Payback

by Rosemary Hayes

  ‘That doesn’t mean she’s not on it,’ said Mahmood.

  We drove on in silence, each of us conscious that time was ticking on. It was getting late and the traffic wasn’t heavy, so we made good progress.

  I tried to concentrate again on Halima’s abductor. The description I’d given was accurate, as far as it went. Dark, greasy hair, slightly receding, about forty, average height and build. But again, there was this niggling feeling that I had seen something unusual.

  Imran put his free hand up to his mouth and started to chew his nails anxiously.

  Nails!

  Suddenly, I knew what it was. A finger without a nail.

  ‘Wait!’ I yelled. ‘There was something. I’ve just remembered.’

  ‘What?’ said Imran and Mahmood together.

  I was staring at Imran’s little finger.

  ‘The guy who took Halima. His hand. The top of his little finger was missing,’ I said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I nodded. ‘Quite sure.’

  Mahmood turned to Imran. ‘This may have nothing to do with anything,’ he said slowly, ‘but there was a guy like that at Habib’s wedding. He was speaking to your father, Imran. And then he was hanging around when I was talking to Halima. We both saw his hand. We both noticed.’

  ‘So, if it is him,’ said Imran slowly, ‘My father knows him.’

  ‘It’s probably just coincidence,’ said Mahmood feebly.

  ‘It’s probably not,’ said Imran.

  There was a heavy silence. Imran sighed. ‘I can’t believe he’d get involved in this,’ he muttered to himself. Then he said. ‘Kate, you’d better get back to the Unit and let them know what you’ve told us.’

  I should have felt elated when I realised that this could identify the guy but, looking at Imran’s face, I could only feel terribly sad. Sad that any respect for his father had finally been shattered.

  I wasn’t on the phone for long and when I’d finished, I spoke to the boys. ‘They think they may know who he is,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Hey, that’s great – isn’t it?’ said Mahmood.

  I nodded. ‘If he’s who they think he is, then he’s part of a gang which they’ve been trying to get evidence against for some time. A gang that gets paid for kidnapping Asian brides who run away. I just hope the police can get there in time and arrest him.’

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up Kate,’ said Imran. ‘We don’t know that Halima is on a flight. We don’t know that the guy is on the flight. He may not be travelling himself. If Halima is on the plane, she may be with someone else.’

  As Mahmood hit the M25, the atmosphere was tense and none of us spoke much, but at last he was driving down the slip-road towards the airport. The airport itself was several miles from the turn-off, and it was taking so long. I kept looking at my watch. The minutes were ticking away. Even if we got there before the flight left, what could we do? We had no authority. All we could do was pray that if she was on the flight she’d been taken off.

  ‘Which terminal?’ asked Mahmood tersely.

  ‘Four,’ said Imran.

  Mahmood drove as fast as he dared, but there was a queue of cars going into the short term car park.

  ‘Get out!’ he said to Imran. ‘Go and check Departures.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ I said, unbuckling my seat belt and leaping out of the back seat.

  We ran across the road, dodging the taxis which were dropping passengers off to catch their flights, and headed for Departures. The revolving door was too slow. I tried to push it, to make it speed up, but it made no difference.

  Then at last we were through. Wildly I looked around for the screen listing the departures but even when I saw it, I was in such a state that I couldn’t spot the flight.

  ‘Imran,’ I said, pointing to the screen. ‘I can’t see it.’

  He screwed up his eyes and stared at the screen. ‘Gate closed,’ he said. ‘That means it’s about to take off.’

  We ran to the departure barrier and found a policeman. Desperately, I tried to explain, but the words came out garbled. The policeman listened politely and then, with agonising slowness, he spoke on his walkie-talkie. When he’d finished, he turned to me.

  ‘Come with me, Miss.’

  ‘Where are you taking her?’ said Imran. ‘I want to come, too.’

  ‘No, sir. They only want to see her,’ said the man.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My colleagues,’ he said shortly. Then, to Imran. ‘Stay here, sir, please.’

  Bemused, I followed the policeman. He took me to an interview room and left me there. There was another policeman in the room who gestured for me to sit down. It was a stark room with just a table and two chairs. The policeman sat on one side of the table and I sat on the other.

  ‘You are here about a possible abduction?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. The Government’s Forced Marriage Unit knows all about it. We’ve been talking to them.’

  ‘Yes. They’ve been in touch with us. And you say you witnessed the abduction?’ he asked.

  I nodded. ‘My friend – the victim… the victim was with me when it happened.’

  ‘Can I see some ID?’

  With fumbling hands, I dug in my backpack and took out my student card. The policeman looked at it and then handed it back.

  He seemed in no hurry. He went over everything I had already told the forced marriage people. He questioned me minutely about the man who had taken Halima: his build, his deformed finger, his age and so on – about the car, about the timing.

  There was a clock on the wall of the interview room. As I answered his questions, I watched the hands move on. If she was on that flight, it was too late now to get her off it. If it was on time, it would have left by now. Once she was in Saudi Arabia, getting her back would be much much harder. She would be married immediately and once married, she would be living as a virtual prisoner of her husband. Even I knew how impossible it would be to get her out. And who knew what she been threatened with if she refused to marry?

  What a mess. We had tried our best, Imran, Mahmood and I. We had done everything we could. Would the police or the Forced Marriage Unit be able to do anything once Halima was on the plane – or in Saudi?

  I sat back in my chair defeated. It was all my fault. I had been such an idiot. I should have realised they’d try and get to her through me…

  I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I had to ask the policeman to repeat what he had just said.

  ‘I said, would you be able to identify this man?’

  I frowned. Were they going to fly me to Saudi Arabia? ‘Well yes, I think so. Yes, I’m sure I can.’

  He scraped back his chair and stood up. ‘Good. Well, Kate, I’m glad to say that we have the man you describe in custody, and in due course you’ll be asked to identify him formally.’

  I started to shake. ‘You mean he’s here? He’s been detained?’

  The policeman nodded. ‘We took him and his companion off the flight before it left.’

  My heart was pounding against my ribs. So he was on the flight. And with Halima!

  ‘He’s known to us,’ said the policeman, ‘and to the Forced Marriage Unit. Until now, we have had nothing to charge him with, but if we can pin this one on him, then I think that he and his gang are finished. Hopefully, he’ll get a long sentence and then be deported. And hopefully, when they see he’s in custody, some of his other victims will be brave enough to come forward. We’re beginning to break this thing down, Kate. These are criminals, these people who abduct young girls and boys to order. And the sooner they realise that they aren’t above the law, the better.’

  ‘And his companion?’

  The policeman frowned. ‘I have no doubt she is your friend, but at first she said that she was his wife – and her passport confirmed this.’

  ‘What!’

  The policeman smiled at me. ‘It may be that she really is his wife. Or it may be that she has been threatened so that sh
e’ll say anything. But if she is your friend and she has been abducted, then we need her to press charges, and we need you to identify the man who abducted her, too. Unless that happens, then there’s not a lot we can do.’

  ‘She must be really scared about something to lie to you,’ I muttered. Then I said. ‘Can I see her? I can certainly identify her and she won’t pretend with me.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what I want you to do.’

  I got up and followed him down a long corridor. We stopped outside a door and I started to shake. What if it wasn’t her? What if it was some other luckless girl? Maybe it really was the guy’s wife.

  I took a deep breath when the policeman opened a door off the corridor.

  Halima was sitting in a chair, eyes cast down, when I entered the room. A policewoman was with her. She’d obviously been dressed in a burqa, because it was draped across the back of her chair. I was about to rush forward, when the policeman put a firm hand on my arm. ‘I want her to recognise you,’ he whispered. ‘Just to be sure.’

  I stood – and waited.

  Slowly, she raised her eyes. They were tear-stained and ringed with dark circles. She seemed to take ages to focus on my face.

  ‘Kate?’ she whispered, frowning.

  The policeman let me go. I stumbled towards her and wrapped her in my arms. She was sobbing now, clinging to me. I started to cry, too.

  At last I held her away from me and turned to the policeman.

  ‘This is Halima,’ I said, smiling through my tears. He nodded at me. He was smiling too.

  The policewoman touched my arm. ‘She’s been through a lot,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s still very confused.’

  Halima started talking slowly, haltingly. She held my hand in hers, fiercely, as though she couldn’t believe I was real.

  ‘They said they would kill you, Kate. He said if I didn’t go with him, his gang would kill you and kill my family – Ammi and Asma and the baby.’

  ‘Hush,’ I said, stroking her hair. ‘You’re safe now, babe. You’re not going anywhere, no one is going to be killed and you’re not going to marry anyone.’

  At least, not for a long time, I thought.

  The policeman went up to her. ‘We know all about the gang, Halima. We’ve been watching them for some time but we couldn’t prove anything. The guy who abducted you was the leader and now, with your help – and with Kate’s – we can charge them.’

  ‘They had my passport,’ muttered Halima. ‘My real passport. In the end they said it was too dangerous to use it and they gave me a false one, but they’ve kept mine.’

  I said nothing, but I knew what this meant. Halima’s father must have given it to them. He must have gone along with this whole horrible business. Just to save his family’s honour. How disgusting was that?

  It was a long time before we were free to go. The police told Imran and Mahmood what was happening. I had to sign a statement and so did Halima. By the time we emerged out into the main part of the airport, dawn was breaking and the sky outside was streaked with red. The police wanted to take Halima back to college, but I told them that we had transport.

  Halima emerged briefly from her daze. ‘How will I get back? Whose car?’

  I held her arm firmly. ‘Imran’s here,’ I said.

  She smiled up at me. ‘The only family I have left,’ she said. ‘How did you…?’

  I didn’t answer. I could see Imran and Mahmood in the distance. They spotted us and Imran came running. Mahmood walked more slowly behind him, unsure of his welcome.

  Imran rushed up to Halima and flung his arms round her. ‘Little sister!’

  She clung to him and I watched them together, the family outcasts.

  She hadn’t seen Mahmood yet. He stopped a little way off. Then, at last, she broke free from Imran – and looked up and saw him.

  Every doubt vanished when I saw how they looked at each other.

  She said nothing as he approached, but her eyes never left his face.

  He took her hand in his and kissed it, and then let it go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Halima

  It is nearly two years since I left home. I finish college this summer.

  So much has happened. I still have nightmares, but I try not to dwell on them. I try to keep positive. The gang have been prosecuted and sent to prison; none of them were here legally, so they will all be deported. But I shall never feel entirely safe. And I shall never be able to go back to my village in Pakistan.

  My case has shaken the Pakistanis in Walthamstow. Opinions are still divided as to whether I did the right thing but, among people I respect, there is some sympathy for me.

  And my family? They are divided too.

  My father – I no longer think of him as Baba – my father went along with my abduction. He was right about one thing, the guy who took me was a cousin – but then, who isn’t, in our tribe? He was a very distant cousin whom my father had promised to help with his visa and whom he had invited to Asma’s wedding. I remember seeing him there and noticing his deformed finger.

  Kate keeps telling me to have faith in the British legal system. I try. My father always denied having anything to do with setting up my abduction – he said he didn’t hand over my passport, that I had it all the time. But everyone in the family knows that’s a lie. The courts didn’t believe him either, and he was prosecuted and spent several months in prison for helping the kidnappers. Sent to prison! What humiliation. He will never forgive me for that.

  I have not seen my father since the day I left home. And I have no wish to see him ever again.

  I speak to Asma from time to time but it’s not easy. She hates what I’ve done to the family. As if it was my fault! I go and see her sometimes. Habib always welcomes me and it’s wonderful to see my little nephew and my new baby niece, but Asma is awkward with me. We are not as we were.

  And my poor Ammi, whom I love so much? She is miserable with these family splits, and she had to endure so much shame when my father went to prison – but she has not deserted me. We meet up sometimes, Ammi and I, but secretly. I never meet her at home and my father has no idea that she sees me. He has forbidden her to contact me, and this is the first time in her life that she has defied him. Her one solitary act of defiance in a life of obedience – done out of love for me.

  As for Khalil – we were never close and my refusal to be forced into marriage has made him bitter towards me, stuck, as he is, in a loveless relationship.

  Kate, Imran and Mahmood are my family now. Mahmood has been so brave to see me through all this. He has made trouble for himself with his own family, though he makes light of it. He tells me to be strong. All the time he tells me to be strong and have faith in the rule of law, the law of this country.

  Kate tells me this, too. But she would, wouldn’t she? When she leaves Oxford she wants to be a barrister and I pity anyone who gets cross-questioned by her!

  Mahmood says to me that one day forced marriage will be a thing of the past, at least here in England. I hope very much that he is right. But that will probably be many years in the future. I think it will take another generation to stamp it out.

  So I am trying to be strong. I’m no longer the timid girl who came to England from her village in Pakistan. I’m confident and much more worldly than I was. I’ve become tougher.

  From now on I’m taking charge of my own life. All that time spent at Miss Brunner’s debating club has stood me in good stead and I want to put my skills to use. I am determined to go into politics so that I can make a difference – a difference to other girls like me who don’t know where to turn when their family dictates their future for them.

  I was lucky. I had Kate and Miss Brunner to help me. Without them, I know I wouldn’t have had the courage to do what I did. And I am still lucky. I have friends who look out for me, and I have a brother – and a mother – who love me.

  And I have Mahmood. Mahmood, who would give his own life for me, as I would for him.<
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  He is beside me now as I write the final sentences of my story. And spread out on my bed is my dupatta. I finished it late last night. Now the final motif of the pattern is embroidered and all the sequins, beads, crystals, kamdani and dabka are in place.

  Mahmood picks it up. ‘Have you finished?’ he asks.

  I smile at him. ‘My story, or my veil?’ I say.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Well, I’ve finished the dupatta at last,’ I say. ‘And for now, I suppose I’ve finished my story.’

  He pulls me to my feet. ‘Let’s go, then,’ he says, and we run down the familiar stairs, across the hall and out of the door. Then, hand in hand, we walk into the sunshine. Not the harsh, bleaching sun of Pakistan, but the warm, soft sunshine of a perfect English spring day.

  ROSEMARY HAYES

  lives and works in Cambridgeshire. She has written numerous books for children including historical and contemporary fiction and fantasy – many of which have been shortlisted for awards. She is also a reader for a well known authors’ advisory service and enjoys helping unpublished writers to hone their skills.

  The story of Payback is based on the real-life experiences of a young Muslim woman who was brave enough to defy her family and reject the husband chosen for her. She told Rosemary her story.