The Division Bell Trilogy

by Rachel McLean

  Quarter of an hour later she pushed back her chair and headed for the stairs. She padded up, not wanting to wake Hassan. She stopped outside Samir’s door and paused to take a couple of deep breaths.

  She knocked quietly and pushed the door open, adjusting her eyes to the gloom.

  “Samir,” she whispered. “Wake up.”

  There was no response. She made her way to the bed, her hands in front of her. Samir had blackout blinds and the room was in total darkness.

  Her shins hit the bed and she winced. She put a hand down, feeling for his body beneath the duvet. Go gently, she told herself.

  Her fingers brushed the fabric. It was cold. She placed her palm on it then stiffened. The duvet was flat. She pulled back, squinting. She flicked his bedside light on and refocused on the bed. It was empty.

  She turned towards the room, expecting to see him sitting at his desk, awake and doing last minute homework already. But there had been no glow from the screen when she entered. His desk was empty. No laptop and no Samir.

  She scanned the room, her heart picking up pace. She stumbled to the door and threw herself towards the bathroom, falling into the door and expecting it to push back against her weight, locked.

  It fell open and she almost slipped on the tiles.

  She dashed to Hassan’s room and looked around the half open door. He was waking, rubbing his eyes and yawning luxuriantly. There was no one else with him. She darted out, relieved that he hadn’t spotted her.

  Jennifer stumbled backwards into the hall and leaned against the wall, her eyes pricking. Where was he? Had he heard them last night? Maybe he’d just got up early and gone to school.

  No. School wouldn’t be open for hours, and it only took him twenty minutes to get there.

  She clenched her fists and made for her own room, where Yusuf was snoring lightly. She put a hand on his back and pulled him into wakefulness.

  He rolled over, groaning. “What is it?”

  “I can’t find Samir.”

  Yusuf registered the tone of her voice, an octave higher than normal, and jerked upright. “What?”

  She shrugged. “He’s not in his room. Or Hassan’s. Nor downstairs.”

  She frowned. Maybe he had slipped downstairs, while she was in the bathroom? She squeezed Yusuf’s hand then dashed downstairs, running from room to room.

  “He’s not here,” she cried, not caring now who she woke.

  Yusuf was beside her, dragging on his dressing gown. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, blinking back the fizzing behind her eyes.

  “Maybe he’s gone to school early.”

  She spun round. “It’s half past six.”

  He dragged his fingernails through his beard. “Shit.”

  She felt her chest hollow out. “Did he hear us last night? Could he have heard us?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” A pause. “We were quiet – weren’t we?”

  She shrugged. “If he was outside our door…”

  She fell into a chair, shivering. “Where is he, Yusuf?”

  Yusuf stayed standing, staring at the wall. “I don’t know.”

  “You go out with him. You know who he hangs out with. Could he have gone to one of them?”

  Yusuf shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  She glared at him then made for his room again, taking the stairs two at a time. After a couple of minutes she called him from the top of the stairs.

  “His rucksack’s gone. His phone, his wallet and his laptop.”

  Hassan came out of his room, his eyes dark pools. “Mummy? Mummy, what’s happened? Where’s Samir?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. He started to cry.

  She closed her eyes and dug her fingernails into her palm, willing herself to be patient. Yusuf came up the stairs and pushed past her, laying a hand briefly on her shoulder. He disappeared into Samir’s room. There were the sounds of drawers being yanked open, doors being flung wide.

  He reappeared, shaking his head. Jennifer stared at him, her breathing ragged. Hassan was leaning into her, clutching at her stomach.

  Yusuf’s face was grey, his muscles slack. “He— he’s run away.”

  44

  September 2021. Birmingham and London

  Dropping Hassan at school, Jennifer felt sure the eyes of the other parents were on her. She pushed the straps of his rucksack onto his back and gave his hand a squeeze as she let him go into the school. Having him walk away from her so soon after Samir’s disappearance felt like her heart was being torn out. She had spent the last couple of hours trying not to pass her anxiety onto him but couldn’t keep herself from grabbing him every time he passed her and giving him a tight hug.

  She glanced around the other parents as she headed back to her car, wondering if any of them knew what she was going through. Some of them had older siblings in Samir’s year at secondary school; would they have talked about him, his fighting and his intention to run away?

  On the drive home, she tried to focus on the road, rubbing her eyes furiously and muttering at herself to keep it together. Stopped at traffic lights, the man in the car next to her did a double take as he recognised the local MP. She stared at him, horrified, and sped off as soon as the lights changed.

  At home, Yusuf was on the phone. She slid past him in the kitchen, her eyes a question mark. He shook his head and she felt herself deflate.

  “Who was that?” she asked when he put his phone back in his pocket.

  “One of his friends’ mums.” He dropped into the chair opposite. “None of them know anything. Their kids are all at school.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “We need to call the police.”

  His voice shook. “No. Not if he’s under suspicion. It’ll just precipitate things, give them cause to think he’s done something that he hasn’t.”

  She stood up. “But that’s ridiculous. He’s missing, and we have to get help.”

  “It’s only been a few hours.”

  “We don’t know that. What time did you last see him?”

  Yusuf closed his eyes. “I’ve been running through yesterday evening in my head. He told me he was going to bed at nine. That’s the last I saw of him.” He looked up, his eyes searching her face. “I should have checked on him, but you know how he is…”

  She nodded. Samir didn’t like being disturbed in his room at night. A wave of nausea swept over her and she rushed to the toilet but nothing came. She leaned over it for a few moments, clutching the seat, trying to control her breathing.

  She staggered back to the kitchen. “We don’t leave this house until he’s back,” she said.

  “He’s probably just playing truant again. He’ll creep back this afternoon after school finishes, tail between his legs.”

  She spun round. “I don’t think he will. He’s played truant before, but he always kept up the pretence of going to school.”

  “Things change.”

  “Yes, but that’s exactly it. Things have changed. I came home last night telling you what Catherine told me, and he overheard us. I’m sure of it. That’s why he’s gone.”

  “We can’t be sure of that.”

  She lifted her face to glare at him. “It’s a hell of a coincidence.”

  “Please, Jen, we need to take this calmly. I’ll make a few more calls. You never know. And we wait till five. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

  His head was cocked and his face pale. His eyes were searching her face for a response. She let herself slump against the kitchen counter. “OK.”

  By five, there was no sign of Samir. Jennifer sat in the front room, staring at the window.

  She checked her watch again. Five past five. Yusuf was upstairs, distracting himself by changing beds.

  She headed up the stairs. Hassan passed her, flinching as she approached.

  She stooped to put her hands upon his shoulders. “Hey sweetie. You OK?”

  “S’pose so. Where’s Samir?”

  Sh
e swallowed, pushing brightness into her voice. “He’s at a friend’s. Sleepover.”

  “It’s a school night.”

  She bent down to him. “Maybe when you’re sixteen, we’ll let you have sleepovers on a school night.”

  He yelled approval then clattered downstairs. She shivered and went to find Yusuf.

  “It’s gone five,” she told him.

  He was tugging pillowcases over the pillows in their room; he didn’t stop or turn to face her. “I know.”

  “I think we should call the police now.”

  He turned and sat on the bed. He looked worn out; his cheeks sagged and his eyes were rimmed with black circles. She sat next to him and took his hand.

  “I know you’re worried, but we have to find him.”

  “I know.”

  “So?”

  “Not yet.” He tried to her, taking his face in his hands. “Please. I’m worried what will happen to him if they arrest him.”

  “What makes you think they’ll do that?”

  “You know what Catherine told you. You know what things are like now. People suspected of being involved in terrorist groups face deportation.” He paused. “Even sixteen year olds.”

  “But we don’t know—”

  “Exactly.” He tightened his grip. “That’s what scares me. We have to find him, Jennifer. Of course we do. But when you’ve seen the things I have, you stop trusting the police.”

  “We have to trust someone.”

  He stood up, grabbing another pillowcase. “But who, Jen? Who can we trust?” He paused and put his hands on his hips. “Did I tell you about Asif Malik?”

  Jennifer shook her head.

  “He was under suspicion. His mum came to see me. I started the process of writing letters, finding out what I could. There was nothing. At least nothing anyone would let me, his local councillor, have access to.” He licked his lips. “They arrested him a week later. He was sixteen, Samir’s age. And his parents haven’t been able to see him. They don’t know where he is. They weren’t allowed to be at his trial, if there was a trial.”

  “What was he under suspicion of?”

  “That’s not the point! Why aren’t you listening to me?”

  “Yusuf. Samir hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s safer here, with us. We need to get him back. That means calling the police.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “This is something we both have to consent to. I say no. It’s too risky.”

  She let herself fall back onto the bed, her limbs heavy. “So what do you suggest we do?”

  “Go see Catherine. Get her to tell you everything she knows. Then at least we know what the risk is.”

  She nodded, the ceiling blurring above her. “OK. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” She sat up. “But once I’ve done that, if he’s not back tomorrow night I want to call the police.”

  He shrugged. “That depends on what Catherine tells you.”

  “You know this place?” Jennifer asked, looking at the gin and tonics Catherine had brought from the bar. They were in the pub where Jennifer had waited last time. It was busier tonight, with five tables occupied. The barman was attentive, coming back to check on her twice before Catherine arrived. It made her uncomfortable.

  Catherine nodded. “Helps to get away from the usual haunts sometimes.” She pulled off her coat and sat down to face Jennifer: she was perched on the seat edge and kept tugging at her sleeve.

  “What is it, Catherine? What’s going on?”

  Catherine glanced towards the bar. She said nothing but took a gulp of her drink.

  “Tell me, please.”

  Catherine’s eyes roamed over her face as if she was trying to make a decision. Jennifer took a sip at her drink, irritated. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling strung out.

  Catherine let out a long breath and clenched her hands together in her lap. Her glass was empty.

  “Look, I shouldn’t tell you this,” she said. “But it’s going to affect you. You and your family.”

  Jennifer sat up straight. “Yes?”

  “Before I tell you this, I want you to swear you won’t tell a soul. I know you’ll tell Yusuf, but, please, he has to not tell anyone either.”

  “OK. But how can I know that you won’t?”

  Catherine’s shoulders slumped. “What do you mean?”

  “After what you’ve been saying to the press, I’m not sure why I should trust you.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. We both had to defend ourselves, didn’t we? I didn’t say anything that you didn’t.”

  Jennifer blushed; she was right.

  Catherine picked up her glass, draining the last drops. Behind her, a group of drinkers swelled as more people came into the pub; a man stepped backwards, jostling Catherine and turning to offer a laughing apology. She nodded at him then leaned in towards Jennifer, pulling at her sleeve again. “Anyway.” She lowered her voice. “Look, this is just something I read in a file. I may not have all the story.”

  “Go on then.”

  “It’s just that – well – if I tell you, I’ll be breaking the law. You can’t tell anyone.”

  Jennifer clenched her fists. “Tell me.”

  Catherine examined her hands and then picked at a hanging nail. Her other nails were as neat as ever, but that one looked as if it had been bitten.

  “I have access to information,” she whispered. “On suspected terrorist activity. Not everything. There’s far too much MI5 is watching for me to see everything.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Jennifer felt cold.

  “Sometimes other names are in the files. Associates, followers. That sort of thing.” She reached for her glass, then gave it a disappointed look. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  Jennifer nodded, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

  “I saw Samir’s name. He hasn’t done anything. Not as far as I can tell. But I think he’s been involved with people who have.”

  Jennifer thought of Samir’s anger, the truancies. That book. She shook her head. “But he’s sixteen.”

  Catherine leaned in further, her voice a low murmur. “I know. But it’s quite common, you know, for boys to be recruited. They’re impressionable. That’s the theory.”

  Jennifer knew this, of course. She’d talked to enough women whose sons were under suspicion. Was she one of these women now?

  “But he just goes out with Yusuf. Helps people out,” she said. There was a lump in her throat. Where was Samir now? Had he already been arrested?

  “I’m sorry, Jennifer. I really am. But I saw his name in a list of people associated with a group. A proscribed organisation.”

  Jennifer remembered John’s behaviour in his party office. “Who else knows about this?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t discuss that. Sorry.”

  Jennifer stood up. “But it’s ridiculous!”

  Catherine looked around the pub, her eyes wide. Jennifer sat down. “My son is not a terrorist.”

  “You need to know that the group, the one he’s involved with…” She paused.

  Tell me, dammit, thought Jennifer.

  “Some of them have already been arrested. It won’t be long before the police catch up with the rest.”

  “What kind of group?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “What have they done? What’s Samir done?”

  “Shh, please. I can’t tell you that either. But as far as I can tell, I don’t think he’s actually done anything. Not yet.”

  Jennifer stared at her, tears welling. Catherine pulled a tissue from her bag and handed it to her, scanning the bar again.

  Jennifer didn’t need to be reminded of the harshness of anti-terrorist law. Samir could be detained without trial for up to six months.

  She could hear her own breathing, despite the noise of the pub. It was shallow and laboured.

  “Do you— do you think he’s at risk of deportation?” she w
hispered.

  There was a moment’s silence. The barman passed them, making Jennifer shudder. How much had he heard?

  “Do you?” Jennifer asked.

  A shrug. “I don’t know. He could be, or maybe an internment facility. Or maybe nothing.” She grabbed Jennifer’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  Jennifer opened her mouth to tell her about Samir’s disappearance then thought better of it. She nodded, her lips tight.

  “I have to go. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything else.” She licked her lips, bending to Jennifer and whispering. “Good luck.” Jennifer stood and they hugged each other tight, not letting go for some time.

  Jennifer waited a few moments then followed Catherine to the door. She paused outside and watched as Catherine walked away along the damp pavement, glancing back then opening her umbrella before disappearing in the crowds.

  Jennifer shook herself out, stifling a wail. She scanned the street urgently, hailing a taxi.

  Part IV

  September 2021. London.

  45

  September 2021. London

  Jennifer dragged herself back to her flat, wishing she could just go home and leave London forever. But she needed to take stock and plan what she and Yusuf would do next. He was at home waiting for Samir, but she could be of more help here in Westminster. Tomorrow she would speak to John, see what help he could give.

  She pulled her phone out of her bag as she jumped out of the taxi. Phoning Yusuf had become something tainted with dread. Every time she felt compelled to ask him if there was any news, and every time there was none. If Samir did turn up or get in touch, he wouldn’t wait to tell her.

  But tonight, she would have to tell him what Catherine had told her. She looked at his name on her phone screen, formulating the words in her head. At last she took a deep breath and put the phone to her ear.

  “Hi.” He sounded tired. She glanced at her watch; it was nine pm.