Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

‘Sure,’ he said, taking the money. ‘I’m going to the bank. I won’t even charge you a fee.’

‘Thank you. Is Harkiran here?’

‘He’s on afters.’

‘OK.’ Then: ‘Is there any work, bhaji?’

Malkeet shook his head. ‘It’s quiet. Always is before Christmas.’

‘I’ll clean the floors.’

‘Avtar.’

‘The toilets.’

‘Avtar.’

‘You must have something.’

‘Maybe in the new year.’

Behind Malkeet, Tochi came into view, working, earning, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his orange uniform.

In the afternoon, he and Randeep tried the takeaways on Ecclesall Road, the corner shops in Darnall. Someone mentioned a Muslim clothes outlet up in Ridgeway, but when they got there the car park was empty and the factory seemed to have been closed for some months. They came straight back to the house, Avtar slamming the bedroom door shut.

‘What a wasted bhanchod journey.’

‘Maybe we can sell something,’ Randeep said, and they looked around the room and down at themselves and said nothing more about that idea.

Avtar didn’t go down for breakfast — he had no appetite, he’d hardly slept — and lay on his mattress trying to think where there might be work. Nothing came to mind. He heard the kitchen door opening and moved to the window. It was Tochi, in the yard. He looked like he’d only come out to catch some air, head tipped up. He remained in that pose for several minutes, unmoving, as if in some staring contest with the sky, and then he zipped up his jacket, decisively, and went to work.

Avtar climbed to the landing and tried Tochi’s door. It was locked, so, limping slightly, he fetched the metal pole from his rucksack. The first lock broke away and he listened out, for Randeep, for the girl. Nothing. He broke off the remaining two and then the gentlest of touches sent the door swinging open and he walked right into Tochi’s room.

He called Bal, the five thick rolls of money stuffed into his jeans pockets.

‘Come and get your money.’

‘Great. We’ll be there tomorrow.’

‘Now. I won’t have it tomorrow.’

Bal arranged for one his local cousins to meet Avtar outside the gardens. Avtar passed the cash over. Then he waited. He sat in the kitchen with the lights off and he waited.

Tochi stopped off at the station — he needed his tickets to London — but the counters were all closed, the green blinds laddered down. He spent some time trying to work the self-service machines, then gave up and went back to the house. He unlocked the kitchen door, not flicking the switch. He could see Avtar sitting there, at the table. Tochi said nothing and went through the beads and up the two flights. He saw that his door was broken. Inside, the bottom drawer of the wardrobe had been pulled out, the dummy panel smashed through. He went downstairs.

‘Give me my money.’

‘It’s gone.’

‘Give me my money.’

‘I said it’s gone.’

‘Where’s it gone?’

Avtar stared. ‘You stole my job. I stole your money.’

‘Where’s it gone?’

‘Fuck you.’

Tochi punched him, his knuckles slamming into Avtar’s cheekbone. ‘Get me my money.’

His nose was bleeding. His face ached. ‘Fucking thieving chamaar.’ He spat in Tochi’s face and charged forward. But he was weak now, his blows thin, and Tochi easily pushed him off.

‘Get me my money,’ he said again, drawing his fist back behind his head and driving, catapulting it into Avtar’s stomach. Avtar heaved, his head snapping back as if it was his face that had been hit. Another punch, once more into the stomach, where it was most tender. ‘Get me my money.’ Avtar staggered into the cooker, arms protecting his middle. He felt blood rise up his throat. He fell sideways onto the floor and could see his feet moving, scrabbling, though he had no sense of this.

All through the night he couldn’t stop shaking. Randeep kept fetching him water. He gave him another shot of insulin, too, though it made no difference. He was still grimacing, in terrible pain. Randeep knelt beside him and cradled the back of his friend’s head and brought his lips to the water. Avtar sipped, then flopped back.

‘Maybe we should go to the hospital,’ Randeep said.

Avtar didn’t seem able to speak.

‘You’re not dying, are you?’ Then, louder, ‘Bhaji?’ and this time Avtar opened his eyes and groaned weakly. ‘Would you like some more water?’ Randeep asked. A single nod. He laid Avtar’s head back down on the pillow, gently, picked up the glass and hurried to the bathroom. When he returned, Avtar was shaking again, shaking violently all over, in a way that reminded Randeep of the jackhammer at the old hotel site.

The snow came at dawn, quietly, gracefully. She brought her hands together in prayer, then didn’t know what to say, or to whom. She turned away from the window. Tochi entered the kitchen.

‘Still no word,’ she said.

He nodded. He withdrew two slices of bread from the fridge and spooned some cold sabzi onto each. He sat down and ate.

‘Is that it? Aren’t you even sorry for what you did?’

The side gate rattled and Randeep came past the window and into the house. His eyes were red, as if he’d been up all night.

Narinder stepped towards him. ‘How is he?’

He had his back against the door, looking at Tochi at the table. ‘They don’t know. They operated. They say they have to wait. To see how far the poison has spread.’

‘But he’ll be all right? Randeep?’

He said nothing. She told him to sit down, that he must be hungry, and got the tava out to make roti. Tochi washed his hands and reached for his boots.

‘Are you going to work?’ She looked at the oven clock. ‘Already?’

‘I’m going to the station first.’

Her face turned into a question.

‘To get a ticket. I told you. I’m going to London. And then to Spain.’

‘Spain? You mean you’re not coming back?’

Randeep snorted. ‘Running away.’

Tochi came right up to him, squaring up. ‘I never run away.’

‘I’m not scared of you,’ Randeep said. He shoved Tochi aside and went up to his room.

‘Did you have to do that?’ Narinder said. ‘Can’t you see how he’s suffering?’

Without a word, Tochi put on his jacket and shut the door behind him. She listened to him leave, then moved slowly to the table and stood with one hand on his chair. She thought of Tochi’s face, of Randeep’s, of Avtar lying in hospital. Who would be a man, she thought, in a world like this.

Upstairs, at the window, Randeep took the phone from his pocket. He could still see Avtar’s terrified face when the doctor said he might very well have to lose his foot. He’d promised Avtar he’d contact his family and let them know what had happened. First, though, he had a call to make for Narinder. The receptionist transferred him through to Vakeel Sahib.

‘Randeep!’ the lawyer said. ‘How’s my boy?’

‘Please start the divorce. It’s been over a year.’

They went over a few details, the lawyer confirming he’d already applied for Randeep’s stamp. ‘I’ll just need the girl to send me a copy of her passport. Fax or email will do. Can you ask her?’

‘I’ll do it now.’

He heard the lawyer laugh. ‘You sound like you’re in a hurry.’

‘No hurry,’ Randeep said, as he watched Tochi heading down the road, hands in his pockets, on his way to Spain. ‘But there’s no point in waiting.’

Tickets. She double-checked the reservation, what time she had to be at St Pancras, then slotted the orange cards back into her purse and put the purse under her pillow. Her suitcase was packed and ready at the side of her old dressing table. She went downstairs. The dishwasher needed emptying and after that she wiped down the kitchen surfaces. There was enough milk to last them another day and the fruit bowl held plenty of bananas, the only food that had never got stuck in her father’s dentures. She wasn’t sure why she still bought so many. She wrung out the dishcloth, left it by the sink, and went down the hall and into the front room.