The Year of the Runaways (39 page)

‘What do you mean, you’re not going? Of course you are.’

‘I can’t risk leaving my job. Not now.’

Randeep dropped to the mattress, beside Avtar. There was an excited gleam in Randeep’s eyes. ‘So you’re going to go fauji?’

If he went, even if he didn’t pass – as long as he showed up – then Dr Cheema said his visa would almost certainly be extended for another year, and he could carry on without any fear of being deported. As long as no one found out about him working. If he didn’t even show up then his visa would be revoked, and the police would come to find him. He’d be worse off than those who snuck in illegally, because at least no one knew who those young men were. Therefore, not showing up would be, at least according to the doctor, a really stupid decision.

‘Fryers off?’ Malkeet asked. He was a big, chesty dump truck of a man, topknot showing through his American baseball cap, sweat patches in the pits of his T-shirt.

‘Ji, boss.’

They locked the back door and walked round to the forecourt, where Avtar helped pull down the shutters.

‘You not got a home to get to?’ Malkeet said.

Avtar passed him the padlock. ‘Actually, bhaji, I was wondering—’

‘Here it comes.’

‘—if there were any extra shifts I could do?’

‘Nope. Ask me in September. When the gori’s gone.’

Avtar nodded. ‘Would it be OK to get an advance on next month’s pay, then?’

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s only that the building work seems over and I owe—’

Malkeet flung out his arm, palm raised, as if to stop an onrushing vehicle. ‘Don’t. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what you are or who you owe. I don’t need to know your problems. Now, was there anything else?’

Avtar asked if he’d still have his job when he came back from London.

‘Why?’

‘Please promise me I’ll still have my job.’

‘Is someone coming for it?’

‘They might.’

‘Well, that’ll be for me to decide then, won’t it?’

‘I’ve worked hard for you. Can’t you promise me my job?’

Malkeet took his car keys from their apron pouch and de-alarmed the old estate; he left the Mini to his wife. ‘Do you think I’d have got anywhere in this country if I made promises like that?’

*

Tochi ate his evening meal early, then washed and shaved. He returned to his room, locked the door, and, in his underwear, sat facing the cracked swivel-mirror propped against the window. He draped a towel over his shoulders and twanged the tortoiseshell comb – several of its teeth missing – and combed his wet hair forward so it clung together in thick slats over his eyes. Because he was now trusted to work on the till, Aunty had told him always to come looking – he grasped for the English word she’d used – ‘presentable’. He patted his hand around the sill, docking on the scissors, and began to snip.

There were noises downstairs: doors shutting, laughter. A plate smashing, maybe. Tochi cut about two inches off his fringe, the hair falling into a child’s red potty gripped between his feet. He rinsed the scissors and the potty and returned them to the bathroom, where a quick head-bath dealt with the fussy little filings of hair stuck to his neck. Back in the room, he unfolded the letter. The handwriting was untidy, loopy, with great curling tails and circles drawn above certain letters. Or perhaps the circles were letters in themselves. There were crossings-out, too, probably where she’d decided against a word or simply misspelled it. In any case, it all made no sense to him. Maybe he should have accepted Aunty’s offer of translation. But he hadn’t wanted to give her false hope. He looked at the photo again: a pretty, shy, nervously smiling face. A fullish body, nicely curved, wrapped in an orange-and-brown salwaar kameez. The doorknob rattled, followed by a knock. He stashed the letter and photo under his mattress, then dressed. As he opened the door, Randeep was standing up from the keyhole.

‘Gurpreet’s back. Drunk again,’ he said, passing inside, speaking quickly – caught out. ‘I threw my dinner down as quick as I could. They’ll be drinking all night now.’

Tochi reached for his boots and forced them on, leaving the laces untied for now.

‘You going to work?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Some of the guys are saying that Vinny bhaji’s finished. That it’s dangerous to stay here.’

‘It is. You should find somewhere else.’

Randeep placed his cutlery on the windowsill. He noticed a few hairs stuck to the mirror. ‘What about you?’

‘London.’

‘Really?’ He turned round. ‘Have you found work there?’

‘Not yet.’

‘But when you do, you’ll go?’

Outside, a bus rasped up the hill.

Tochi stuffed his hand under the mattress and brought out a sheet of light-blue paper. ‘Read this for me.’

‘What is it? Is it from home?’

‘Just read it.’

It was a short letter, which Randeep read to himself first and then translated sentence by sentence:
Hello and sasrikal, Bhuaji asked me to say a little about myself. Well, I’m Ruby. I’m 37 and I have a little boy who’s 12. His name’s Santokh (which probably tells you how strict my in-laws were! Bhuaji said she’s spoken to you regarding my divorce so I won’t go into that here but I’m happy to talk about it if you want to meet.) I’m a homely girl and like being with my family. I work part-time in a supermarket. I’d prefer to stay in the area after marriage as I don’t want to disrupt Santokh’s schooling again, but if that’s a problem I’m happy to talk about it. I don’t mind that you’re illegal but if things do move onto the next stage then I’d like to do things properly (i.e. get proper visas from India and live here by the law). I’ve included a photograph of myself. Thank you and best regards, Ruby.

Above the salutation Randeep discerned, vigorously crossed out, ‘Bhuaji says you’re very good-looking!’ She must have decided that was a bit too much informality.

‘So where’s the photo?’ Randeep asked.

‘They don’t listen,’ Tochi said heatedly. ‘I’ll have to find another job.’

Randeep understood. ‘You lied.’

‘I had to.’

He passed the letter back to Tochi. He felt quite moved that Tochi had asked him to read it, that he’d trusted him. ‘You know, there’s a flat sitting empty underneath Narinderji’s. We could go there: you, me, Avtar bhaji.’

Tochi was standing at the window, looking out.

‘You’ve never mentioned your family,’ Randeep said, pushing a little further.

‘I’m not going to start.’

‘I’m here because my daddy isn’t well. He tried to kill himself.’

Tochi nodded, slowly. ‘Be happy yours is still alive.’

At the shop, they seemed to have heard everything.

‘I don’t think he’ll get away this time,’ Uncle said, about Vinny. ‘They know too much.’

‘Poor boy. He’s only trying to help. What his family must be going through.’ Aunty double-kissed the air, sympathizing. ‘What about you? How are you surviving now?’

‘Fine,’ Tochi said.

‘Do you want any extra shifts?’

‘I wouldn’t say no.’

Uncle asked him to do an hour on the till because Aunty would be cooking upstairs and he needed to complete next week’s cash-and-carry order. She came down at ten o’clock, the ends of her fingers yellow with turmeric, and started to cash up. Tochi seized his jacket.

‘Staying for dinner?’ she asked.

Tochi said he wasn’t.

‘I spoke to Ruby today. And I know you keep saying no, but she’s so keen to meet you. She’s a great girl.’

‘I’m sorry, aunty.’

‘But I don’t understand. It could be everything you’ve dreamed of. None of this hiding or lying or worrying about the police. A passport. A British passport. Isn’t that what all you boys want?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, and nodded at her husband on his way out.

He could smell the saag as he arrived back at the house. He made for the stairs – he wasn’t hungry – but froze when Gurpreet called his name.

‘I hear congratulations are in order! You’re getting married!’ Others joined in, laughing. ‘You’re reaching beyond your dreams, Bihari!’

Tochi bolted up the stairs and into the room. Randeep followed, running. ‘I’m sorry! They overheard. I was only telling Avtar bhaji. I thought he might be able to help. With work.’

Tochi pushed him to the wall and held him there. Fear sprang to Randeep’s face.

‘You’re the same. You think I’m just someone for you to laugh about.’

He shoved him again, then let go, and Randeep stood there gasping, a hand to his throat.

They’d tied coloured ribbons to the cabinets and scattered confetti over the kitchen counter. He could hear them still laughing behind the door to the TV room. Tochi filled a glass with water. He downed it, one hand on the tap, filled it again, drank half and chucked the rest.

Avtar came through the beads and leaned against the fridge, running a hand down his tired face. He hadn’t changed out of his uniform.

‘Randeep told me what happened. He’s sorry.’

‘Right.’

‘Maybe you should apologize, too.’

‘He should learn to keep his mouth shut.’

‘It was an accident. He was trying to help you.’

‘I don’t need anybody’s help.’

‘He’s a kid. He’s the youngest here.’

‘About time he learned.’

Avtar pushed off the fridge, sighing resignedly. ‘Whatever. Just don’t let it happen again.’

‘Right.’

‘I mean it. I’m giving you a chance now. Next time, pick on someone who’ll fight back.’

Tochi turned his face, sharply, as if someone had pressed a button in his neck. ‘Like you?’

‘If it happens again, or if you steal my job, I’ll wrap your head around that fucking wall.’

Tochi put his glass in the sink.

‘I’m not scared of you,’ Avtar said. ‘You act like some man of mystery, some tough guy. It doesn’t scare me.’

‘Maybe it should.’

‘There’s only one person I’m scared of.’ He pointed up.

‘Good for you.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning your God’s a bastard.’

‘I think you should take that back.’

Tochi came into the centre of the room. ‘Is this all you can do? Talk?’

They circled round, fists raised loosely. Tochi aimed one to the stomach, which Avtar dodged. ‘Nearly,’ Avtar said, and crunched a blow across Tochi’s cheek, cutting it. Tochi reeled back, then flicked in and caught Avtar twice: chest, side. Avtar doubled up, heaving. Sick came lurching up his throat. He forced it back down and with an almighty roar launched himself at Tochi, throwing him back onto the counter and sending all their Tupperware boxes whirling about. They grappled, cussing and punching, and were still kicking out when the guys from the TV room rushed in and split them apart.

Two evenings later, Tochi shouldered the final sack of potatoes from the storeroom and carried them into the shop proper. He took a knife from his back pocket to slice the bag open and was counting out the first few when a gold saloon parked up, half on the kerb. The driver wore an oversized turban and had an impressively floury beard. Two women got out as well, and all three walked past the window to the metal stairs at the side of the shop. It was the girl from the photo, and her parents, no doubt. Aunty came round from the counter.

‘It’s only a meeting. There’s no harm in you two saying hello.’

‘I can’t. I won’t.’

She started fussing over his cuts, touching his face. ‘Better. Now wait down here and I’ll call you when the time’s right.’

He stared at her, at the tremendous glee in her eyes.

‘Oh, you’ll thank me in the end,’ and she disappeared behind the sliding panel and up the stairs.

He could run. He should run. They didn’t know where he lived. But he hadn’t had his wages – he wasn’t working for nothing – and back at the house they were still laughing about it all. It filled his ears. The man had a big turban: obviously Indian-born, raised. It was reckless, asking for trouble. But he wasn’t going to run. Not any more.

Aunty led him upstairs, where the girl – woman – was sitting on the settee, clearly anxious. Her mother sat beside her, and sunk into an armchair was the girl’s father, legs crossed at the knees, thumbs drumming the mahogany whorls of the armrests. His sky-blue turban gave him at least an extra foot in height, and it came to too precise a point at the tip, as if it could be used to prise Tochi open. Uncle invited Tochi to come and sit next to him, on the settee opposite the girl.

‘How are you, beita?’

He looked up. It was the girl’s mother. She had a kind smile, an understanding voice. Tochi nodded.

Aunty came back into the room – she’d closed the shop for half an hour, she said – and handed round plates of snacks, which Tochi declined with a single shake of his head. No one said very much.

‘Maybe we should give Tarlochan and Ruby some time alone?’ Aunty suggested.

‘We haven’t even heard the boy speak yet,’ the girl’s father said. ‘He looks like he’s been in a fight.’

‘Twelve, fifteen boys in a house,’ Aunty pointed out. ‘Tell me where there won’t be scuffles?’

‘How long have you been here, son?’ the mother asked.

He took care to speak in flat, accentless Panjabi. ‘Nearly two years.’

‘Two years and already a chance of a passport. You must think you’ve won the lottery,’ the father said.

‘It’s kismet, isn’t it?’ Aunty retaliated. ‘It’s God’s plan.’

‘What’s your pichla?’ the mother went on.

Tochi said nothing. Aunty spoke: ‘I told you. His matah-pitah are no more. He was an only child.’

‘What? No taih-chacheh, no land, no anything back home? Everything he has is here?’ The father moved his hands, as if displaying the air in front of him; as if by ‘here’ he really meant ‘nothing’.

‘He’s here – ’ the word said with force – ‘trying to make a better life. He works on a building site all day and for us in the evening. What more do you want from him?’ Aunty turned to the girl’s mother. ‘Bhabhi, you understand? I don’t know why my brother is always looking for badness.’

‘This is about my daughter’s future. It’s my job to look for badness.’

‘Tell me about your pind,’ the mother asked.

‘It’s Mojoram,’ Aunty said.

‘The one close to Jalandhar?’ the father asked.