The Year of the Runaways

by Sunjeev Sahota

  They left – ‘Khuda hafiz’ – breaking off at the Londis for some bread before making a right onto their road.

  ‘Zindagi tho . . . ?’ Randeep said. He hadn’t stopped laughing. ‘Wah, bhai, Mirza Sahib!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Avtar popped his collar. ‘You won’t be saying that when he makes me boss of his empire. Lottery, here I come!’

  A mellowness had filled the air these last few mornings. The soft clouds had hatched and a pleasant warmth broke across their faces and arms. They were halfway up their road when Avtar stuck his arm out, stalling Randeep.

  ‘What?’ Randeep asked, his first thought that they’d left something at the factory.

  A crowd had formed up ahead.

  ‘Wait here,’ Avtar said, and passed Randeep the bread and his rucksack. They took their belongings everywhere these days, now that stealing had become so common in the house.

  He thought it was only kids fighting, because most of the crowd looked to be teenagers on their bikes, but then he saw the van and the policewoman standing guard at the gate. The rear doors of the van swung open, though the angle was too oblique to see inside. Head down, he moved right, into the road, and looked again. Two of their housemates were in there, hands cuffed in their laps. One was staring at the roof of the van. There was shaving foam down the side of his face.

  ‘Walk. Now,’ Avtar said, returning to Randeep, taking his rucksack back.

  They turned the corner, feet eating up the pavement. ‘Police?’ Randeep asked.

  Avtar nodded. ‘Raid. Keep walking.’

  They were so wired, they were almost running around the city. They kept turning their faces to the sky, thanking God, saying that He really must be smiling down on them. How lucky they’d been! By the evening, however, the adrenalin had gone, and neither felt like laughing much.

  ‘We’ve got nowhere to go,’ Avtar said, dropping onto a bench outside the station.

  ‘The gurdwara?’ Randeep suggested.

  ‘Too risky, yaar.’

  ‘We could just eat and leave.’

  Avtar brought his rucksack up to the bench and pulled out the loaf of bread. ‘You go if you want. Your visa’s fine. They take one look at mine and it’s over.’

  They shared what food they had, including a bag of peanuts Avtar had bought, and found a warm spot between two large green recycling bins.

  ‘This isn’t too bad,’ Avtar said, arranging his rucksack.

  ‘I need to pee.’

  ‘I told you to go at the station.’

  ‘I didn’t need one then, did I?’

  Randeep got up and walked to a bush further down the road. When he came back Avtar was already asleep.

  In the morning Avtar retrieved his ringing mobile from the bottom of his rucksack.

  ‘It’s Gurpreet,’ he said.

  ‘He wasn’t in the van, was he?’

  ‘He must’ve got away.’

  They met him at the station, which was where Gurpreet said he’d spent the night. His white vest was ripped across the stomach. He’d jumped the fence, he said. He saw the van coming up the road and had hurdled – ‘Hurdled!’ Randeep repeated – at least three gardens before hiding in one of the gennels.

  ‘I saw you two walking past,’ he finished.

  ‘You saw us?’ Avtar said. ‘You saw us and let us carry on walking up? Did you want us to get caught?’

  Gurpreet smiled, spat at the ground. ‘Bygones. You got any money? I’m fucking starving.’

  They bought a burger each from the station kiosk and gulped water from the taps in the toilets. Even if they could have shaken Gurpreet off, there was more chance of finding work if they stuck together.

  ‘Maybe we should go see your Narinderji,’ Gurpreet said.

  ‘I thought you were going to Southampton?’ Randeep said.

  ‘You paying for my ticket? I can’t hide for six hours.’

  ‘She won’t let us stay.’ The idea of turning up at her flat appalled him. And it would appal her. He wouldn’t put her in that predicament. ‘No. We can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her. She won’t like it. She won’t even let us through the front door.’

  ‘She might.’ It was Avtar, turning round from the departure boards. ‘She might. If she’s so into helping others.’

  Avtar and Gurpreet promised to wait down the road and out of sight while he went upstairs to speak to her.

  She answered the door in one of her usual cardigans. ‘Randeep? So soon?’

  He asked if he might come inside, that it was important.

  She turned side-on. ‘Is everything OK? Are we in trouble?’

  ‘There was a raid,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Luckily I managed to get us all out in time.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ A hand went to her mouth. ‘So, the police? They’re on their way?’

  ‘No, no. Please don’t worry. That’s what I mean – we got away. We’re fine. But, obviously, we can’t go back there and – well – Avtar bhaji wondered if we could stay here for a bit.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘I said it’s not fair and that you won’t like it, but they made me come and ask.’

  ‘Is it the two of you?’

  ‘Three,’ he said, and felt a rush of hope that she might like him enough to agree.

  ‘There’s no room. And I’m not going to have three men living here. It’s not right. It’s not what we said.’

  ‘I understand.’ He got up to leave. He was her husband, in name if nothing else, and it was humiliating to have had to lower himself in front of her like this.

  She walked him to the top of the stairs. ‘You do have somewhere else to go?’

  ‘We’ll be fine. Like I said, please don’t worry.’

  He rejoined the others, shaking his head as he approached.

  ‘What?’ Avtar said, shocked. ‘She said no?’

  ‘Of course she said no. Any decent girl would.’

  ‘Put your foot down,’ Gurpreet said.

  ‘Did you tell her we’ve got nowhere else to go? That we’re homeless?’

  Randeep let his silence give its own impression.

  ‘Who does she think she is?’ Avtar said. ‘Walking round with her turban in the sky.’ He marched up the hill and rang the buzzer even as Randeep tried to pull him away.

  The door opened only a few degrees. ‘Ji?’

  ‘Call yourself a daughter of God? How can you look in the mirror when you’ve just left us to die on the streets?’

  Randeep remained with Narinder at the doorway, his suitcase on the floor in front of him. Avtar was plugging in his phone charger. Gurpreet had his head in the fridge.

  ‘Thank you,’ Randeep said. ‘I know this isn’t easy for you.’

  ‘I should move my things,’ she said, indicating the shrine.

  ‘I’ll make sure we’re not here long. I promise.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A week. I’m certain bhaji will have found somewhere else for us by then.’

  ‘OK. A week. But no longer, please. Someone might see,’ she added.

  He nodded. He understood. She was worried her family would hear she was living in a house full of men. ‘I promise I’ll do my best.’

  ‘We’ll be out looking for work during the day,’ Avtar said, joining them. ‘You won’t see us.’

  ‘This where I’m sleeping, then?’

  They turned round. Her bedroom door had been opened and Gurpreet stood inside.

  ‘Looks comfy.’

  She charged forward and told him to get out, shutting the door hard behind him. ‘Stay away from my room. Is that understood?’

  They moved the settee away from the window and laid two blankets, folded lengthways, in the space created. Avtar and Randeep took these. Gurpreet lay snoring on the couch.

  ‘What you doing?’ Randeep asked Avtar. He was messaging on his phone, had been for some half an hour.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, drawing the mobile closer to his chest, though not before Randeep thought he’
d glimpsed . . . something. His sister’s name? He must have misread. He must be missing his family, seeing their names everywhere. And, of course, there were a million Lakhpreets out there. So many. It all became too much even to think about. He blew the hair from his forehead – it needed a cut – and stared at the tiny fissures in the ceiling. There were noises outside, footsteps brushing the pavement. He moved onto his knees at the window and saw Tochi in his uniform, counting his money as he walked.

  ‘Him?’ Avtar asked.

  Randeep nodded.

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  Randeep lay back down, closed his eyes. ‘Nothing.’

  They tried every convenience store and off-licence and takeaway joint; they asked the man picking litter off the streets and the woman wiping tables in Burger King; they asked construction workers cordoning off a part of the road.

  ‘You’re idiots!’ Gurpreet said. He was several metres behind, stopping for a pull on his half-bottle of whisky. ‘There is no work!’

  ‘Where’d he get the money for that?’ Avtar said. ‘Were you short this morning?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘I’ve told you. Keep it safe.’

  At the end of the week, Randeep knocked on Narinder’s bedroom door and she came out to meet them.

  ‘We’re sorry,’ he said, ‘but could we stay here a little longer?’

  ‘Randeep!’ she said, despairing.

  ‘I’m sorry. I hate having to ask you. But we’ll definitely find work next week. Won’t we?’

  Avtar said nothing. He seemed completely embarrassed to be standing there.

  ‘And then I can pay you as well,’ Randeep said. ‘I’d have enough for this month, but I need to send Mamma—’

  ‘It’s not about that.’

  Randeep nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘OK. But just one more week. Please?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Narinder began to retreat into her room.

  ‘One more thing?’ Randeep said.

  She waited for him to go on, but he went to the window first, to check Gurpreet was still outside with his cigarette. Then he plucked a healthy roll of notes from the inside of his sock and held it out to her.

  ‘It’s not safe having money here. With Gurpreet bhaji. We wondered if you’d mind keeping it locked in one of your cupboards for us?’

  She took the money from him, and then Avtar crouched down too. His was a much thinner roll than Randeep’s. It seemed to Narinder a pitiful amount for someone to be left with, after nearly a year in this country, and as the money passed between them she looked up and saw his embarrassment only deepen.

  *

  Narinder reread the letter she’d composed the previous evening. It contained nothing she hadn’t already told them – that she was fine and would be back soon. On the other side of the door, Randeep and Avtar were talking. Something about a track and Hari’s roommate and it being only a one-man job. And then the door closed. She rose a little off the end of her bed and saw Avtar jogging down the hill, rucksack bumping against his shoulder. Only three days left, she reminded herself. Then they’ll be gone. She set the letter underneath her pillow and went out into the main room. Randeep looked up, miserably, his mouth dismaying her with its self-pity.

  ‘Bhaji’s got a job.’

  ‘Oh. But that’s great, isn’t it?’

  He looked back at his phone. ‘I guess. I’ve got to stay here and go through our contacts again.’

  Gurpreet was still asleep, an empty bottle held lovingly to his chest.

  ‘I keep asking him not to drink here,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and she wished she’d not mentioned it.

  She took a cloth and some polish from under the sink and returned to her room. He could hear the spray can. Housework. It was the least he could do, so when she came to make a start on the kitchen he took the can from her.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ she said.

  ‘I’d like to.’

  ‘Well, OK, but why don’t you go pick up some meter tokens? We’re running out. The shop’s—’

  ‘I know the shop.’ He looked at her. ‘You forget I got you your first tokens. The pink ones, remember? Not the white ones.’

  ‘I do. You were very kind to me. You even cleaned the whole place. Thank you.’ She glanced to the floor as she said this, as if she’d not always been as kind to him.

  He checked that Gurpreet was still asleep, then smiled unconvincingly at Narinder. ‘I won’t be long.’ She heard him running down the stairs.

  She picked up the can and sprayed a line across the kitchen table. She’d just finished polishing the table legs – was she the only person in the world who did that, she wondered – when she saw Gurpreet staring at her.

  ‘You’re awake,’ she said, standing up, suddenly self-conscious.

  He sat up, the settee succumbing with a groan, the empty bottle still in his hand. ‘Sorry, sister. But carry on. It’s so nice watching you put the shine on those legs.’

  She moved away to the worktop, applying polish to the counter at roughly equal intervals. She heard him put the bottle on the coffee table.

  ‘You should get a telly,’ he said. ‘You won’t be so bored, then.’

  ‘I have enough to occupy my time.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, there are other ways I can stop you from getting bored.’

  She turned round, twisting her body. ‘You have no right to speak to me like that.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about my rights, sexy sister? Come here and tell me everything.’

  ‘Stop. You either stop, or leave.’ She realized her hands were trembling.

  ‘All calm and godly on the outside. But there’s a proper little fire going on – ’ his eyes moved to a point past her waist – ‘down there.’

  ‘I said, stop it!’

  He was grinning as he stood up and she thought she was going to yell when Randeep walked in. He had milk and a loaf of bread in one hand, keys in the other, and put all three things on the dining table.

  ‘The tokens are in. And I thought we’d have toast,’ he added, looking from Narinder to Gurpreet, back to Narinder. ‘Everything all right, Narinderji?’

  Very calmly, she put down the cloth, then the spray can, and went into her room.

  ‘What did you do?’ Randeep asked, and Gurpreet pitched up his shoulders and threw his arms in the air, as if to say, Women!

  She re-emerged in her coat. ‘I’ve got a letter to post and then I’m going to the gurdwara. I’ll be back by the evening. I don’t think he should be here when I return.’

  ‘And who’s going to throw me out? Your chamcha here? Just remember, one phone call from me and your little game is over.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Randeep said.

  She took her lilac chunni from the hook. Randeep waited until he heard the front door close.

  ‘Did you touch her?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe she’s angry because she let me.’

  ‘She wouldn’t go near you.’

  ‘Give me the change,’ Gurpreet said, palm out.

  ‘There wasn’t any.’

  ‘Get me some money, then.’

  Randeep ignored him and put the milk and bread in the fridge. Behind him, Gurpreet entered Narinder’s room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Randeep said, coming to the doorway.

  ‘What’s it look like?’ and, half clothed, he got into her bed. ‘That bhanchod settee. Narrow as a cat’s tongue.’

  ‘She told you to get out.’

  But Gurpreet only turned over, his head vanishing under one of the soft pillows.

  Randeep ate his toast, dry. He should have thought to buy some butter, maybe jam too. Then he sat down and sent perhaps four or five half-hearted messages before he felt his eyes going and promised himself it’d only be a very short nap. He was woken by a clattering sound from the other side of Narinder’s door.

  ‘You up?’ Randeep said, walking in.

  Gurpreet was knee
ling at the foot of her wardrobe, the drawers all tipped open, her clothes crashed to the floor on their coat hangers. The bedside cabinets lay upended, ransacked.

  ‘Are you crazy!’ Randeep yelled.

  ‘She’s got to keep her money somewhere.’ He was shaking again, wiping his runny nose along his arm. He shoved past Randeep and into the kitchen.

  ‘Just get out!’ Randeep shouted, as he started righting her cabinets, picking the lamps off the floor. Her shrine would have to be rebuilt. ‘You’re going to ruin it for all of us!’

  He could hear him in the kitchen, opening and slamming cupboards, cussing, crockery rattling. And then, silence. Randeep listened. Perhaps he had found the money? But no, because here was Gurpreet’s voice, loud with an intimation of controlled hilarity, as if he was reciting: ‘A beautiful flat for a beautiful person. And a new start for us both . . .’

  Randeep ran into the room.

  ‘7 am at your service day and night. And night, eh?’

  ‘Give it here.’

  Gurpreet held the note high and away.

  ‘It’s mine,’ Randeep said, stretching, but Gurpreet moved the thing behind his back.

  ‘I’m sure dearest Narinderji would love to see this.’

  ‘She probably already has, OK? So just hand it over.’

  ‘What’s it worth?’

  ‘I’m not giving you money.’

  ‘Oh, I think you will. Because think how embarrassed you’ll be when she sees it. When Avtar sees it. They’ll think you’re an even bigger loser than they already do.’ He turned, walking away, sashaying his hips, and brought the note up to his face. ‘If I may be of any assistance . . .’

  Randeep ran at his back and sent Gurpreet tripping to the ground. There was the dull crack of his head hitting the coffee table. Randeep stepped back, swallowing. Gurpreet lumbered to his feet, a trail of blood near his left eye.

  ‘You’re dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Randeep said, and raised his hands.

  One punch to the side of his face threw Randeep to the floor, onto his hands and knees. The shock made it hard to breathe. He could feel a red throbbing somewhere. Everything seemed tilted on its axis.

  ‘I’m sick of rich cunts like you having it so cosy all the time.’ He heard Gurpreet’s voice, distant. His hand seemed to be on the back of Randeep’s neck. He had a faint revelation that that was why he couldn’t breathe.