Hatred

by M J Dees

  “Give me the ticket.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To buy booze from the general store.”

  “Marvellous idea. I’m coming with you.”

  In the general store, the radio was on and Jim could hear Field Marshall Wilson announcing that Roberts was heading for a summit in Brussels to discuss the situation and that anyone with an ounce of patriotism should hang flags from their window in a show of support for the Government’s position.

  As Jim was paying for the drinks, the shopkeeper leant close and whispered.

  “Tonight, I’ll try to find the secret radio station on the net. A friend of mine listened to it yesterday.”

  The shopkeeper was a veteran like Jim. A peaceful man in his forties. Jim thanked him and left.

  Mark was also friendly with Jim and they drank in the pub together, but Jim had seen Mark wearing a party badge once, so he was always very careful what he said to him.

  *

  Jim had spent most of the day filling out forms for the inventory of assets of those with foreign heritage and was so fed up. He convinced Annabel to pick Olivia from school so that he could join Mark in the pub for a pint.

  On the TV was something about Gibraltar.

  “What’s that?” asked Jim.

  “Don’t you watch TV?” Mark looked astonished.

  “No, not really.”

  “Spain is getting funny about the numbers of troops Roberts has stationed there. Of course, it’s not helped by the fishing business. Did you hear the EU has closed its market to UK fish?”

  Mark leaned close to Jim.

  “Did you hear about the vicar?”

  Jim shook his head.

  “They’ve arrested him.”

  Jim raised his eyebrows.

  “Rumour is it’s something to do with sexual abuse, but I don’t believe that. I think it’s got more to do with the argument he had with the leader of the local branch of the Unity Youth.” Mark scanned the pub to make sure no-one was listening.

  On the big stretch, Field Marshall Wilson was making a speech. Jim looked around the pub. No-one was listening, one table was playing cards, another reading a book, another seemed to be engaged in heated discussion, but they completely ignored Wilson. The noise in the pub was such that Jim couldn’t hear the speech if he wanted to.

  “It’s maybe about the argument with Europe over refugees,” Mark commented.

  *

  A knock on the door awoke Jim.

  On the doorstep stood two police officers and a civilian whom Jim recognised as a resident of the village.

  “Do you have any weapons?” one of the police officers asked.

  “Only some kitchen knives,” said Jim, trying to treat the question with the contempt he thought it deserved. “I also have a knife from my days in the army, but I wouldn’t know where it is.”

  “We have to help you find it,” said the police officer.

  The three men entered the house and began searching for the knife. Annabel had put on her dressing gown and came to see what all the fuss was about.

  “I’d prefer it if you washed your hands,” said Annabel as the older police officer approached the cupboard where they kept all the clean sheets.

  “How dare you insinuate my hands are dirty?” the officer bellowed.

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean to...” Jim began his attempt to placate.

  “She’s insinuating that I have dirty hands,” the officer interrupted, incensed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Annabel apologised.

  “There, she’s apologised, let’s move on, shall we?” suggested the younger officer.

  “Typical lack of respect by their sort,” commented the villager. “Look, it’s a complete pig sty in here.”

  The untidy state of their house, which they still hadn’t got sorted, embarrassed Annabel and Jim. Because of the council’s refusal to give planning permission for their extension, they still stored many of their belongings in dusty boxes.

  “Stop! You are making us suspicious,” the older officer called out to Annabel when she went to get a tool to open a sealed packing case.

  Anabel went to get Olivia ready for school, trying to ensure she did not worry about what the strange men were doing in the house.

  They found the knife in a suitcase in the loft and the older police officer left with the villager while the young officer stayed to take a statement. He looked embarrassed but also uncomfortable.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Jim.

  “I have a bit of an upset stomach,” the officer admitted.

  “Would you like tea?” asked Annabel as she gave Olivia her breakfast. “We have camomile.”

  “Or we have scotch if you’d like something stronger,” said Jim.

  “No thank you, I’m fine.” he said.

  Once he had taken the audio statement, the young officer joined the other two in the garden, where they stood in conversation for a few minutes before the young officer returned.

  “You must come to the magistrates in Burnley with me,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about, you’ll most likely be back by this evening.”

  “Am I under arrest?” asked Jim.

  “It’s only a memento from the war,” said the officer. “They’ll almost certainly release you straight away.”

  The officer first took Jim to the station, where Jim waited while the officer went into a back room, allegedly to register the statement.

  “You might even be home for afternoon tea,” said the officer as he registered Jim at the court.

  “The public prosecutor will decide that,” said a clerk.

  The young police officer left Jim to wait alone in the magistrates’ court. At one point the clerk ordered a security guard to take Jim to the toilet, after which he returned him to the waiting room.

  After another long wait, they took Jim to a second waiting room where, after a while, a young man with a Unity badge appeared.

  “Professor Smith, you can go,” said the man. “But first we need to issue a certificate of discharge, otherwise the police will think you have escaped and will bring you back in again.”

  After a short while, the young man returned to announce that Jim could go. Jim made his way back through the first waiting room.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” shouted the clerk.

  “Home,” said Jim.

  The clerk made two phone calls before he became satisfied that he could release Jim, and by the time Jim walked back out onto the street, it was 4 pm.

  Jim felt free, but he wondered how long that feeling would last.

  That evening, Annabel and Jim had a much more serious discussion about whether they should try to leave the country.

  Jim sent messages to Elizabeth Lopez, who was living abroad, for advice regarding what they might do. Was there anywhere they could stay while they tried to find work?

  It was while he was on his stretch that Jim learned of the riots that had happened that day. They had smashed the windows or set alight the houses of those with suspected refugee heritage. The trigger had been the assassination of a British diplomat in Paris by a refugee attempting to highlight the plight of refugees in Britain. In retaliation, the British navy had taken dozens of refugees across the channel and dumped them in lifeboats in French waters.

  Then Annabel showed Jim stories on her stretch, accusing the refugees of breaking their own windows and setting alight their own homes to perpetrate insurance fraud.

  Jim received a message from Elizabeth Lopez.

  “I would very much like to help,” she said. “But I am not in a position to help right now. I suggest you try your sister.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three – 13 years 10 months before the collapse

  Jim went to the village and tried to get all his errands completed as fast as possible. The Government had imposed a curfew on those with refugee heritage, from 5pm to 8 am, as a supposed crime prevention measure, so Jim and Anna
bel had to rely on Mark or Sofia to drive her home from school.

  At half-past four, Jim was still queuing in the general store and was so anxious, he had difficulty breathing.

  As he rushed back through the village towards the track, he noticed that someone had attempted to set fire to the church.

  When he reached home, he shut the door behind him and slumped down on the sofa. On his stretch was a message from his sister. She would try to help him, but he would need to visit the US embassy personally.

  Jim replied, explaining that they had now restricted travel for those with refugee heritage. After the Paris shooting, they did not issue anyone with refugee heritage for a driving licence or insurance and he would need to apply for permission to buy a ticket to London via public transport.

  “I heard that there are crowds camped outside the US embassy every morning,” said Annabel.

  Jim received another message from Elizabeth Lopez who had heard rumours that a coup was imminent, but he didn’t have time to read it because there was a knock at the door. It was Jenny Li.

  “You are very brave coming here,” said Annabel.

  “I thought you would want to know. Jon passed away.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be, it was a blessing, he was suffering.”

  “Come in, sit down, I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “There you go,” said Jim, handing Jenny a cup of tea.

  “How are you coping?” asked Annabel.

  “I’m fine, I’m not the one with foreign heritage.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “It’s possible,” said Jenny. “ If you want to get out and you need to sell the house, we may buy it from you. The pound isn’t worth much now.”

  “And after we repay the mortgage, we might not have very much left,” said Jim.

  “I’ve heard there’s a three-year waiting list,” said Annabel.

  “You cannot give up hope,” said Jenny. “People are being arrested and disappear altogether.”

  “But the refugee problem means that there isn’t a developed nation willing to accept more immigrants, their quota of refugees is already more than they can manage.”

  “There is a place in Manchester you can go,” said Jenny. “It’s a travel agent called Palmer’s. If you leave here early enough, you can be back by the afternoon and they won’t deny you a ticket to Manchester. Ask for Mr Palmer himself.”

  *

  At the stroke of 8:30 am, Jim, Annabel, and Olivia were out of the house and they dropped Olivia at the school when it opened at 08:45 am.

  They had to run for the bus and almost missed it. An hour later, they changed at Burnley and got a bus to Manchester. By 11 am they were on Chorlton Street and on their way to the travel agents.

  They soon found the shop and went inside. There were a couple being told to wait in Liverpool and to be patient. Jim approached a man who looked like staff and asked for Mr Palmer.

  “You need a holiday in Cuba,” said the man who took their details. “We will be in touch.”

  Jim, feeling as if he had walked through a whirlwind, found himself back on the street. They were back on a bus and on their way back to Trawden within an hour.

  They were still on the bus when Jim received a message saying all holidays in Cuba were fully booked but that there was space on a cruise there in June.

  “You must let me know by January 1st,” said the message. “They have doubled sailings, but these are the only berths we have available for the next two years.”

  They arrived back at the village by 2:30 pm. It was time to pick up Olivia from school and they were very hungry. There was a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald on the doormat with a London postmark.

  “Is it a cryptic clue?” Annabel asked. “Should you apply for a job at The University of Sydney?”

  “I’ve heard that even Australia is only taking its quota of refugees and no more.”

  “Perhaps we are thinking about this in the wrong way,” said Annabel.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been thinking about trying to get into the same countries that everyone else is trying to get into. Maybe we should try to get into the countries that everyone is trying to get away from?”

  “You want to go to Bangladesh or Sudan?”

  “I’m sure we could get jobs as school teachers somewhere in the developing world.”

  “But there is a reason people are trying to leave these countries.”

  “I know, but they don’t realise what the situation is like here. I read about this place in Zimbabwe, I can teach in a school or teach music, or garden, I even know a bit about building houses now.”

  “But Zimbabwe is like Bangladesh. Half of it is under water.”

  “So, we go to the half that isn’t underwater.”

  “I got another message on the motorway,” said Jim. “You remember we had to declare our assets? Well, they’ve made their assessment and calculated our property tax.”

  He handed Annabel the stretch.

  “What? This is ridiculous. I thought they’d abolished tax.”

  “They abolished sales and income tax. This is the rent the grounds trust has decided we have to pay for our property. I did some quick calculations on the way home and I think the figures we gave them are wrong. With the new figures it should be less, I’ll appeal.”

  “You should.”

  “It doesn’t matter, they’ll take everything soon, anyway.”

  “Did you see there was an attempt on Roberts?”

  “Yes. Culprits caught. Roberts is still alive.”

  “What about these ads for working in China? They’re everywhere.”

  Jim frowned.

  *

  Annabel downloaded her new identity app onto her stretch with no difficulty, but it took Jim two hours.

  While Annabel went out to work in the garden, Jim went into Colne where there was a pawnbroker where he could sell the few gold and silver possessions they had before Unity confiscated it.

  While in the town, Jim saw posters advertising the exhibition, The Eternal Refugee.

  As he rode the bus back to the village, Jim received a message from Mia Rodriquez, wishing he was well and explaining that things weren’t going as well as they had expected in the US for her and Carter. Carter was working as a labourer. Jim thought at least Carter was not still in the UK.

  He read rumours Roberts was psychologically unstable and that only Wilson and Hughes could contradict him. Jim didn’t mind reading such stories on his stretch anymore. He already had ‘refugee heritage’ stamped on his identity app, he’d already lost his job. What would happen, would happen.

  Colne was full of flags and banners celebrating Roberts’ 50th birthday. Jim’s stretch was full of stories of the President’s anniversary.

  For every story of birthday celebrations, there was a story of a suspected terrorist who escaped custody; they had to gun down for the safety of the public. These stories were daily occurrences and came with eyewitness accounts of the raving lunatic and the brave police officers who put the fugitive out of his or her misery.

  Another message, this time from Jim’s sister, stating that she had made a very promising contact and would be in touch later.

  Jim watched Roberts´ birthday speech in which he repeated his threats to Spain to stay out of British fishing waters. A message from the Grounds Trust, demanding less rent than previously, interrupted the speech but still demanding payment.

  On the way back through the village, Jim stopped in the General Store, whose shelves were almost empty.

  “Much of the produce is being diverted to the Army or to Government workers,” the shopkeeper complained.

  Jim wondered about his sister. He wondered who might look after her now Tony had gone. He resolved to ask his sister, but before he could pull out his stretch, he bumped into Mark at the other end of the square.

  “Pint?” Mark asked.

  “No, sorry, I have to get
back to Annabel.”

  “She’s got you under the thumb, has she?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Jim laughed and left.

  Jim very much wanted to have a pint with Mark, and it wasn’t Annabel stopping him. He couldn’t start spending the money he had got from the pawnbrokers on beer. Money that they had gained predominantly with Annabel’s jewellery.

  *

  Jim and Annabel had to download another app, this time an app they had to use to buy products in short supply which the Government had rationed.

  Roberts’s stance on Ireland and Spain and the refugee dispute with France had led to EU sanctions and the US, which seemed barely able to help itself, was not of much use. That half of the populations had fled the countries where the UK had previously got its cheap produce had not helped matters.

  “Oh God, look at this?” said Annabel, distracted from experimenting with her app by a news notification.

  She showed Jim her stretch.

  ‘British Navy sinks Spanish Trawler.’

  “Oh, shit!” said Jim.

  “I’m taking Olivia into the garden,” said Annabel.

  “How can you garden at a time like this?”

  “What I do will not make a difference to Britain’s relationship with Europe and someone has to amuse your daughter, she’s got no friends at school because the other children say she has foreign heritage.”

  The Government had issued a warning for people not to look at foreign news sites, but it seemed unwilling or unable to just block them. Jim ignored the fear of denunciation, or more likely, the tracking of his browser history, to look at the New York Times and the Washington Post.

  Both sites seemed to expect a Spanish attack on Gibraltar at any moment or, more likely, a European blockade on British ports. But should the British break the blockade by force? What then?

  Jim searched the sites for some kind of statement from Andersen, but he seemed uncommonly silent.

  *

  The police arrived again for another house search and, on this occasion, examined Jim and Annabel’s stretches.

  There was a fat police officer and the young officer who had taken Jim’s statement before

  “I thought you would have been abroad by now,” said the young officer. “I just need you to sign this.”