Ruby Tanya

by Robert Swindells

  Hah! Gran swallowed the last of her tea. The optimism of youth, Ruby. Still, I agree we’ve got to try.

  We?

  Oh yes, your old gran’s on board, sweetheart. Anything that screws up those gangsters at Westminster has got to be worth doing. She gazed at me. Why don’t you bring your friend here? She can crash in the spare room: better than that old ruin.

  Oh no, we couldn’t Gran. If they found her here you’d go to jail.

  You’re risking it.

  I’m a kid, they’ll go easy on me. What I hope you’ll do is lend us stuff – blankets and that – so we don’t have to smuggle everything past our parents.

  Gran nodded. Anything you want, sweetheart, and I mean anything. D’you want stuff now, tonight?

  Oh no, Gran, not tonight. How about half-ten tomorrow morning?

  No problem. And remember, if that ruin gets too cold for your friend, floor too hard or whatever, fetch her here. It’s a long time since I laid my scrawny neck on the block in a good cause; too long.

  Grans. You should be able to get ’em on the National Health.

  - Fifty-Eight

  Ruby Tanya

  IT COULD HARDLY have been a worse day, weather-wise. I woke to the rattle of rain on my window, a booming wind. Just what you need on a cross-country bedding hump.

  Breakfast was a quiet affair. Mum and Dad were being frosty with each other again. Nobody tells me what’s going on of course, but I gathered there was to be a public meeting that Dad would address and Mum didn’t approve. I guessed it had something to do with Dad standing for election. I wasn’t interested; all I cared about was getting out of the house and on with what I had to do.

  And of course they gave me a hard time. Where does she think she’s going? growled Dad to Mum as I fetched my coat.

  Your father wants to know where you’re going, says Mum.

  Tell him I’m off out, Mum.

  She’s going out, Ed.

  I can see that. It’s ten o’clock Sunday morning, pouring down, blowing a gale and your daughter’s going out. Think that’s a good idea, do you?

  Mum shook her head. Not particularly, Ed, but then I don’t think your public meeting’s a good idea either.

  What the heck’s that got to do with your daughter trailing about in wet clothes, catching pneumonia?

  She’s your daughter too, Ed. If there’s something you want to say to her, I’m sure she’ll listen.

  Are you? Are you really?

  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It went on and on – I won’t bore you with it. I managed to escape in the end, but it was ten to eleven when I got to Gran’s.

  She was brilliant. She’d packed blankets in a battered rucksack so nobody’d know what I was carrying, and there was a bulging haversack as well. Torch in there, she said. Also matches, candles, aspirins, scissors, a pocket knife, string, a towel, chocolate, pressed dates, bottled water and a polybag big enough for your friend to sleep in, keep draughts out. Oh, and a few personal items, just in case.

  Like I said, brilliant. I didn’t wait for green tea but set off, loaded like one of those mules you see in Spain. I had to go through part of our estate to reach Long Lane, and that’s where the foul weather helped. On a fine Sunday all the sads come out and shampoo their Volvos, and some of them know me. It’s likely I’d have been asked where I was going, loaded up like that. Some wally might even have bumped into Dad in the pub and mentioned it. As it was I reached the puddly, unmade track called Long Lane without seeing another human being. A hundred years ago Long Lane was the road to Danmouth, but nobody uses it now, especially on days like this. It’s two miles to the camp, but at least I knew I wasn’t going to run into some busybody along the way.

  Pain in the bum, busybodies.

  - Fifty-Nine

  Asra

  I AM GLAD it is raining. I can wear my long coat to breakfast. It has two big pockets. In one pocket is soap, my toothbrush, some scissors, a hairbrush and a comb. In the other is some hankies, one vest and two knickers. These things I will take to the ruins after breakfast, while Father and Mother are busy at the social club with Mr Shofiq, who is helping with our appeal.

  Breakfast is porridge, which I hate, and toast, which I like. When nobody is looking I slip a knife and a spoon and some little pats of butter in my purse, with a handful of sugar cubes.

  Away from the buildings is very horrible, rain and wind. I wear my scarf over my mouth and nose and pull down my woolly hat. Only my eyes can be seen, but is nobody to see them. The wind blows me sideways. I don’t think so Ruby Tanya will come today.

  At the ruins is still, I can rest from the rain and wind. In the kitchen I open the chest, pull the things from my pockets and lay them on the floor of it, on a supermarket bag. Everything is a bit wet, but will come dry soon. I put in the things from my purse as well. Then I go upstairs and sit on my chair by the window with my coat and scarf off. I feel cold, but better cold here than hot in my country, where are the bad men. I look at my watch: it is ten o’clock.

  Rain blows in sheets across the airfield. If I could take this weather to my country, our people would grow fat. All this good water, falling out of the sky. How the grain would swell, and the cattle. How the children would dance, in the mud that once was dust. If only, as Ruby Tanya would say.

  I sit and watch the rain till nearly half past twelve, then start to put on my coat. Soon it will be lunch at the mess. Mother and Father will expect me there. I must be careful to do all they expect, till Friday. I am winding the damp scarf round my face when I hear my name.

  Asra, are you there? It’s me.

  I clatter downstairs, raising dust. Ruby Tanya, I thought you would not come. She has big load, like donkeys in my country. Everything is dripping on the floor.

  Course I’ve come. I said I would, didn’t I? She shrugs off her straps, dumps a fat pack on the flags, a smaller one beside it. You should see what Gran’s put in these, Asra. You’ll be snug as a bug in a rug.

  I’m snug as a bug in a rug now, I cry. I don’t know what is meaning, snug as a bug in a rug, but I like it. It sounds even gooder than higgledy-piggledy.

  - Sixty

  Ruby Tanya

  I GOT A shock Monday morning. Dad’d gone off to work, Mum was lingering over her second coffee and I was sitting there feeling smug because everything had gone so smoothly yesterday. At ten past eight I stretched, yawned and said, Well, better go get ready, I suppose.

  Mum nodded. Me too.

  I looked at her. I didn’t know you were at the shop this morning.

  She shook her head. I’m not, I’m coming with you.

  To school?

  Yes.

  What for? She’s found out about me and Asra: our plan.

  Because … sit down a minute, Ruby Tanya, I’ve something to tell you.

  I had to sit, my legs had gone all rubbery. What?

  Mum sighed. I don’t know if this is the right thing, love. I’ve thought and thought about it, and all I can think to do is mention it to Mr Ramsden.

  Mention what, Mum? She looked worried, scared even.

  It’s … it’s about tomorrow. You know, the reopening, with the mayor and everything?

  Yes, what about it?

  We can’t let it go ahead, Ruby Tanya. I mean, the reopening part’s all right, it’s the name. We mustn’t let them use that name. His name.

  What, the mayor? D’you mean the mayor’s name, Mum? She’s flipped her lid, I thought.

  She shook her head. No, of course not the mayor, darling. Him. Stuart Conway.

  Why, what’s wrong with his name? Why mustn’t we …?

  Because he wasn’t carrying that bomb out of the school, Ruby Tanya; he was carrying it in.

  You could’ve knocked me down with a feather. That’s what they say, isn’t it? I’ve always thought it a really daft expression, but I know what they mean now. I felt weightless, like Mum’s words had switched off gravity so that a puff of air might blow me clean away.

 
; Next thing I remember was Mum holding a glass of water to my lips. Come on, sweetheart, she coaxed. Have a few sips, you’ll feel better in a minute. I did, and I did, but it was a while before I could get myself together to leave the chair. Meanwhile Mum stood behind me stroking my hair, murmuring, Stupid, stupid, stupid woman. She meant herself, for telling me like that.

  I don’t know whether she made Ramsden faint as well, but he put in a couple of hasty phone calls and sent a note round. Exactly what the note said I don’t know: it was teachers’ eyes only. Rule just announced that tomorrow’s reopening was postponed, though the shared area would in fact be available. As she was speaking, I remembered something I’d heard while eavesdropping on my parents last Saturday night. Mum’s voice, half drowned by the kettle: Why else would they have a giant picture of him, Ed? Raise their tankard to it?

  Now I knew whose giant picture she was referring to.

  - Sixty-One

  Ruby Tanya

  TIME FOR SOMETHING a bit more cheerful, yeah? I think so. I didn’t know about this till after, of course, but while all the nasty stuff was happening in Tipton Lacey, a small miracle was taking place at Danmouth Infirmary.

  It was Asif Akhtar and Keith Allardyce. The staff didn’t know it was Allardyce who’d put Akhtar there, or that somebody had cut Allardyce’s feet to avenge Akhtar. So, not only did they have them in the same ward, they put them next to each other.

  Asif was dozing when they wheeled Keith in. He woke up just as a nurse drew back the curtain that separated his bed from the next, which had been empty since yesterday. When he saw who was in it, he thought his medication was making him hallucinate. Allardyce hadn’t seen him so Asif quickly turned away, hurting his ribs in the process. He lay with his back to the other boy, the sheet pulled up round his ears, pretending to be asleep.

  Trouble is, you can’t stay like that in hospital. They don’t let you. There’s always somebody coming round taking your temperature, checking your blood pressure, asking if you’ve moved your bowels. Asif hadn’t been on his side five minutes when a nurse appeared, asking in a bright voice that very question. I haven’t moved anything, he muttered into the pillow. I daren’t. Go away.

  She didn’t go away. They don’t. Instead she pulled back the sheet and helped him sit up. She was drawing his curtain when Allardyce recognized him. You, he gasped. What you doing here, you creepazoid?

  You should know, growled Asif just before the bright fabric came swishing between them.

  The nurse smiled. You two know each other? Asif nodded with a sickly grin. That’s nice, she chirped. You’ll be able to keep each other amused.

  Oh sure, thought Asif. He’s amused me once already, that’s why I’m here. Maybe he’ll kick the rest of my ribs in today, really get me laughing.

  When he’d finished with the bedpan, the nurse opened the curtain and strode off. The other boy glared. Your stink was bad enough at school, Akhtar; it’s worse in here. Why the heck did they have to put me next to you?

  Well it wasn’t ’cos I requested it, shot back Asif, embarrassed by the business with the bedpan. What you here for anyway?

  One of your lot stuck blades through my trainers – my feet’re like mince.

  Not one of my lot.

  Yes, and I know which one.

  Who, then?

  Never mind. I’m gonna grab a ziz now, so quit the rabbit. He rolled over, pulled up the sheet and went to sleep.

  At half six Asif’s mum and dad came to see him. Keith Allardyce was awake, but he kept his back turned as they found chairs, settled themselves either side of their son’s bed and chatted to him in their own language. He couldn’t help wondering what they’d do if they knew his attacker lay in the next bed.

  When his own parents arrived a few minutes later, Mr Akhtar nodded to Allardyce senior, who nodded back. It was a perfunctory greeting, but Keith was surprised his father had responded at all. He was always going on about how he hated asylum seekers, telling his wife and son and anybody else who’d listen what he’d do to every one of them if he had his way. The two women exchanged shy smiles, and Keith wondered what’d happen if he told Mrs Akhtar his dad would love to boil her in oil. Would Dad deny it?

  Our son was beaten up, volunteered Mr Akhtar. At school.

  Oh, said Mr Allardyce. That’s rough.

  Disgusting, added his wife.

  What is the matter with your son?

  Keith’s dad grimaced. Somebody put knives in his shoes, cut his feet to ribbons. That was at school as well.

  How terrible. Did they catch the person responsible?

  No.

  Pity. Such a one deserves the severest punishment, like the boy who beat Asif.

  Mr Allardyce nodded. I know what I’d do if I caught ’em: string ’em up by their thumbs and let ’em dangle till they begged for mercy. They’d not do it again.

  I would take a stick, growled Akhtar senior. Beat them senseless.

  Asif looked at Keith, who seemed a bit pale. Keith swallowed and looked away.

  I’m not sure that’s the best way, ventured Keith’s mother. You know what they say: Violence begets violence.

  You are so right, nodded Mrs Akhtar. Those boys, they come from bad homes, I think. Homes full of ignorance and stupidity. Our sons are lucky – at least we are bringing them up decently.

  The four parents chatted happily, ignoring the boys till it was time to go. When they’d gone, Keith looked at Asif. Hey, cheers – y’know, for not …

  Asif nodded. You’re ugly, Allardyce, but you’d look even uglier dangling by your thumbs. Anyway, it’s not your fault: you come from a home full of ignorance and stupidity.

  Yes, but hey, grinned Keith, doesn’t every kid you know?

  - Sixty-Two

  Ruby Tanya

  I WAS BECOMING a fixture up the camp, spending as much time as I could with Asra. There wasn’t even a problem with Dad any more. He knew the Sabers were going. It wasn’t worth the hassle trying to keep us apart. I was biking up there after tea Monday when I saw the banner.

  It was a massive thing, fastened to two trees and stretched right across the road so everyone heading for Danmouth had to drive under it. On it, in great red capitals, were the words DANGER – ASYLUM SEEKERS AHEAD.

  It wasn’t there yesterday. It probably wasn’t there this morning: if the camp bus had driven under it somebody would surely have mentioned it at school. I passed it and stopped to look back. The message on the other side was ALIEN BRATS GO HOME.

  I knew who’d done it of course. I don’t mean Dad had actually driven out here with a set of ladders and put it up himself, but he’d had the thing made. I recognized the style, which was exactly like the boards he used in his work – boards that said FOR SALE, UNDER OFFER, SOLD. The guys who made those for him had made this as well.

  I felt deeply ashamed, especially of ALIEN BRATS GO HOME, because it was obviously there for the camp kids to read as they were driven to school. It reminded me of Asra’s story about Mr Younis and the goat-children. And I’d told her it couldn’t happen here.

  I didn’t mentioned it to the Sabers, just like I didn’t tell them about Stuart Conway. They had fresh troubles of their own anyway: their appeal had been turned down, which meant the police could show up at any time and take them to the airport; they might not wait till Saturday. The uncertainty meant the family couldn’t plan their packing properly: anything that couldn’t be packed now, such as the bedding they were using and clean clothes for tomorrow, would have to be abandoned if the Sabers were removed without notice. It also threatened our plan, mine and Asra’s, because we could no longer count on having till Friday night for Asra to vanish. Her parents knew nothing of this, of course.

  It was too cold for a stroll on the airfield, so Asra took me to the social club. We went in the TV room, where a few people sat in battered armchairs watching the news. The newsreader was asking some expert how embarrassed the government was about asylum seekers. If he’d been asking me I’d ha
ve said, Not nearly as embarrassed as it ought to be.

  We left the TV room and found a table in a place that had a few board games, some second-hand books and a hot drinks dispenser. We got coffees and I showed Asra how Snakes and Ladders works. I used a two-pence for a counter because there was only one tiddlywink. Asra was tickled by the word tiddlywink, but really we were only pretending to enjoy ourselves. It’s hard to get absorbed in Snakes and Ladders when real life’s reduced to a game of chance.

  - Sixty-Three

  Asra

  A GOOD GAME, Snakes and Ladders. If I knew I would stay here in England with my parents, how happy I would be, playing it with Ruby Tanya. How funny tiddlywink would sound. But I am not happy at all, because there is a thing I must tell to my friend before we part tonight. I shake a five, slide my tiddlywink to the last square and win the game. Now; I will tell her now.

  Asra?

  What? She has spoken first, I must wait.

  I’m sorry, Asra, but I have to warn you about something – something my dad’s done.

  What has he done, Ruby Tanya? What can he do to me now?

  There’s a banner, a nasty message across the road. You’ll see it on your way to school tomorrow.

  Say it now. I … will not see it, Ruby Tanya, because I can’t come to school any more.

  You … What d’you mean, you can’t. It’s Tuesday tomorrow, you’ve got till Friday.

  We don’t know that, Ruby Tanya, not now. My father says, What if police come while you are at school, we might have to go without you. So he will keep me at home.

  But they’ll be going without you anyway, Asra. Our plan …

  Of course, but my father knows nothing of our plan. And it may have to change.

  Ruby Tanya nods. I know – you might have to do it before Friday, if they come for you. You will still do it though, won’t you? Everything’s ready.