by H M Sealey
Without any sort of urgency the man circled the car again, he kicked each tyre in turn with his toe and then reached out to open the boot.
“I really have to get going!”
“And I really have to do my job. So keep back please.”
The man flung the boot open before Kit could find a reason to stop him. Dai gazed up, blinking in the sudden torchlight.
For a few seconds there was absolute silence before the officer turned to Kit. “I’m afraid I will have to ask you to come with me.” The man told him, somehow unsurprised, as if he found people hiding in boots all the time.
Kit attempted to brazen it out. “I have no idea who this man is! He must have slipped in without my knowledge when I had the puncture!”
“You can explain all that to the savages with sticks then.” The man hid his smile and helped Dai out of the boot.
Kit thrust his hands into his pockets. “This is ridiculous! Call my department. Talk to them. You don’t want any trouble.”
“Was that a threat sayyid? Because that would be a very foolish thing to do. Even savages with sticks can be quite dangerous.” The man slammed the boot shut. “People-smuggling is a serious crime.”
Kit rolled his eyes, his anger shielding the concern he was trying not to feel. “I’m clearly not a people-smuggler.”
“That’s something for us to ascertain. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” Then, as he turned, he added, in quite a loud enough voice to hear. “As if you Kafir can be ever be trusted to tell the truth.”
“For goodness sake, aren’t there a few women with their heads uncovered you need to be bullying somewhere? Don’t pretend any of you goat-fucking morons are capable of doing real police work.”
Dai was quite surprised at the force of the punch. Kit staggered backwards into the vehicle with a crack, blood pouring from his nose. Sliding down the smooth body of the car he landed on the ground, gasping. In thirty-one years he had never been physically assaulted. All his life his he had been taught that fighting was just another form of toxic masculinity and must be stamped out of all little boys along with any competitiveness. Boys behaviour, after all, was defective in the classroom and most of his schoolfriends had been on some sort of drug to curb their natural boisterousness from early childhood.
Not Kit though, Kit learned to hide, not quash, every natural, competitive instinct he possessed and he possessed many. His sister was held up as the gold standard for attitude and behaviour and Kit merely learned to copy her.
Which was why he learned to be so manipulative and vindictive from infancy.
~
~ Twenty-Three ~
Dai
Dai paced the small, locked room for the hundredth time, even though he knew his feet could not carry him away, they still found some small comfort in movement. It was a cold, comfortless place built of old stone that had held people securely for hundreds of years.
Missy, at least, was safe. So was Elsie. The only fear he now felt was for his own life, his own freedom, and such fears were not as intense.
Occasionally he heard voices in the stone rooms beyond. The building which had been utilised as a Border post had once been Kirby Muxloe castle situated four miles from Leicester. A moated, fortified fifteenth century manor house, a stark reminder that there had always been wars on this little island, always been the need for defences and to protect loved ones.
Now it had been added to with ugly, concrete blocks and become fortified against the enemy once again.
The door swung open and a large man with a thick beard and bright, bead-black eyes joined him, his attention fixed on a selection of paperwork in his hand.
“You’re Daichi Hisakawa? Yes?” He spoke English at least, unlike several of the guards he had met so far. If Dai was going to be insulted, he preferred to at least understand the nature of the insults.
“Yes sir.” Politeness would cost him nothing at this point. He was on their land.
“And you were attempting to leave the BSI ?”
“Yes sir.”
“Despite there being no record of any Border pass in your name?”
Dai nodded, he sank down on the chair in the corner of the room and covered his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry.” He began. “I came here looking for my sister -”
“Stop!” The man held up a big hand. “I have no interest in your sob story. Do you understand that? My concern is that you are here illegally. I don’t care why.”
He checked the papers again and frowned. “Tell me about the man you were with?”
“I don’t know him. I only met him tonight. He told me he was a police officer.”
“And where did you meet him?”
Dai didn’t answer that. The auction was illegal. Divulging its existence and whereabouts could cause trouble for Baraq and his family.
The big man stood above him, gazing down. To Dai he looked terrifying, there was a sword at his belt and Dai watched it, wondering how many times this man was provoked to use it in the course of his work.
“I…..I can’t tell you that.”
“The man who claims to be a police officer has done nothing but insult my brothers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He will soon realise that Old Britain will not go out of their way to help him. Or you.”
“No sir. I’m sorry. Look, this is your country. Throw the book at me. Do what you want. I saved my sister. To tell the truth, I don’t have anywhere to go anyway.”
“You don’t want to go back to the comforts of Old Britain?”
“To a job where I have to hold my tongue whenever I teach my subject in case I should forget to put the right political spin on it?” Dai’s words took on a bold edge. “Heaven forbid I should point out the fascist dictatorship my country’s turned into. Everyone expects an invasion to come with guns and tanks you see, they didn’t expect it to come in words. They didn’t realise every new little law chipped away at their freedom just a little bit more.”
The big man watched Dai without comment.
“Do you realise your police officer friend was arresting you?”
That surprised Dai and he made no secret of it.
“He said he wanted to help me.”
The man shook his head and glanced down at the notes on the page in front of him.
“Daichi Hisakawa. Wanted for theft, Hate Speech and illegal Border Crossing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Quite a catalogue.”
“Hate Speech?” That one bothered Dai the most. Lawyers did not like taking on cases of Hate Speech, they were very difficult to defend, being more about the feelings of the injured party rather than any facts.
“Apparently you accused the BSI of condoning slavery, thus perpetuating an untrue stereotype. According to your laws, that’s Hate Speech.” The man, unable to maintain his serious expression, burst into laughter. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that last charge sounds? At least be a man and kill someone.”
Dai, feeling that were was an accusation in these words, glowered.
“I didn’t write the Hate Speech laws.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” The man’s dark eyes searched Dai’s lean face. “Who did?”
That wasn’t a question Dai had ever asked himself. “I don’t know. It just became a crime.”
“Was there a vote?”
“Parliament must have voted for it. I think people obviously wanted it.”
The man laughed and it was a surprisingly kind laugh.
“I doubt that. I expect it was done to pacify a handful of very loud people who decided to speak for everyone else. The extremists.” He shrugged those big shoulders. “It is the same in my country, there is a small group who wish to take us back to the dark ages and the rest of us fear them.”
The man leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
“I’d very much like to charge Christopher Summerday with people smuggling. A few years in a prison cell might wipe the
smug smile from his face.”
Dai actually smiled. This man was not what he had expected.
“Why can’t you?”
“Because you, my friend, must disappear. Your records must disappear. And if you disappear then there was nobody for Christopher Summerday to smuggle.”
It took Dai a few moments to process this. “You’re letting me go?”
The man nodded.
“I have a young friend who, it seems, is also your friend. He came to me last night pleading on your behalf. He’s a brave boy. I didn’t realise how much bravery is still left in the world.”
“Asim?” Dai asked, realising he didn’t even know the rest of the boy’s name.
Again the man held up his hand. “No names. The less information we share the easier it is for us to forget this.”
Dai nodded. “Thank you.”
The man grunted and returned his attention to the papers in his hand. He drew out a folded piece of blue, laminated cardboard.
“This is a Border Pass in your name. Signed by me.”
Dai took the pass and stared at it. The name Mahmud El-Fadil was clearly printed beneath his own. He gazed back at Mahmud, shocked and overwhelmingly grateful.
“I can’t thank you enough for this.”
“I am doing nothing.” His dark eyes shone, little lakes of molten chocolate. “Do you understand? We have never met.”
Dai nodded again. Right now he would dance a naked jig if Mahmud asked him to. “Yes. I understand.”
“Once you’re in the Border I can do nothing more for you, so be cautious. Christopher Summerday strikes me as a man who holds grudges.”
“Where is he now?”
“In a room like this, loudly demanding his freedom. I thought, perhaps, I would hold him another hour. To give you time to disappear.”
And Dai, thanking Mahmud again for his kindness, disappeared.
~
Elsie
The little boy, Asim, arrives home as the sun is making its sluggish way up from below the horizon, streaking the sky with stripes of pink and red.
Alaia’s mother just cuddles and cuddles him, holding him close and crying. It triggers a long dormant memory of my own mother. She held me just like that and she cried and cried and cried. My mother crying is the last sound I remember before my world went dark and I never saw her again.
I envy Alaia and Asim, they have their whole family around them.
“I had to trust him in the end.” Asim tells his uncle. “I know I might have done the wrong thing and he might have had us all arrested, but I saw what he is underneath, he’s kind. He cares.”
Baraq nods. “Sometimes the people closest to our cause make the loudest protestations of being true believers. It’s a good cover.”
“It fools us too.” Eshan adds. “Which makes it dangerous for us to trust anyone at all.”
Baraq is preparing to travel to the Border today, but he promised to phone the hospital first and check up on my dad. I picture Tariq, the man with the heavy beard and the long, unfamiliar clothing that shrouds his ordinary, human body in mystery and causes him to seem alien to me. I’m frightened; I live in a world that worships diversity and yet nobody is very diverse, not really. Like a colour chart in a paint shop, we have a bewildering variety of sexual orientations and gender identities available, but the range of acceptable political and philosophical opinions is very limited indeed. The culture here is wildly different from Old Britain, but considering the culture in which I was raised is not as free or tolerant as I was always told, maybe that’s not a bad thing.
And I miss Gran so much. I miss my life. The dull ache in the back of my neck reminds me that my life has gone forever.
“Will you take me into the Border?” Missy asks. She’s keen to be reunited with Dai and go back to Old Britain. Did I ever know Missy at all? Was she plotting with Gran behind my back all the time we played together? Is that the only reason she even became my friend in the first place? To give her a legitimate reason to speak to Gran. Who would be suspicious of a little girl come to play with her granddaughter?
Baraq frowns. “I don’t have a Border pass for you.” He says. “However, it’s very rare for the Border Police to lift up a woman’s veil to ascertain her identity. Occasionally there are female police officers but it’s usually when they’ll looking for a specific woman. I can take any dependant minors through on my pass. If you wear a niqab again I should be able to take you through as Alaia.”
Missy makes a face. I don’t think she liked wearing a veil over her face. “I thought you were Alaia’s uncle?” Missy asks.
“But this is my house, Eshan and his family live under my roof. Since I have an official Border pass I can use it for Alaia and Asim. For Eshan and Fadia too, if necessary.”
“Why do you have a Border Pass?”
Baraq doesn’t answer that question. “Excuse me, I must phone the hospital.” And he slips out of the room.
“Then what will you do Missy?” Alaia asks. I’m not sure I care what Missy will do next.
“Talk to Dai, go back home. I have to hope the whole network hasn’t collapsed. I also need to find Sylvester Jourdete.”
“He lives next door to me and Gran.” I tell her, still unable to accept that Gran has gone forever.
“Which is why I have to hope he’s on our side.” Missy shudders. “I hate to think he was watching Bibi all the time.”
“If he wasn’t on our side then he would have told someone about Gran years ago.” I say. Missy nods, her expression betraying the conflicting thoughts all crammed into her head, bursting for room. I recognise the way Missy tackles problems; if circumstances were different I would find it comforting to watch her, but discovering my own friend had ulterior motives for being my friend is not comforting at all.
“I suppose.” She agrees, but she doesn’t seem convinced.
I can hear Baraq murmuring on the phone in the hallway and Fadia clatters around the kitchen preparing breakfast. I do like this family, they seem happy together. Their house is small but cosy, decorated with obvious care and pride. I feel safe here.
“How do you get Border passes?” Missy asks, although Baraq is in the hallway, speaking with a doctor.
“I don’t know.” Alaia answers. “But I think they’re quite hard to get hold of. Uncle Baraq has contacts.”
Missy nods knowledgeably. I suppose she’s know all about contacts.
Why didn’t I notice? Why didn’t I realise that my best friend and my grandmother were running a people-smuggling network behind my back? Am I so stupid or were they just really clever?
“How is he?” I ask when Baraq returns to the room. The only thing I have right now is my father. My whole world is falling apart, I feel like I’m shipwrecked, struggling to keep my head above water. Every few moments this huge wave of panic threatens to submerge me.
“Elsie….” Baraq’s expression is different, less certain. “Elsie, I’m sorry...”
I sit up sharply, cold water covering me so that his voice sounds muffled.
“They stabilised the wound…..but he…..contracted a missive infection.” I listen to his words blankly. “Antibiotics…..they don’t really work any more…….the staff did everything they could.”
“Is he dead?” I ask bluntly.
“No….but it’s only a matter of time.”
My legs feel wobbly beneath me. “Can you take me to see him?” I ask. He nods.
“We can put you in a niqab. Nobody will know. I’m so sorry.”
I give in to the feeling in my legs and drop to the floor. Now what do I have left? Everyone’s gone and left me. Even the father I only just met. Am I cursed? Maybe it’s because my mother was a Christian. Maybe this is Karma. In that moment I hate my mother and the man she married, the man who couldn’t stop them taking me away and putting me in the dark, even more.
“Elsie?” Missy kneels beside me and I push her aside.
“Get away from me!” I cry. “Jus
t get off me! I don’t know who you are!”
“Elsie, I’m Missy. I’m your best friend!”
“No you’re not! You used me so you could run your illegal network! You and Gran. Neither of you ever cared for me!” I give a long, self-pitying sniff. “I think Diana Lamont was right when she said families screw you up and society had to be our family. At least the government over there cares for people.”
“Elsie?”
I stagger to my feet, making a decision as I stand. “I want to go back home.” I say, knowing without doubt I need to be in Old Britain where I can find safe spaces from all these terrible thoughts. “I need to find a good therapist. I need to feel like I matter. They’ll look after me.”
Missy looks horrified. “Elsie, you matter to me!”
“I don’t think I do Missy. I think you and Gran both cared about this stupid Family Matters thing more than me. Well, go back and carry on with it if you want, but leave me alone.”
And I turn and run upstairs to nurse my angry, frightened feelings where nobody can see me cry.
~
Josh
I cry all the way in the van. If I could kill myself right now, I would. Beside me River still barely speaks, half of me wishes I knew what was going on behind those eyes but the other half no longer cares about anything other than my imminent incarceration at the Rainbow Centre.
There’ll be no more talk of when I get out now. I’m going to be there for life. A deplorable, unrepentant criminal with no hope of ever joining society again.
They’ll tattoo me on the face so that I can never slip out of their clutches and God only knows how they’ll punish me this time.
“River?” I call softly. She ignores me.
“River?” I try again. “Are you okay?”
She moves her shoulders in the mildest indication of a shrug. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Well don’t ask stupid questions.”
Then she gives a long, miserable sigh and I watch her body deflate.
“I thought I was so clever Josh. I thought I could beat them. I thought I’d won.” Her face crumples for the first time and tears begin to roll down her face. “My mother is selling people into slavery Josh, and I’m the one with the life sentence. How is that fair?”
