Rita nodded.
Meena smoothed her hand over Rita’s hair. Rita closed her eyes, luxuriating in the gentle touch. It seemed like months since anyone had touched her like that.
“Are you going to be my counsellor now?”
“I’m sorry. I’m here to help you with your transfer.” A smile. “You’ve got me instead of Tim. Hope that’s OK?”
Rita allowed herself a laugh. “It’s more than OK.” Then she felt her stomach churn. “Transfer?”
A wrinkle appeared in the centre of Meena’s smooth forehead. “I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated.” Her eyes darted up to the ceiling, where the camera would be. She blushed and grabbed Rita’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze and then dropping it.
Rita thought back to her first session with Meena. If she’d gone along with her, done what she asked…
“I can change,” she said. “I can prove myself. Don’t let them transfer me.”
“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” There was a moment’s silence. “Please, don’t make me fetch Tim.”
Rita frowned. “Why would you do that?”
A sigh. “Just, I thought you were about to… nothing. It’s alright.”
“Can you get Mark? If I can convince him, he’ll be able to talk to the governor. He’ll make sure I don’t get transferred.”
She held her breath. Would he? The man who had ordered her imprisonment in that stinking cell, and her repeated beatings?
“Mark isn’t available right now,” said Meena. “Come on, let’s get you up. It’s good that you’re already wearing your own clothes. I’ve got your shoes and then you’ll be all set to go to your new home.”
“Home?”
Meena blushed. “Your new centre. I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll make new friends there.”
“I don’t want new friends. I want to see my group. I want to talk to Jennifer.”
Rita gulped down tears. Meena had released the restraints, watching her warily as she did so. But she was still lying down, not having found the energy to sit up yet.
“Did Jennifer pass?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“Her Celebration? You know what I’m talking about. You were there. I saw you.” She thought of Tim, the sharp pain in her wrist. She sat up, suddenly alive.
“Tell me what happened. Tell me if she passed.” Her hands were on Meena’s upper arms. Meena pulled away, her eyes wide.
She let go. “Sorry. But please. Tell me.”
Meena rubbed her eyes, giving Rita a sidelong glance. “I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
Meena put her hands on her hips. “A minute ago you were telling me you’d do anything to be allowed to stay. That you’d be compliant, that you’d do as we asked. Now look at you. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I have. Really. I have.”
“How?”
“I understand now. I understand how what I do has consequences.” She sounded like a naughty child, trying to convince her, the teacher, that they’d seen the error of their ways.
She leaned forwards, twisting her fists into her thighs. Had she really learned anything? Or was she about to go through it all again? At a centre that could only be worse than this one, or else why would they be sending her?
“Get Mark,” she said. “Let me do the steps with him.”
“No,” said Meena. She held Rita’s shoes out to her.
“Why not?”
Meena closed her eyes for a split second. Something passed across her face, something different. She looked sideways, as if suddenly aware of the camera behind her. “Mark can’t help you now,” she muttered.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jennifer was shaking. She stared at Yonda’s office door. Roy was beside her. It made her think of John Hunter’s office in the House of Commons, the times she’d barged in there without knocking.
Roy shifted his weight and lifted his fist again, hesitating. He gave her a sheepish look then pulled his hand down to his side. Jennifer thought about knocking herself.
“Come in!”
Jennifer allowed herself a sigh of relief, quickly replaced by a tightening of her chest. She hadn’t been brought to Yonda last time. Mark had told her that if she failed twice, she would be going back to prison. A tremor jolted through her.
Roy pushed the door open and Jennifer pulled her shoulders back. If Mark was in there, she would know her fate as soon as she saw his face.
Yonda sat at the grand desk, today’s pink blouse garish in the sunlight from the window behind her. Opposite her, in one of the low chairs, was Meena. Meena looked up at Jennifer and gave her a nervous smile. Jennifer felt her pulse quicken.
“Come in, Jennifer. Please, take a seat.” Jennifer did as she was told. “That will be all, Roy.”
Yonda closed her laptop. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, pulling her lips into unattractive shapes. Hurry up, thought Jennifer.
There was a movement next to her; Meena’s hand reaching across the gap between their chairs. She wasn’t looking at Jennifer, but had her eyes firmly on the governor.
Jennifer decided to break the silence. “I was expecting Dr Clarke to be here.”
Yonda frowned. “Your counsellor is here with you,” she said, nodding towards Meena, who blushed and fingered her hijab.
Yonda stood up, putting her hands on the desk. “Don’t you want to know if you passed?”
Jennifer swallowed. “Of course.”
Yonda scratched her nose and straightened up, licking her lips. Then her face broke into an unconvincing smile. “Congratulations,” she said. “You passed.”
Jennifer felt her muscles loosen. She turned to Meena, who was all but crying. Jennifer’s cheeks were stiff from tension and her chest hurt.
“I passed?” she said, searching Meena’s face.
“Yes. Well done.”
Yonda grunted. “Personally I think Miss Ashgar made it easy on you.” She scratched her nose. “I would have been more inquisitive.”
Meena’s blush deepened and she looked away from Jennifer towards the governor. “I only had limited time,” she muttered.
“I suppose so,” replied Yonda. She gave a deep sigh. “And the rules are clear. Jennifer, you answered the questions truthfully – you had no choice – and you answered them satisfactorily. I have no choice but to let you go.”
Tears were streaming down Jennifer’s face. She wiped her eyes, thinking of Yusuf.
Yonda wiped her hands on her skirt and then rounded the desk, holding out a hand. Jennifer stared at it. Yonda wiggled her fingers and Jennifer realised she was supposed to shake it.
She stood up and shook the governor’s hand. Her handshake was loose.
“I’m going home?” Jennifer breathed.
Yonda nodded. “I made a promise, and I have to keep it.”
“A promise?” Jennifer thought of Catherine, sitting in this very office. You have to stay here, she had said. What had changed? What promise had Catherine extracted from Yonda?
She looked back at Meena. “Thank you,” she whispered. Meena smiled and shrugged.
She turned back to Yonda, who had perched on the desk, her legs crossed at the ankles.
“I hope you will do what you promised in Celebration,” she said.
Jennifer blinked. “I – I don’t remember.”
A smirk. “Of course not. You promised to spread the word, of course. Your love for the state.”
Jennifer detected a sarcastic tone.
“And,” continued Yonda, “I’d be grateful if you could tell your parliamentary colleagues – former colleagues – how fairly you’ve been treated here.”
“Fairly?”
Yonda’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Images swam in Jennifer’s head: Bel, muttering and moaning in her chair; Rita, sedated in Celebration; Maryam, robbed of her headscarf. And of Roy and Tim dragging Rita out of the group session, screaming. She opened her mouth to speak, but the
n stopped herself. There would be plenty of time once she was safely out.
“Do I get to say goodbye to my group?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“Do I get to speak to my counsellor before I leave? I’d like to get Meena’s advice.”
“Advice? What advice could you possibly want from Meena now?”
Meena coughed. “I don’t mind.”
Yonda glared at her. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. Roy is waiting outside. He’ll take you to your room, where you’ll be given your clothes and belongings. We’ll call you a taxi, give you a train voucher. You’ll be home in no time.”
Home. Jennifer thought of her house in Birmingham. Would they have to move, after everything that had happened? She wasn’t sure she could face the neighbours.
Yonda waved a hand and returned to her chair. “You’re dismissed. Good luck.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The swaying of the van made Rita feel sick. She braced herself against the side wall, cursing the handcuffs. She took deep breaths, willing her stomach to stay calm.
The driver looked into the rearview mirror. She was new, not someone Rita had seen in the centre. She wore a white coat, like the orderlies. The van itself had been unmarked, an anonymous white van like so many others. There had been two of them parked outside the back of the centre, this one in front.
“Keep quiet back there,” she said, looking as if she didn’t want to be doing this drive one little bit. “And we’ll have a smooth journey.”
Rita nodded and instantly regretted it. She turned to the window behind her, craning her neck. Maybe a glimpse of the outside world would quell the nausea. They were making their way up the long driveway at the front of the house, heading away. She thought of the last time she’d driven along here, the two policemen. They’d seemed such amateurs compared to the orderlies here. Never again would she complain about police brutality.
She swallowed, gulping in the stale air of the van. It smelt of diesel mixed with antifreeze. She clamped her lips together and screwed her eyes shut.
The van paused and she opened her eyes again. She felt woozy from the sedative they’d given her before leaving. Don’t throw up over your only decent clothes, she told herself. Maybe if she closed her eyes again she could sleep.
The van started up and her eyes jolted open. The trees outside were bright green, the seasons passing without her. Had the Easter holidays arrived yet? Would her parents be told where she was, or would they wait for her habitual visit home? A tear slid down her cheek and into the corner of her mouth. She blinked, wishing she could wipe her face.
Outside the window was a high hedge, hiding the centre from the road. Did passers-by know what was in there, what they did to people? She shuddered, feeling the handcuffs tug on sore wrists.
They passed a car parked at the side of the road; a taxi with a sign on the roof. She squinted to look at the woman getting in. She was tall and blonde, wearing a suit that looked a couple of sizes too large.
Rita’s eyes widened. Jennifer!
She shifted her weight and started knocking on the window with her forehead, shouting Jennifer’s name.
“Quiet!” shouted the driver. Rita ignored her.
But Jennifer was oblivious. She slid into the taxi and closed the door. She had nothing with her; no bag or coat. Rita looked back as the van sped up. Sadness filled her body.
“Do that again, and I’ll have to knock you out,” grunted the driver. Rita nodded vigorously and slumped onto the floor.
Chapter Forty-Four
This room was familiar. Mark had sometimes used it to interview patients, when he wanted privacy. Three doors down from his own office, it was bare and cool, never heated.
He had no idea how long he’d been in here. An orderly – a new woman, whose name he didn’t know – had appeared from time to time with food. At first he’d refused it, demanding to be taken to Yonda. But the orderly had only shrugged at him, refusing to speak. After the first three untouched meals his stomach had overtaken his willpower. He’d eaten greedily, glad to fill his groaning stomach.
The light had gone off and come on again four times now. He could only hope that they were giving him the same light cycle as he would have if he were in a room with windows. He thought of Rita and the way he’d subjected her to twenty-four-hour darkness followed by twenty-four-hour light.
What had come over him, to make him so cruel?
Thoughts of Rita led him to Jennifer. He had requested her Celebration just hours before being brought here, and knew that Yonda would ensure it went ahead. Roy had found him in the medicine store, switching the drugs. It was a simple as that; no camera evidence, no eavesdropping on their one-to-ones. Just bad luck.
He’d tried pulling weight – I’ve prescribed a different drug, a new one – but it wasn’t enough. He’d been summoned to Yonda’s office, but instead they’d brought him here. Tim and Roy, pulling him along the corridors like a recalcitrant child.
Maybe he deserved it. But Jennifer didn’t.
Without him, she was doomed. She would never get through those questions, never say what was expected if unable to lie. Maybe she was already back in prison.
The door opened. The orderly peered in. He fought the urge to shrink back, afraid of the same treatment he’d allowed them to inflict on Rita.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Do you know who I am?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been told to take you upstairs.”
“About bloody time. You’ll be punished for this, you know. Does the governor know you’re keeping me down here?”
She frowned. “It was Ms Hughes who told me to come and fetch you.”
A shudder ran through him. “She wants to see me?”
“No. I’m taking you for transportation. To another centre.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The station was empty. No-one there to recognise her, or question why she was catching a train this late in the afternoon with no bag or coat. She gathered her arms around her and shivered. The suit she’d been wearing on the day of her arrest was thin and loose, and she had to clutch at the skirt for fear it might slip down.
She turned the train voucher over in her hand. One way to Birmingham. She remembered the last time she had been here, standing on this very platform. It had been a Sunday evening, after a conference at Burcot Park. She’d caught the only train coming for hours. But that time she had been waiting for a direct train to London. She wasn’t sure how she’d get to Birmingham. If her ticket would let her on the Tube.
She looked along the platform. A short, pale man looked up from his perch in the ticket booth. She shook her head. No point asking him. He would guess where she’d come from.
She heard the rumble of an approaching train and stepped forwards, lifting her face to feel the wind.
It stopped and she climbed on. She didn’t look back at the station.
The carriage was quiet, just a woman and her teenage daughter at one table and a solitary man in a suit at another. He was reading a newspaper, a free sheet he would have picked up at a station. She wished she’d taken the time to look for one.
He glanced at her over it and she felt her heart skip a beat, waiting for the frown of recognition. It didn’t come.
She lowered herself into a seat further along, where she could surreptitiously read the headlines of his paper. MPs debate terror laws in wake of more unrest. So nothing had changed.
She gazed out of the window. Countryside raced past; green fields, ramshackle farm buildings, the occasional field of cows. A church steeple flashed by in the distance. She leaned her forehead against the glass, taking it all in.
The train entered a tunnel and she pulled back. The window was cold and felt clammy. She looked at the woman and her teenager. They were each engrossed in their phones. Separate but together. She thought of Samir. Samir in his room sitting alone night after night. He’d told them he was doing homework. Yusuf had reassured her that he was
being a normal teenager.
But he wasn’t.
He was being radicalised.
Yusuf would know where he was, surely. Would he have been allowed to visit?
Would he have made any progress on his promise to her, as she’d been led away at the magistrates’ court? Was it even possible for him to get their son back?
Now they could do it together. She had contacts still, and she was damn well going to use them. Never mind Catherine’s behaviour in Yonda’s office. She owed her.
She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. It was almost like a normal train journey, back when she’d been an MP. Letting the miles slough off the stresses of the parliamentary week, and preparing for the weekend’s work in the constituency.
She had plenty to prepare for, but she was ready. She knew how they were going to get Samir back, and she knew who she had to speak to.
She opened her eyes. The woman, the mum, was looking at her. Her daughter leaned against her, poking at her phone.
Jennifer swallowed. Don’t worry, she told herself. Even if she was recognised, it didn’t matter. It was a good thing.
The woman gave her a tentative smile. She smiled back.
It was going to be OK.
Divided We Stand
Book 3
Chapter One
February 2022
The station shouldn’t be this quiet.
It was rush hour. Bodies swarmed around Jennifer as she attempted to find her platform. But the people passing her were silent, the hush of New Street Station overlaid with a patina of unease. It was as if everyone was waiting for something to happen.
She stopped and looked up at the departures board. Had she missed something? Was there a security alert?
But the screens were quiet, announcing nothing more than the times of trains. And the crowds passing her looked calm, moving quietly through the space.
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