Next of Kin

by Welfare, Sue

  ‘But you didn’t stop him?’

  ‘No, I thought that if someone from Immigration came round they would help his case, and the sooner he got his leave to remain sorted out the sooner he would be out of my life.’

  ‘There are a lot of photos here, Sarah. There must be two or three hundred in one box alone.’

  ‘I know, every time we were home together Woody would get the camera out and get Ryan to take photos of the two of us.’

  ‘The happy couple?’

  ‘I think that was what he had in mind. It was like he was trying to prove a point. And then there were all sorts of business plans for the future. Empire building. He and Ryan were thick as thieves working on those together, and then Woody said we had to provide details of savings accounts, financial details, birth certificates, all that sort of thing. For the interviews.’

  ‘Interviews?’

  ‘With the Immigration Office.’

  ‘Okay. And how did those go, Sarah? Did you go with Woody?’

  ‘No. I thought that I’d have to – I mean I assumed they would want to see both of us and interview me about his application. I’ve seen it on TV, but Woody said that I didn’t have to go unless they specifically asked to see me.’

  ‘Not once?’

  ‘No, he never asked me to go, and as far as I know they never asked to see me. I never had any correspondence about his application. Nothing. I assumed I would have some contact. I thought they might ring me. Or call round. I’d thought it would be really complicated with lots of red tape.’

  ‘Didn’t that strike you as odd, Sarah? After all, surely your being his wife and being British was the back bone of his application?’

  ‘I know. I mean it wasn’t the only odd thing – but yes, I did wonder whether I needed to contact them, but I was afraid that if I did it might jeopardise his claim – let sleeping dogs lie and all that. I did try to talk to Woody about it but he said it was all in hand, that he had filled in all the forms, and now we just had to wait and that if they wanted to see me then they’d let him know. I’ve never had any dealings with Immigration before so I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked and he seemed so sure of what he was doing. But yes, it did seem a bit odd. I had thought that we would have to go there as a couple to see people – you know, in Immigration – and lie. I was really worried about that.’

  ‘It made you uncomfortable?’

  ‘Yes of course, I’m not a liar, but like with the wedding I didn’t see that I’d got much choice. He kept telling me that if anyone found out about what I’d done I would go to prison, him too – and that he had told Farouk that if he got deported or arrested that they would come after me and Ryan.’

  ‘So you’re saying that he threatened you? That the threats continued even after you got married?’

  ‘Yes, yes they did. But you have to try and understand that they weren’t direct. It was more like this steady pressure – a long, long threat – like he was pressing down on me all the time.’

  ‘Okay, and what about the loan? Ryan’s loan?’

  ‘Once we were married Woody started to go out a lot more. He was out most evenings, and during the day, the occasional night. When I asked him about the money for Ryan he said he had squared it away.’

  ‘And you took it to mean what?’

  ‘That he had repaid it. That Farouk would leave us alone.’

  ‘Okay, and did Woody seem all right with that?’

  ‘He told me that he saw it as an investment in his future.’

  ‘An investment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what do you think he meant by that?’

  ‘ I suppose I took it to mean that he’d got what he wanted, the chance to stay in the UK and make a life for himself here.’

  ‘So as far as you were concerned as soon as he had his right to remain he planned to – what? Leave you and begin his new life?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Not stay and make a life with you and Ryan?’

  ‘No.’

  Ryan and Woody

  ‘I’m serious, Ryan. I can handle the money side of things and sort the finances out. And I reckon that you can do a lot of the building work and you’ve got the contacts for the stuff you can’t manage yourself.’ Woody’s voice was calm and matter of fact. ‘What do you reckon? It could be the beginning of a family empire. And it’ll get your sister off your back. Not to mention mine.’

  Woody grinned and took a long pull on his pint. They’d put away quite a few since they’d got down to the pub. Ryan hadn’t got any money so he wasn’t buying, which meant he wasn’t counting, but he was more or less certain that it was more than he’d usually have mid-week.

  ‘I reckon we could make maybe ten grand each after costs. Easy – maybe more. Come on drink up, slacker.’

  ‘I’m all right, thanks, mate,’ Ryan said; his glass was more than half full.

  He nodded towards the gents. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  Woody acknowledged the gesture. He seemed to have developed a real taste for booze since that first time when they’d met at the bookies, and he was holding it better. Over the last few months the balance of power had shifted. Whereas once upon a time it had been Ryan showing Woody the ropes, now Woody was in the driving seat, and he was driving hard and fast. Ryan, standing at the urinal, smiled at his own joke, hard and fast, nice analogy or was it a metaphor? The money thing; the twenty grand that had been the real kicker. Ryan tried not to think about it too much if he could. He just let it sit there in the back of his head in a box. A box that he preferred to keep tightly shut. It made his whole body ache if he spent too long dwelling on what had had happened and the consequences.

  When he got back, Woody was chatting to the barman. Ryan slid back onto his stool, and glanced down at the bar, unsure why he still had a full pint.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Woody said.

  ‘About what?’

  Woody laughed. ‘Come on, keep up. Doing up this flat. It’s there for the taking. I’ve seen the place; it looks to me like the renovations are mostly cosmetic. It just really needs sprucing up, but there’s plenty of room in the budget; new kitchen, maybe tiles and stuff in the bathroom, lick of paint. If I was you, in your position, I’d be jumping at the chance. This place is a real gem, and I know the owner. I’m certain we can get it for a good price before it even goes on the market – private sale, no commission. Get in there, tart it up, get it back on the market in no time at all. What do you say?’

  ‘Sounds good but I can’t put any money in, you know that,’ said Ryan.

  Woody waved the words away. ‘Of course I know that. I’m not asking you to put any money in, am I? I’m just saying that you should think about coming in with me. Ten grand, maybe fifteen, twenty each if we’re lucky. Home free. Just think about that.’

  Big money had bad memories; the bruises might have faded but there was still something not right with his back, and whenever he walked home Ryan spent a lot of time looking behind him. And then there were the dreams. The chasing one had him waking up with his heart banging like a drum. He could still see the dream if he closed his eyes, the one where they caught him and dragged him into an alley, behind the bins where it stank of vomit and urine and in his mind’s eye he watched them kicking him, kicking him over and over again until he was sure he would die. But the worst part of it was when he was on the floor and he felt himself slip back into his body, bleeding, hurting, and there was a man sitting on his chest, crushing the breath out of him as he pressed his thumbs deep into Ryan’s eye sockets.

  In the darkest parts of Ryan’s dream the man just kept on pressing till Ryan could feel his thumbs pressing down, down in his brain, deep into the soft warmth of his skull.

  If he closed his eyes Ryan could feel him now. Not that Ryan had told anyone, but in the night he could feel the man close by and hear his voice. The soft, soft sound of his voice, sing-song, in amongst the pain and the fear. He had started to sleep wit
h the light on because he couldn’t bear to wake up in the darkness. No amount of money could put that right.

  ‘It sounds like a good thing. But I’m not sure; look what happened last time,’ Ryan said, his tone rigidly even.

  ‘Yes, but this isn’t like the last time, is it? This isn’t a loan, Ryan. This is a job, an opportunity, a sure thing. I want you in on this. I could really use your expertise.’

  As he spoke, Woody nodded towards Ryan’s glass.

  Ryan shook his head. He had lost count of how many they had had so far. ‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I told Sarah I’d be back early tonight.’

  Woody glanced down at his watch. ‘Too late for that, mate. For fuck’s sake you’d think you were married to her not me. You need this job, you need something to get her off your back. This would do it, Ryan. Jesus, what will it fucking take to get you to see? This is a dead cert.’

  This wasn’t the first time that Ryan had noticed that when he was away from the house Woody spoke quite differently; he was freer, his language more colourful, less considered, more streetwise.

  Woody twisted the wedding ring round on his finger, unlike Sarah’s this one was gold; a big chunk of gold. Woody waved the barman over. The man, pulling a pint for someone else, clocked them and nodded an acknowledgement that he’d seen them.

  ‘This is a job and an investment. We do one flat up and sell it on, make ourselves a little money and use it to seed the next project. What do you say? I thought you’d be more enthusiastic. It’s right up your street.’

  Ryan hesitated. Although he hadn’t said anything to Woody, since the wedding he was more and more worried about Sarah, not just what she might say about him being late, but how she was in herself. He had never seen her this low, not even when their mum died. She was so pale and so thin she looked like she might break, and he knew that it was his fault, although he tried not to look at it head on because it made him feel sick.

  Once or twice he had tried to find the words to tell her how very sorry he was and how he would never let anything like it ever happen again, how he knew he had let her down and if there had been any other way out of the place that he’d found himself, that he would have jumped at it, but Ryan had said the same thing so many times in the past that he knew she wouldn’t believe him; words were cheap.

  Ryan knew that he had to do it for real this time, do something to prove that he really could turn things around. Ryan wanted Sarah back to how she was before all this, back to being jokey, and feisty and strong, laughing in the kitchen, talking to him, telling him off, hugging him.

  The truth was that he missed Sarah. The other Sarah, the one that didn’t look like a whipped dog. She was making him feel bad. Several times he had wondered if there was any way he could find Josh and explain to him, tell him about what had happened, tell him about how Woody watched her like a hawk, taking her to work, picking her up, checking the phone bills, maybe he could find a way to put things right.

  Ryan glanced up at Woody, and revised the thought, more importantly he wondered if there was any way that he could put things right without dropping either himself or Sarah right in the shit.

  Woody was still talking. ‘The flat is down by the river, second floor. As far I can see, it is close to perfect. Although obviously I’m no expert – and this is where I’m hoping you’ll come and give it a look – but to me, it doesn’t look like it would take much to tart it up and bang it back onto the market. It’s quite a big place; there’s a chance we could maybe even split it into two studio flats.’

  Ryan bit his lip. ‘I’d need to take a look at it, man. I mean, I’ve got people who I could ask if you really want to go ahead.’

  Woody nodded.

  ‘But I’m not sure. There’s always a risk,’ said Ryan warily. The beer seemed to be slipping down without him paying it much attention. It had been a little while since he’d been out for a session, but it was coming back to him.

  Woody laughed. ‘Oh, come on. There’s a risk in everything but this is bricks and mortar, the market is on the up. You must have seen it in the news. It makes it the perfect time to buy, we can buy cheap and if we can’t sell it then we can always rent it out. Plan B, but it’ll work as long as the rent covers the mortgage, and let’s face it people are always looking for a decent place to live round here. River views close to the city centre. What’s not to like? Win, win, I reckon. Come on, knock that one back we’ve got time for another one if we don’t hang about.’

  Ryan hesitated; what the hell, he wasn’t going to make an early night of it now. He gulped the beer down and set the glass alongside Woody’s.

  ‘It sounds good. But I’d need to look at the job and look at the figures, after all that shit with the money last time. If I’m completely honest I’d be worried about taking something like this on. On the books or even self-employed it is one thing. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds like a good idea, but I just want to be able to show up at the end of the week with my share of the bills. I owe it to Sarah to get it together.’

  Woody slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Oh, come on, man, you’ve just lost your bottle that’s all. This is a sure thing. Look, if you’re worried about it, how about I just pay you a day rate? You can project manage it for me. What do you say? At least come along and take a look at it. See what you think.’

  Still Ryan hesitated. ‘I dunno. I mean, I can see where you’re coming from, but I’ve already said I’d give my mate a hand with an extension he’s doing over at Dry Drayton. If it comes off that’s probably three, if not four, weeks’ work. And then…’

  Woody sighed and nodded. ‘Okay, look, please yourself. I’m not going to twist your arm. I know what Sarah is like, that woman’s got your balls in a bucket, you know. If you don’t want a slice of it, that’s okay with me. I’ll find someone else.’ His tone was matter of fact. ‘I just wanted to give you first shot that’s all. Keep it in the family.’

  Ryan nodded to acknowledge the offer. As he spoke, the barman came over and Woody ordered them a couple of scotches along with two more beers, slipping the guy the money to pay for it.

  Ryan chewed on his lip; maybe he had been too hasty, maybe this thing with Woody was just the chance he needed. Maybe this was it, the thing that would finally set things right. ‘I told Sarah that I’d be back early, I said—’

  Woody pulled a face. ‘Oh, pack it in. You want to just hand your balls over now, mate? Get it over and done with. We can post them to her.’

  Ryan took a long pull on his pint. There was silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Okay. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at the flat.’

  Woody grinned and slapped Ryan on the shoulder. ‘Good man, good man, that’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘There are just one or two things I need to set up before we can go and have a look.’

  Ryan

  Ryan unlocked the back door and stepped inside out of the rain, shucking off his damp fleece and hanging it up just inside the kitchen door before toeing off his wet Cat boots. Bloody weather. Usually he would head downstairs to his flat but he was hoping that Sarah was home. Midweek there was a good chance he would be able to catch her on her own without Woody being around. He needed to talk to her. Make his peace. Tell her about the scheme Woody had in mind, tell her that he planned to try and sort something out, make it right for them both.

  The sky outside was dark with the promise of more rain. There was no way they’d get the concreting done in this, which was a bastard as they were being paid by the day and he’d barely made it through till lunch time before getting rained off.

  It was warm in the kitchen and smelt of home. The door into the rest of the house was open and he could hear music or maybe the radio coming from the sitting room across the hall. Ryan owed her an apology, an explanation. He tracked the sound down.

  The sitting room door was ajar. ‘Sarah?’ he called.

  The room was empty, the TV burbling away in the corner. It wasn’t like her to watch daytime TV, maybe she w
as sick. There was a pile of paperwork on the coffee table. He didn’t plan to look. Although he made a show of ignoring it, Ryan knew all about the bills and the work on the house that needed doing. He took a cursory glance and stopped. This wasn’t Sarah’s paperwork, it was Woody’s; there were a few bills, paperwork for his car, a loan agreement and something else. Something all together more interesting. Ryan reached over and picked it up. It was a lined A4 pad with signatures all over the first page and the second – Woody’s signature. He had obviously been practising signing his name over and over again.

  Ryan stared at it, trying to work out what it meant, when he heard someone up on the landing going into the bathroom. He could hear Woody upstairs, presumably talking into a phone.

  Very carefully, with his eye firmly fixed on the door, Ryan tore out the second page, rolled it up and tucked it into his shirt and then, heart pounding, made his way back into the kitchen. He considered going straight back down to the flat but the mud and water on the kitchen floor would give him away if Woody had the wit to notice, so instead he slipped his jacket back on, opened the back door again and this time shut it hard and called out. ‘Hello, Sarah? Hello. Anyone home?’ And then he took his time taking his jacket off, hanging it up – making a show of arriving.

  There was no reply so he called louder this time. Seconds later there were the sounds of footfalls on the stairs and Woody stuck his head round the door.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ryan running his fingers through his damp hair. ‘Sarah about, is she?’

  Woody shook his head and hastily closed the hall door behind him, cutting Ryan off from the rest of the house. ‘No, she had to go into work this morning. They rang to see if she could cover another shift.’

  Ryan nodded. ‘I thought you would be in college today.’

  ‘I’m busy doing an assignment, papers all over the place.’