glance at my watch and make an instant decision.

  “Get Mohammed up to the road. The bus is due in two minutes. Just get him on the bus and out of here. Ring your friends from that refugee group and tell them to hide him away until the search dies down.”

  Steven is staring at me, his face pale. He’s probably wondering what his mum will say. I give him a push and hiss, “Go on! I’ll stall the police while you get away.”

  I stand up and start pushing through the bushes. Lindy’s so close behind me I can feel her breath on my neck. Mohammed grunts as Steven heaves him to his feet and I turn to look but they’ve already gone, taking the sleeping bag with them.

  We’re out in the open now and I’m covered in prickles and leaves, my sneakers black with mud.

  Good Cop spots us first. “Hey, you kids, what are you doing here?” he calls out.

  This is it, I think. I have to stall them, think up excuses, give Steven time to get to the bus and away. But my throat has closed up and my brain scrambles terrifying images of Mohammed. He could be on a plane back to Iraq before dark and beheaded tomorrow morning!

  I can’t bear to think of Samir’s horrified face, while Naazim rattles on like a road drill about what we’ve been doing. If they go to prison, will I be allowed to visit them?

  Then Bad Cop says, “Aren’t you Terrence Bellows’s sister?” and points his truncheon, which is fully open, straight toward Lindy.

  I couldn’t be caught with anyone worse. What if she tells them everything now? Then of course she’ll go laughing to her stinking brother about how dumb I look in handcuffs. This is probably what she’s been planning all along. Why did I ever think I could trust her? Oh God.

  Bad Cop is still speaking, “Right, you,” and he’s pointing at me now. “You live down here. Someone’s been camping out in this hut. What have you seen? I want the truth, now,” and he’s waving the truncheon at both of us.

  Tell them the truth? What is the truth? That we’ve saved someone from drowning and now they need to ask the queen for asylum? I can’t see them being very happy about that.

  “We got a phone call from your brother, the one who’s not in jail yet,” sneers Good Cop rounding on Lindy. “Something about an illegal hiding out here. And now you two show up. Where is he? In the bushes?” and he starts to push past us.

  Lindy opens her mouth to speak and I wait for all hell to break loose. “You’re nuts,” she says in a bored voice. “My brother’s a psycho.”

  The cops stop and stare at her.

  She’s just trying to save her skin and Terrence’s, I’m raging to myself.

  “What do you mean, young
lady?” says Good Cop.

  “Don’t you play games with us, we haven’t got time,” cuts in Bad Cop in his best rottweiler voice. I can almost feel his jaws closing around my throat.

  “It was probably a hoax call, you dumbos,” she says.

  She’s almost laughing in their faces. My head spins around again. Aren’t they going to arrest her for being cheeky?

  But Lindy hasn’t finished. “He’s always doing it.” She’s really enjoying herself as the cops glare at her.

  “We don’t know nothing about illegal people do we, Ali?” And she looks at me, her head tipped, eyebrows raised.

  We? Is she kidding? Me and Lindy Bellows, mates? I rub my aching head and for a second I think I’m in a coma and I’m dreaming all this.

  Then Lindy raises her eyebrows slowly and her eyes are boring into mine as if to say, Just play along, can’t you?

  I stare back and then I slowly shake my head.

  The cops exchange exasperated looks and Good Cop snaps, “So what are you doing here?”

  “Hanging out,” says Lindy as if that’s nothing unusual. “We always hang out and go for walks on the beach, don’t we, Ali?”

  All I can do is nod.

  Bad Cop opens his mouth, a nasty look on his face, and then a voice crackles over his walkie-talkie. He moves away from us and booms out, “Yes, what? Yes, yes, okay, we’ll take it now.” Then he turns to Good Cop and snarls, “You won’t believe this. Terrence Bellows has stabbed a boy in town. He’s been spotted heading down the Island. We have to get after him.”

  Good Cop nods and says to us, “We’ll be around to speak to you girls later with your parents,” and they make off through the bushes back to the road.

  I’m left alone with my new best friend, Lindy Bellows.

  35. Mermaids

  “I’m off,” says Lindy, and she’s gone before I get a chance to say . . . Well, what could I say? Thank you? How come we’re best friends suddenly? Kim’s never going to believe what just happened.

  Then my phone bleeps. It’s a message from Kim, she must be psychic. S in hsptal. Nt srious. Seen Steven?