Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

Avtar managed to shrug, shake his head. ‘Maybe. I lose track.’

The next day, Avtar couldn’t get up from his mattress. He moved onto all fours and tried sliding his hands up the wall, climbing it, expecting his legs to follow. His knee shook and his leg buckled and he collapsed back down. Randeep was there to catch him.

‘Rest, bhaji. We’ll look for work tomorrow.’

He lay under his blanket all day. In the evening, Narinder boiled vegetables and he ate a little. Then he slept for a bit. When he woke it was dark and his armpits felt thick and oozy, tingling strangely, and a harsh drubbing went on behind his eyes. His insides were in agony. He thought he was going to shit them all out. He rose onto his knees, arms cradling his stomach, and felt a hot stream down his thigh, thudding onto the mattress. Shuffling sideways, crouched over, he made it off the bed and to the door, where he sat for a minute against the wood, sweating, wondering if this was it for him, then telling himself that it couldn’t be, that he had work to look for in the morning. He reached up and opened the door. He tried standing but couldn’t and crawled out of the room on his hands and knees. In the dark, disoriented, he started for the stairs across the landing, hands padding on ahead of him, knees scraping the carpet. He got as far as the banister when, dimly, he had a thought that the bathroom — because that was where he was headed, wasn’t he? — was actually behind him, next door to the room he slept in. He turned himself round, hand by hand, knee by knee, each movement seeming to wring his stomach. But he couldn’t go on. He was exhausted. He could hear himself panting. His elbows gave way, then his legs.

*

She worked late and had to catch the slow bus home. She didn’t mind. She was in no hurry to get back to the house. She preferred sitting on her own by the window, letting the bus carry her through the city in the lovely pretence that she could stay sitting here forever, going round and round, observing. She noticed things more now, she realized. What people were holding, the way they spoke. She wasn’t sure why. They passed the dark-green shores of Millhouses Park, the denuded trees and the brown Y of their mortification. She looked up at the sky and it really did seem full of snow. Everyone at work said it was coming, that it would be here before Christmas and last until the new year. At least that’s something you won’t have to worry about, Jessica had said. You’ll be back in London soon enough, as if London had its own bespoke weather system. She knew that, by then, she wouldn’t be able to marry Karamjeet. She’d lived her life by enough falsehoods.

Once back, she went upstairs and knocked on Tochi’s door, not expecting him to answer, not surprised when he did. Every night, sitting on her bed, she’d listened to him in his room, trying to think what he might be doing, trying to think what he might be thinking, but this was the first time she’d seen him in five days, since the night of Avtar’s collapse.

‘I thought you’d be at work.’

‘I’m on lates. I’m going in an hour.’

She nodded. ‘Will you — will you let me in?’

He turned sideways on and she stepped past. He’d moved his mattress into the alcove, beside the chimney breast. A dirty plate lay beside it, a spoon atop that.

‘How’s the patient?’ she asked.

‘I’ve not seen them.’

‘They’re only in their room.’

He nodded, said nothing.

‘This is for your boss,’ and she held out an envelope. ‘Avtar gave it me yesterday. So thank you. For the doctor.’

‘Wasn’t me.’

‘Still.’

Too scared to dial an ambulance, Tochi had called Malkeet, who rang back a few minutes later to say a doctor was on his way and what payment they were both expecting.

‘I’ll leave it here,’ Narinder said, placing the envelope on the windowsill.

‘Thank you.’

She smiled flatly and nodded to leave. He wanted to punish her for denying them a chance. He wanted to hold her thighs apart and suck her cunt into his mouth. He wanted to make her happy. His hands jerked out of their pockets.

‘Kanyakumari,’ he said.

She turned round.

‘Where I’d go if I could go anywhere.’

‘I don’t know it.’

‘It’s at the end of India. Nothing but sea from there.’

‘It sounds very beautiful.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘Why there?’

‘Because it’s the end and there can be no more false dreams.’

‘Only real ones? Then are they still dreams?’

‘I’m leaving,’ he said.

‘To go there?’ she asked, lightly mocking.

‘I’m leaving here.’

She didn’t seem surprised. ‘When?’

‘Maybe two weeks. After Christmas.’

She nodded, wished him luck. He heard her on the stairs, then he picked up the phone to Ardashir and asked if that building job in Spain was still going, and when could he start?

The doctor — a baby-faced elder Muslim with a short, coarse beard, his upper lip hair-free — had advised going to hospital, saying that all the symptoms pointed to a severe lack of nephron reabsorption, which meant things weren’t quite balancing out in his body. ‘It’ll be a small operation followed by a few weeks’ rest. You don’t want to risk septicaemia. And you’ve got a visa on file. There’s nothing to worry about.’

In the meantime, to help manage the pain, he left them with some insulin which Randeep drew into the syringe and passed to Avtar. They’d got good at doing this over the last week, three times a day. Avtar passed the syringe back to Randeep and started to retighten his bandage.

‘You should have told me about the operation,’ Randeep said. ‘Does Lakhpreet know?’

‘No. And it’s staying like that.’

‘You should go to hospital soon, though. Before it gets worse.’

‘Hmm.’ He was worried about the recovery time. A few weeks. Which probably meant months. It might as well be forever.

He rang home again that afternoon and this time, at last, someone answered. His father.

‘Thank God. Are you OK? I’ve been ringing every day for the last week.’

He said he was fine, his mother was fine, his brother was fine, the shop was fine. Everything was fine and Avtar wasn’t to worry and should concentrate on his studies.

‘Papa, what’s happened? You’re not telling me something. Put Navjoht on.’

‘Nothing’s happened. There was just some difficulty with some men last week.’

‘What difficulty? Did they do anything to you?’

‘We had to give them a few things.’

‘What things? Did they hurt you?’

‘The TV, the radio. Nothing important. Don’t worry.’

‘Did they hurt you?’

‘Uff, it was nothing. I’m fine now.’

He called Bal straight away, shouting at him to leave his family alone, that he’d kill him if they went near his papa again.

‘All your fault, man. We’ve given you chance after chance. You’ve got one week to settle up or we’ll do more to your pop than just take his TV.’

He didn’t sleep that night. He kept thinking of their old neighbours, Mr and Mrs Lal. How they’d been thrown out of their home, how broken and humiliated they’d looked.

He went to the chip shop in the morning, knocking on the rear door and asking the new gori if she could fetch Malkeet, please.

‘Mal-kit!’ she shouted. ‘One of your lot!’

Malkeet emerged from the service area, telling the girl — Megan — to go out front. Avtar hadn’t seen him since the drama with the chickens. He seemed to have got even fatter.

‘How are you, my friend?’ Malkeet said. ‘Feeling better?’

Avtar held out the crumpled notes. ‘Could you wire this across to my parents’ account? They need it now.’