The Year of the Runaways

by Sunjeev Sahota

  ‘Stay Don’t go.’

  The streetlights threw one half of her face into shadow. The other half glimmered. Her chunni lay gently balled up between her hands, in her lap, as if she were caring for a small purple bird. He’d not lain with her or held her or touched her the way a man can touch a woman. He didn’t know what explained this loose, unstructured love that pumped around his body. He only knew that he wanted to be with her. He wanted to protect her and never let anybody hurt her.

  She looked down to her lap, to her hands. ‘I was thinking about what you said. About courage. And I think it’s more complicated than that. I think making a sacrifice so other people aren’t hurt can be even more courageous.’

  ‘You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.’ Then: ‘It’s not complicated, Narinder,’ and there was something about hearing her name in his mouth that made her gasp inwardly.

  ‘We have duties. I have duties.’

  ‘Forget them.’

  She laughed unhappily. ‘That’s easy for you to say.’ He had no family, no one he felt he owed anything to. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I used to think I had duties. That I had to know my place. It doesn’t work. People will be hurt. Don’t hurt yourself instead.’

  ‘It’s easy to get over hurting yourself. Easier.’

  ‘You’re wrong. You won’t. Stay.’

  For a man like him, to talk like this was to beg. He was begging her to be with him and she knew that he loved her. All she had to do was take this chance that had been so delicately brought before her, on cupped palms. All she had to do was reach out and accept it. But below the cupped palms lay her baba’s turban, on the floor and at her feet. She saw what her being with Tochi would do to him, the lifetime of disgrace. She closed her eyes. So this was what it felt like to be torn in two. It was amazing to think that she’d always had it wrong, imagining that they were the weak ones, the ones who took their chance. No. The weakest are those who stay put and call it sacrifice, call it not having a choice. Because, really, there was always a choice and she – one of the cowards, she realized – was making hers now. She turned back to the window, to the identical roofs. She closed her hands over the chunni and twisted it tight. ‘Please. Go away.’

  *

  Randeep lifted the suitcase above the turnstile, slotted in his ticket, and pushed through the bars and out of the station. Avtar was sitting on the low wall by the water feature. He needed to shave. His hair was a mess. He stood up and beckoned him over. Randeep didn’t move.

  The bus dropped them at the bottom of the hill and Avtar walked on ahead. After ransacking the club, he’d not gone back to the Portakabin, fearing his boss. Instead, he spent a week sleeping in the car park of a Blockbuster’s in south Leeds. He couldn’t find work. And then Bal started texting, threatening. When the weather turned even colder the only option left was to contact everyone he knew until he found Randeep, head back to Sheffield and maybe ask Narinder to take them in again, just until he was better.

  His gait, he knew, was uneasy. He couldn’t apply any serious pressure on his left hip. But it would all be fine if he could rest up for a few days, eat well, bathe, and then get back to finding work. And once he was earning again, he’d clear his debts and after maybe three or four years return home and get a new flat, perhaps even buy one, and Navjoht would be earning too and the shop would be paid off. He held onto these thoughts as if they were all he had left.

  ‘It’s a new door,’ Randeep said, stopping outside a brown one with a gold slip of a letter box.

  He looked up to the window – unlit – then back at the door. He wondered if Tochi was still around. He wondered what she was going to say.

  No one answered.

  ‘She’ll be at the gurdwara,’ Randeep said, and they sat themselves down on the pavement, against the door.

  ‘Are you sure she lives here?’ Avtar asked. ‘She might’ve moved. It’s been a few months.’

  ‘Three months,’ Randeep said. ‘Three and a half.’

  He seemed different, Randeep, quieter, sombre. ‘I’m sorry, yaar. I’m sorry for leaving you.’

  Randeep nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I owe money. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘You had no choice.’

  ‘But once I’ve got rid of this stomach bug, we’ll find work and it’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  Avtar looked across. ‘Were you on your own the whole time?’

  He nodded, though he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. ‘I’m better now. I think I’m going to be OK.’

  The darkness thickened and they didn’t see the woman until they were gathering up their legs to let her pass. She halted at the house next door. The neighbour, then. An older white woman with small earrings like gold semicolons. Her bleached hair was duck-white at the roots, and her nose pitted with red spots.

  ‘Can I help?’ she said. She didn’t sound friendly.

  ‘We’re waiting,’ Avtar said.

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Why don’t you leave the poor lass be?’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Go on, get away. Hounding her like this. There were more like you last week. I’m calling the police.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Avtar said. ‘She’s his wife.’

  ‘Oh, I understand very well, don’t you worry. I understand all about your arrangements.’

  ‘He’s her husband.’

  At the threat of police, Randeep stood up and started pulling Avtar away and back down the hill.

  They went to the gurdwara, where they charged their phones and slept on one of the mats inside the langar hall. In the morning they could only afford one phonecard between them. They topped up Avtar’s – he had more work contacts – and then Randeep took the phone and said he was going to call her.

  ‘What will you say?’

  ‘That I want to meet.’

  She was waiting for them at the back door, inside the kitchen. She wore no turban. Her hair was bunned up tight. It was the first time Randeep had seen her like that and this was a fact she seemed embarrassed by, as her smile showed.

  She poured the tea into mugs and handed it to them sitting at the table. The kitchen looked different from when they’d lived there. The beads over the doorway were tied neatly to one side with a red curtain strap, and containers for tea, sugar and coffee stood on the counter, along with spice racks and chopping boards. The table was laid with square blue place mats, which Randeep rested his elbows on.

  ‘You said you had to leave the flat?’ he asked.

  ‘My brother found me. But where were you, Randeep? That inspector calls every day. I rang you so much!’

  ‘Nowhere,’ he said, too ashamed to admit he’d been living like a tramp.

  ‘You should’ve called.’

  ‘You were worried?’ Randeep asked.

  Tochi walked in from the hallway. Clean, healthy, warm in his scarf and jacket and gloves. He looked like he was doing well. Next to him, Avtar felt like a dog come in off the street.

  ‘They’re here,’ Narinder said, pointlessly.

  Randeep nodded at him and looked over at Avtar, who said nothing. ‘Is no one else here?’ Randeep asked. ‘Is it only you two?’

  Narinder nodded. ‘For over two months now.’

  He felt himself flush crimson, maybe a little humiliated. His wife. ‘We should go,’ he said.

  ‘We’re staying here,’ Avtar said.

  ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Must be.’

  ‘You’re not staying here,’ Tochi said.

  ‘Who asked you?’ Avtar said, rising.

  Narinder stepped in. ‘Stop it, all of you. Of course you’re staying here.’ She looked at Tochi, her lips parted in surprise. ‘You can’t expect them to spend winter on the streets.’

  He said nothing and shut the door hard on his way out.

  Narinder exhaled
, as if at least one obstacle had been successfully negotiated. ‘I should go to work, too.’

  ‘Work?’ Randeep said, smiling a touch to himself.

  ‘Yes.’ She put on her coat and took her bag from the doorknob. ‘We’ll talk more tonight. But eat what you want. And if you want to wash there are towels in the first floor cupboard. It’s next—’

  ‘We know where it is,’ Avtar said. ‘We were here first.’

  Avtar suggested they share his old room, but Randeep said he’d take the one next door.

  ‘You sure?’ Avtar said, a little shocked.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  They washed and shaved and brushed their teeth with toothpaste for the first time in months. They even held their heads under the tap and ran several jugs of hot water through their hair, for the feel of it. Afterwards, Avtar tried calling home. No one picked up. It was late there, he supposed. He’d try again in the morning, to make sure they hadn’t had any trouble.

  Next door, Randeep lay on his mattress, on his side, on his own.

  ‘We need to find work tomorrow,’ Avtar said, coming in.

  ‘How’s your stomach?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Was it something you ate?’

  ‘You know,’ Avtar said, changing the subject, ‘if you want any chance of getting with her, you need to stop calling her Narinderji for starters. Like she’s better than you.’

  ‘I don’t want to get with her.’

  ‘Because girls don’t go for boys who give compliments all the time.’

  Randeep sat up. ‘Can I ask you something? Are you in a relationship with my sister?’

  Avtar looked across. He didn’t feel surprise, though. ‘Yes. We’re going to marry. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but I hope we can have your blessing.’ He was her older brother, after all.

  ‘Of course.’ He held out his hand, which Avtar took. ‘Congratulations. I think you’ll be a fine brother-in-law.’

  ‘I hope your mother agrees.’

  Randeep chuckled lightly. ‘Can I be there when you tell her?’

  ‘You can take my place.’

  They waited for Tochi – Narinder insisted – but eventually she had to give in and let them make a start before it got cold.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s not more,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a feast,’ Randeep said, though he spooned very little of the sabzi onto his plate, as if he’d got used to eating morsels. It made her wince to imagine how he might have been living.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ she said. His shoulders seemed even bonier, pointy under his thin turquoise shirt.

  ‘It happens. Narinder,’ he added, smiling at his food.

  ‘We didn’t have a kitchen,’ Avtar said, pushing on. ‘Of course we were going to lose weight.’

  ‘Yes,’ Narinder said, measuring out each letter of the word. Avtar seemed all too willing to be offended. ‘It can’t have been easy.’

  ‘It’s never easy when you don’t have a job. Or when someone steals it from you.’

  ‘Tochi . . .’ Randeep explained.

  She nodded. ‘You said.’

  ‘He’s a thief,’ Avtar said.

  ‘I’m sure there’s more to it than that,’ Narinder said quietly.

  Avtar looked up from his roti. ‘Not really. He planned it. He told him – ’ nodding at Randeep – ‘that he was going to do it. And then he did, while I was away. He forced us onto the streets.’

  ‘I’m only saying it’s not easy for anyone. He’s suffered as well. He’s been through a lot.’

  ‘And that gives him the right?’

  ‘At least you have visas. If he gets caught, he doesn’t have anything.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re defending him.’

  ‘I’m not, but—’

  ‘My family is up to here in debt because I wanted to come here. If I don’t have work God knows what will happen to them. Do you understand that? Do you know what they do to people in India that don’t pay up? Do you?’

  He shoved his plate with such force that it rattled to her side of the table. ‘Stuff your food,’ he finished, getting up, but the slowness of his exit took all the sting out of it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Randeep said. ‘He doesn’t mean it. He’s worried about his family. And he’s not well.’

  ‘He should see a doctor.’

  ‘That’s what I said. He thinks they’ll inform on him.’

  They carried on with their meal. He hadn’t asked her about the kesri, about why she’d discarded it and now kept her hair uncovered. Her slender wrists were bare, without their kara, and he’d not seen any images of Guru Nanak. The shrine, that too seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘Have you spoken to your family?’ she asked. ‘How’s your father?’

  ‘It’s been a while. I imagine they’re fine.’

  ‘Oh. Good,’ she said, a little confused.

  The side gate sounded – scraping the ground – and Tochi came in. If he was surprised that they were still at the table he didn’t show it.

  ‘There’s plenty of food,’ Narinder said.

  ‘I’ve eaten,’ he said, and carried on under the beads and up the stairs.

  Randeep looked at Narinder, who was staring in the direction of the hallway.

  It was getting better. He was sure of it. The yellowing along his left groin had lessened, definitely, and peeing didn’t seem such a hardship any more. Only the flesh beneath his stomach felt worse: the soft patch of skin like old fruit, as if it might slip straight off if he pinched too hard. He soaked his bandage under the cold tap, wrung out the water and rewound it around himself, fastening the end with a safety pin he’d found in the kitchen.

  He could even walk quite far without stopping for breath.

  ‘Maybe you are getting better,’ Randeep said.

  They were heading for a timber yard in Manor Top, where they’d found a couple of days’ work loading lorries with sawn-off wooden poles.

  ‘The body is strong, janaab,’ Avtar said, and did a muscleman pose.

  But the wooden poles were thick and square and heavy, and soon Avtar was wheezing and Randeep asked if he wanted to take a break.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Avtar said, lowering his shoulder and then the pole onto the lorry floor. ‘Can you afford to lose this job?’

  ‘You seem to be struggling, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’

  There were nine lorries and two vans in the yard, and when the last of them was loaded, Avtar collapsed against one of the huge tyres. His arms were quivering, as though his muscles wanted out.

  Randeep jogged back from the low barn-like building, their pay in his hand. ‘He said good job and he’ll think of us for next time.’

  ‘Nothing for tomorrow?’

  ‘Nothing. He said there might be more work in some other factory. In Rotherham. We’ve been there, haven’t we?’

  Avtar managed to shrug, shake his head. ‘Maybe. I lose track.’

  The next day, Avtar couldn’t get up from his mattress. He moved onto all fours and tried sliding his hands up the wall, climbing it, expecting his legs to follow. His knee shook and his leg buckled and he collapsed back down. Randeep was there to catch him.

  ‘Rest, bhaji. We’ll look for work tomorrow.’

  He lay under his blanket all day. In the evening, Narinder boiled vegetables and he ate a little. Then he slept for a bit. When he woke it was dark and his armpits felt thick and oozy, tingling strangely, and a harsh drubbing went on behind his eyes. His insides were in agony. He thought he was going to shit them all out. He rose onto his knees, arms cradling his stomach, and felt a hot stream down his thigh, thudding onto the mattress. Shuffling sideways, crouched over, he made it off the bed and to the door, where he sat for a minute against the wood, sweating, wondering if this was it for him, then telling himself that it couldn’t be, that he had work to look for in the morning. He reached up and opened the door. He tried standing but couldn’t and crawled out o
f the room on his hands and knees. In the dark, disoriented, he started for the stairs across the landing, hands padding on ahead of him, knees scraping the carpet. He got as far as the banister when, dimly, he had a thought that the bathroom – because that was where he was headed, wasn’t he? – was actually behind him, next door to the room he slept in. He turned himself round, hand by hand, knee by knee, each movement seeming to wring his stomach. But he couldn’t go on. He was exhausted. He could hear himself panting. His elbows gave way, then his legs.

  *

  She worked late and had to catch the slow bus home. She didn’t mind. She was in no hurry to get back to the house. She preferred sitting on her own by the window, letting the bus carry her through the city in the lovely pretence that she could stay sitting here forever, going round and round, observing. She noticed things more now, she realized. What people were holding, the way they spoke. She wasn’t sure why. They passed the dark-green shores of Millhouses Park, the denuded trees and the brown Y of their mortification. She looked up at the sky and it really did seem full of snow. Everyone at work said it was coming, that it would be here before Christmas and last until the new year. At least that’s something you won’t have to worry about, Jessica had said. You’ll be back in London soon enough, as if London had its own bespoke weather system. She knew that, by then, she wouldn’t be able to marry Karamjeet. She’d lived her life by enough falsehoods.

  Once back, she went upstairs and knocked on Tochi’s door, not expecting him to answer, not surprised when he did. Every night, sitting on her bed, she’d listened to him in his room, trying to think what he might be doing, trying to think what he might be thinking, but this was the first time she’d seen him in five days, since the night of Avtar’s collapse.

  ‘I thought you’d be at work.’

  ‘I’m on lates. I’m going in an hour.’

  She nodded. ‘Will you – will you let me in?’

  He turned sideways on and she stepped past. He’d moved his mattress into the alcove, beside the chimney breast. A dirty plate lay beside it, a spoon atop that.

  ‘How’s the patient?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve not seen them.’

  ‘They’re only in their room.’