by H M Sealey
Geoff makes a humph sound. I think I might have scuppered my chance of week-end release. But we’re taught about this great country of ours, and how we’re heading forwards to true equality and enlightenment. Yet crime, murder, rape – it’s all on the rise but it seems to me we’re too scared to tackle these truly horrific assaults on humanity.
On the other hand, convictions for Hate Speech are higher than they’ve ever been since it first became a criminal offence.
“These are good questions Skye, and best discussed during Citizenship sessions.” Translated that means, I have no bloody idea but it spoils my happy little fantasy that Britain today is better than it’s ever been.
He offers a frosty smile towards River. “I don’t ever want to see you raise a hand to another student River. You’re lucky Skye doesn’t want to press charges. I suggest you thank him appropriately, later on tonight.”
River spins around, gives us both a poisonous look, before marching away.
~
Elsie
The police are waiting for me at school the next day. Three of them. I’m ushered into Mr. Salmon’s office before I’ve even unpacked my bag.
There’s a fat police officer sitting where Mr. Salmon usually sits, his balding head is already beaded with sweat. The school isn’t air-conditioned; I suppose we’ve all just become accustomed to the discomfort. In the bigger cities all the offices, shops and schools are air-conditioned, but not so much here on the borders.
The fat policeman wipes his head with a handkerchief and smiles at me.
“Elsie Kessler?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t look so worried love, you’re not in trouble.” Did I show my concern so obviously?
“Oh?”
“I just want a chat about a colleague of yours. Daichi Hisikawa.”
“Dai? What’s he done?”
“We don’t know. It might be nothing. I don’t suppose you know where he is?”
That surprises me. “Isn’t he here?” His year ten have exams this week. It would take a serious illness or accident to keep him away. Dai’s the most dedicated teacher I know.
“No.” He gestures to the chair opposite the desk. “Please sit down Ms. Kessler.” He pauses for a moment. “You are Ms Kessler? I’m sorry if I assumed your gender. I can call you anything you prefer.”
“It’s fine.” I say, I’m used to being asked what pronoun I prefer, it’s a fairly standard question. I sit, placing my bag at my feet and resting my hands demurely on my lap. Clutching them together stops them shaking. I’ve been shaking ever since I spoke to the Jourdetes.
“Now, Ms. Kessler. There was an incident yesterday concerning Noor Blackwood? Is that correct?”
I nod and describe what happened in faltering sentences. I try not to dwell on Gran’s involvement with people-smuggling.
“And your friend Daichi, would you say he was – concerned about Noor being taken from her mother?”
“Concerned?”
“That he didn’t agree with the decision to repatriate the girl back to her people?”
“Um, a bit. I suppose.”
“Have you heard from him at all, in the last few hours?”
I shake my head. “I texted him to say his sister, Misaki was missing. That’s all.”
The fat policeman scrawls something on his notepad.
“Missing?”
“There was a Wolf raid in Kings-Heath yesterday. Missy – that is, Masaki – is missing.”
The policeman shows no concern about the raid. “Did he answer your text?”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What do you suppose could have been more pressing than concern over his sister?”
I don’t like what he’s implying so I play dumb. “My phone lost power. The text may not even have been sent.”
“Hmmm. Well, all we know is that Daichi Hisakawa was overheard making anti-Muslim comments and, last night, Noor Blackwood was abducted.”
“Daichi didn’t make any anti-Muslim comments.”
“But he didn’t approve of the policy of resettling people of Muslim origin in the BSI? Is that right?”
Who on earth overheard him? The only people in earshot were Adelaide Blackwood and me.
I shrug with nonchalance I don’t feel. “I have no idea.”
I let my eyes float around this small, hot study with the familiar bookshelves and the faded red curtains that are now pale pink.
“Ms. Kessler, we have a serious problem. Noor Blackwood has disappeared which is upsetting the new family waiting in the BSI. This is happening far too often; young people assigned a new home over the border are just disappearing into thin air. Now, Adelaide Blackwood has already been extremely helpful in our enquiries and she testified that Daichi Hisakawa was sympathetic towards Noor’s reluctance to leave. I want to know whether you think Daichi Hisakawa could be responsible for Noor’s abduction.”
I transfer my attention back to the policeman. “Adelaide?” I remember Howie saying Adelaide was already at the station to meet Noor.
“Noor’s mother.”
“You spoke to her?”
“She was arrested yesterday.” I try to keep my face impassive as he tells me this. “The parent is always our first port of call.”
“Dai would never abduct anyone.” I say. I can’t tell him I know exactly who was involved in smuggling Noor away from Suttonchurch.
“He’s not being accused of anything Ms. Kessler, I’m just trying to build up a picture of events. Has Daichi been in touch with you at all?”
I shake my head. Wherever Dai is, wherever he’s gone, it’s unrelated to Noor.
“You arrested Adelaide?” I repeat this information as it sinks into my skull. Noor’s mother was already distraught. “Why?”
“On suspicion of arranging Noor Blackwood’s abduction.”
“Mrs. Blackwood wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do anything yesterday.”
“I have to follow all lines of enquiry Ms. Kessler. This is serious.”
Suddenly I’m angry. I didn’t realise just how angry. “My friend Missy was abducted! But nobody thinks that’s serious!”
“Your friend is not my responsibility I’m afraid. Noor Blackwood is.”
“But you arrested a mother grieving for her lost daughter. Hasn’t Adelaide gone through enough?”
The officer stares at me with a slightly more hostile light in his brown eyes. “Am I to take it you don’t agree with the policy to repatriate those of Muslim origin to their own country Ms. Kessler?”
And with those few words I know I’ve stepped into dangerous territory. I need to backtrack.
But, for some reason, I don’t.
“I think its cruel to rob a mother of her daughter.”
“The mother’s non-Muslim. The BSI claims it’s both abuse and an offence to allow unbelievers to raise their children.”
“And they get to decide what’s right and wrong do they?”
“For their own people, yes.”
“But Noor never said she was Muslim.”
“People can’t change their ethnicity Ms. Kessler.”
Somewhere in the back of my head I remember Hajjah telling me that being a Muslim was not a race, but a religion.
“Being Muslim isn’t an ethnicity, it’s a belief.” I counter without really meaning to and then instantly regret sounding so antagonistic. “Besides, why can’t people just be considered people? Why do we have to constantly look at the differences?”
“Because it’s those differences that trigger hatred from other people.” The officer regards me with a steady, professional gaze. “These laws are in place for the good of everyone Ms. Kessler. Now it’s not a bad thing to care about people, but Adelaide Blackwood has already admitted to several charges of Hate Speech.”
“Hate Speech?” It’s a phrase that makes everyone’s blood run cold. It’s too easy an accusation to make and too difficult to escape. I think back to what Adelaide said.
Nobody else was in earshot. “Who said she used Hate Speech?”
The officer sighs as though I’m being deliberately trying. “That would be none of your business.” He stands up and the chair scrapes against the floor. “Look, Ms. Kessler, if Daichi Hisakawa contacts you, let me know. If only to discount him from the investigation.”
I nod, distracted. At least nobody seems to know about Gran. Hell, I didn’t know about Gran. What else didn’t I know? Does she wear a black catsuit and rob houses?
A thought flickers through my brain. I could tell him about Gran. I swipe the words away. I can’t betray my own grandmother, even if what she’s doing is wrong. I haven’t even had the opportunity to talk to her.
But I feel like a criminal myself, withholding information.
Somehow I stumble through the day as best as I can. I try not to focus on Missy or Dai or Gran or Adelaide or Noor, but their faces haunt the back of my mind, ghosts I can half see even though I’m deliberately ignoring them.
I head for home by the fastest route, even ignoring the occasional beep of my phone. I’m hot beneath my thin, long-sleeved cotton blouse. I’d love to strip off, wear a vest and shorts like the fashions fifty years ago. But there’s no point in provoking the Wolves; we live too close to the border for immodesty. It’s an unwritten rule out here, cover up. The fashions over in the far west of the country, in the great, cosmopolitan cities of Southport and Liverpool, are much more daring. Liverpool is the centre of the fashion-world now, after New York.
Missy used to flout the rules. Missy always went running is vests and shorts and thumbed her nose at what was and what wasn’t considered wise. She’s fearless. I hope she’s still fearless, wherever she is. She courted trouble, Gran used to say.
Gran is tending her tomatoes by the house when I arrive home. I step into the garden, kick my sandals from my feet and enjoy the touch of the grass between my toes as I watch her bend over those plants, slimmer and more sprightly than a woman half her age. She has a green headscarf tied over her short hair to keep the sun off the top of her head.
Finally she straightens up, turns and notices me.
“Hello there.” She sounds stiff, awkward.
“Hey Gran.” My voice is shaking; I try to keep it steady.
“Good day at school?”
I shake my head and Gran’s eyes soften. I’m close to tears and I don’t think I can stop them.
“Oh Elsie love, come here.”
I run into her arms and bury my head against her bony chest, finally letting the sobs rise up from my chest where I’ve been holding them back all day. I feel the familiar warmth as her arms close around me and breathe in the outdoor scent of her clothing.
“I’m sorry you had to find all of that out yesterday my love, I really am. It must have been such a shock.”
I gulp back the tears and nod. “Just a bit.”
We sit together on the worn sofa and talk. Or, she talks and I listen.
“It started with your Dad Elsie. Or your stepdad anyway. Lovely man. Baraq Saidah his name was. Is, if he’s still alive. I have no idea.”
“Go on.” I say cautiously, half wanting to hear this, half wanting to cover my ears.
Gran sighs and strokes my hand. “He tried to get all four of you out of the country, but they stopped him at customs. Your mum went to prison, your brother was sent to one of the Rainbow Centres and Baraq was sent over to the BSI. I never saw him again. Or your mum. I’ve looked for your brother since the moment he was taken away.” Tears pool in Gran’s eyes; I can feel her resisting the need to cry.
“Then, about fifteen years ago, I received a letter.”
“From whom?”
“Baraq. It was hand delivered, no postmark, no stamp.”
“So what did it say?” She’s told me this much, she may as well finish.
“He asked me to meet him.”
“He was back in the country?”
Gran nods. “He wanted to find you all. He’d spent every penny he had, got himself smuggled into the country.” There are tears in Gran’s eyes.
“Is that when you, you know, started to help him?”
For a moment Gran is silent. Then she gives a long, miserable sigh.
“Elsie, I turned him in.”
“Huh?”
“I thought, I was…...I was scared. I knew I could get into awful trouble. I loved that man but I had you to think about Elsie. I had to prove to Social Services that I agreed with everything they said. That your mum was mentally unstable, that your dad belonged in the BSI. That the Rainbow Centre was doing your brother good. I had to fool them. When Baraq contacted me, desperate for news of his family….I…...I saw it as an opportunity to prove to the authorities once and for all that I was one of them.”
She gives a long sniff. “I never saw him. Never met him.”
I’m stunned. I sit back on the sofa and let Gran cry silent tears.
After a few moments, Gran raises her head. Her pale, watery eyes aren’t looking at me any more. I don’t know what she’s seeing.
“For a long time afterwards I tried to convince myself I’d done the right thing, that it meant you would be safer.”
“So how did you get involved with all this…..stuff?” I can’t bring myself to put a name to what Gran’s doing. If I don’t say it, maybe it won’t be real.”
Gran rubs her eyes with a handkerchief, the one with the embroidered roses on the edge.
“It wasn’t until they found your mother’s body in the woods that I began to realise I’d sided with the devil.”
I sit up as though struck by a bolt of lightning. “Mum’s body? I knew you lied about the car accident.” Had I started to convince myself she was still alive somewhere? I don’t know, I barely remember her face.
“Oh Elsie, I had to lie to you. The less you knew about everything, the less you could have given away if you’d ever been questioned. That’s why I won’t give you any names other than those you already know.”
“But in the woods?”
“They think…..they think she was trying to find you, even when she was dying. When I saw what she’d become, how little she mattered, I found the courage I should have found years earlier.” Gran gives a high-pitched giggle. “I’d been commended by the police for giving up Baraq. Social services decided I was providing a safe, secure environment for you and needed no further assistance. I can’t tell you what a relief that was, not to be scrutinised any more. Maybe I felt bolder too. Safer. Who would question me after that?”
Gran manages a smile. “There were other families like yours Elsie, families broken up because the parents believed the wrong things or the child had a Muslim parent. Christians in particular were suffering as much persecution here as they were over in Europe under the ESI.”
“That’s silly. We don’t persecute people here. NuTru’s the most tolerant government ever.”
“You think losing your children, your job, your friends and your reputation isn’t persecution?”
A chill creeps down my spine. “Gran, the government wouldn’t be so wary of something if it wasn’t really, really bad.”
Gran’s eyes seem sad. “I’ve seen intolerance in my lifetime Elsie. Oh so much intolerance. It never changes, it just finds a new target. Catholics, Protestants, witches, gay people, Jews, African Americans, Muslims and now Christians. Different generations find new outlets for their hatred, that’s all.”
I don’t like what Gran’s saying. I learned about witch burnings, about the Holocaust, slavery and the persecution of the LGBT community at university. I’ve heard how same-sibling relationships were illegal and how men who fell in love with children were called evil and incarcerated. Gran can’t possibly believe that removing Christianity from society ranks up there with those historic persecutions?
“Gran, you’re stopping people from going home?”
“Home?”
“To the BSI?”
“You think these people want to go to the BSI?”
I remember Noor’s desperate expression and my next response dies on my lips.
“What you’re doing is against the law Gran.”
“Then, as Mr. Bumble said, the law is an ass.”
What do I say to that? I shift my eyes from Gran and stare at my feet; there are marks where the dust has seeped through my socks and coloured my toes.
“They could send you to prison.” And then I’d be on my own. I couldn’t bear that. It’s been just me and Gran for as long as I can remember. I rest my head on her shoulder and I feel the comforting warmth of her arm around my shoulders.
“Did I ever tell you about my great-uncle Maurice?”
I sniff. “No.”
“As a child he was in Buchenwald concentration camp.”
I didn’t know that, I suppose I look quite surprised. “Was he Jewish then?”
Gran shakes her head. “He was a Jehovah’s Witness. Now, I don’t share his faith, but I’d like to think I could share a little of his tenacity and conviction. And his willingness to suffer for what he held to be true.”
“Oh. Right.” That’s scary.
“I’m not afraid of Prison Elsie. I’m more afraid of the Rainbow Centres.”
“Rainbow Centres aren’t prisons.”
“You’re right, they’re more like concentration camps. Your brother’s still in one as far as I know Elsie.”
I don’t remember my brother, not really. Occasionally I have a flash of memory, of a kind smile and a small hand holding my even smaller hand, but the images are gone as soon as they come.
Gran is my world.
Gran and Missy and Dai.
Even as I think about my best friends, my mobile gives a little beep in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
There’s a picture of a big, familiar, lopsided oak tree. I stare at the image. It’s from Dai. It has to be from Dai. A moment later there’s a second beep and a single line of text appears below the picture.
Meet me asap.
“Elsie?”
Gran’s gazing at me with concern. “Is everything okay?”
I push my phone back into my pocket. I’m trembling; I can’t cope with any of this.
