Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

The woman behind the desk was young, with large teeth and a heavy fringe dyed purple. Avtar shook a hand through his own hair, flattening it at the back, and waited to be acknowledged. She seemed busy on the computer.

‘Hi!’ she said, beaming, as the printer started up beside her. ‘Sorry Do you have an appointment?’

‘I would like to see the doctor, please.’

‘You’ve come to the right place. Are you a patient with us?’

Avtar had rehearsed his response: ‘I am visiting for a few days only. Normally I live in London, where I study. Could I see him, please?’

‘Her,’ she corrected, a little pointedly. ‘So you’re a visiting patient.’

She fished out a form from a two-tier rack bolted to the wall and placed it on the counter before him.

‘Just fill this in, signing it here, here and — ’ she flipped the form over — ‘here. And then we can look to make you an appointment.’

‘But I need to see the doctor today. Please.’

‘What seems to be the problem?’

He hesitated. ‘I am having pains. In my stomach.’

‘OK. Well, we are booked out but if you fill the form in I can get you registered on a temporary basis, and then I’ll slot you in between appointments. Does that sound fair?’ She held out a pen.

Without really thinking, he did the little Indian wobble of his head — perhaps kindness had disarmed him momentarily — and he took the form and the pen and found a vacant orange seat in the busy waiting room behind him.

He sat there with the pen poised, writing nothing. Address. Current doctor. Non-UK national status (if applicable). Medical card number. He didn’t know what to put for any of these. He returned to the kind woman behind the counter.

‘I am sorry. But could I see the doctor only? I need bas five minutes.’

She glanced at the form in his hand. ‘You do need to fill the form in first. Perhaps I can help?’ Gently, she took the paper from him. ‘They can be a bit confusing. We’ll go through it together. Name?’

‘Nijjar. Avtar Singh Nijjar,’ and he wondered if already he’d gone too far. Said too much. They knew his name. They’d discover he wasn’t anywhere near where he ought to be. That he was here working illegally. Fear began to rage.

‘Address?’

Avtar gazed at her.

She smiled. ‘Was it London you said?’

He shook his head, then ran down the escalators, tripping over at the bottom, and he didn’t stop running until he was back behind the station and walking to the cabin.

He rang Lakhpreet. He thought it would help, hearing her voice, but when she answered he didn’t recognize it. It sounded different. He kept the phone to his ear. She was talking. About what, he didn’t understand.

‘Jaan?’ she said.

‘Hm?’

‘I said we’ve not heard from Randeep for ages. Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘Can I speak to him?’

‘He’s asleep.’

‘Oh. OK. Tell him to call, will you? Mamma’s frantic.’

He thought of his own mother. He imagined her being thrown onto the street. ‘I need to go.’

‘Wait! Can’t we talk for a bit? How are you? Missing me?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You sure? You don’t sound yourself.’

‘Don’t I?’

He could see her frowning. ‘Anyway, what have you been up to? Anything fun?’

He opened his mouth but no words came out. He had nothing, absolutely nothing, to say to her.

He couldn’t sleep, and, the next day, he couldn’t walk either. He sat up on the floor of the cabin, lifted his T-shirt and tightened the strap he now kept belted around his stomach. He had to get to work. Twice last week he’d arrived late and not once did he finish the job on time. ‘Last chance, capiche? I got places to be, man. I’m losing money with every second,’ his boss had said, clicking fingers. Avtar leaned in to the side of the cabin and with enormous effort heaved up onto his feet.

He’d be fine, he told himself, as he arrived at the club. Once he got his head on the job he’d forget about the pain. There was nothing to worry about. And after his boss drove off Avtar opened the broom cupboard and laid out very neatly the bottles and sprays and disinfectants he’d need. He went round and picked up all the litter, then raised the chairs onto their tables and vacuumed the entire hall, going right into the corners. He mopped away the standing piss in the toilets, polished up the urinals something pretty, and made a start on scraping the shit off the toilet bowls. He’d be finished soon. Then he could rest. The stains just needed a little more work. They weren’t quite coming loose. He scratched harder, digging the scraper in. It made no difference. The pain was coming back. Nothing was going right. Why wasn’t anything going right? He closed both hands around the wooden handle and started stabbing the ceramic bowl, chipping enamel. And then he was charging around the club, slashing the seats and smashing the mirrors.

At work, she was misfiling things — the wrong books on the wrong shelves — and several times she forgot that new library cards needed to be countersigned before they were laminated. She had to discard them and start again.

‘You seem a bit preoccupied,’ Jessica said.

‘No, no. Just tired.’

On the wooden counter her phone rang, its incessant vibrations absurdly loud. The immigration inspector: she recognized the number. He’d been calling every day. She stared at the screen, at the shrieking telephone icon, and killed the call. Later, she rang her father, if only to hear his voice — as a comfort against the howling wilderness inside her.

‘Is everything all right, beiti? I can hardly hear you.’

‘I was — I hope people are treating you well? I hope they’re not being hard on you because of me.’

‘Let them say what they want. I know my daughter, I tell them. She’ll be back soon. She’d never do anything to shame me.’

As she heard those words, words she’d heard all her life, she wished she’d not rung him after all. She said goodbye, quietly, and closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself weightless, without such expensive burdens. It was impossible.

Over dinner that evening, Tochi said, ‘I fixed the oven.’

‘Yes. I noticed. Thank you.’

‘It should last us through the winter.’

She nodded. ‘The winter. Of course.’

He looked across. Her hair was twisted up into the nape of her neck and he thought how, without her turban, she looked like a different woman altogether. Her eyes and mouth seemed smaller, as if the turban had amplified everything. ‘It must feel strange, not wearing it.’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. I’m not very good company tonight. I was just thinking. You know, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?’

He took another roti.

‘Well?’

‘I’m eating.’ He lifted the side of his plate, the better to scoop up the sabzi. He could feel her waiting for an answer.

‘You could go anywhere,’ she said. ‘I think that must feel wonderful. To have the freedom to go where you want. To do what you want.’

‘If you’re lucky. If you have the money.’

‘But it’s not about money,’ she said, betraying a slight vehemence.

‘Everything’s about money.’

She frowned, as if he’d thwarted her attempt to get at something deeper.

‘Courage, then,’ he said. ‘If you have the courage you can go anywhere. Do anything. Be with anyone.’ He fixed her with a look. ‘Just have the courage.’

She flushed and picked up her roti, signalling the end of the topic.

As they cleared the table, her phone rang, and again she cut it off.

‘The inspector?’ Tochi asked.

‘He won’t stop. I don’t know what to do.’