Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

‘We need to close. Can you leave, please?’

‘What were that? Speaka da English?’

‘Kirsty, can you call the police, please?’ It was a hollow threat. All the staff had been warned never to bring in the police.

‘Oh, Kirsty, is it? Thirsty Kirsty?’

Avtar went through the counter flap and opened the door. ‘Get out.’

‘Or what?’

‘Kirsty?’

She lifted the receiver. ‘You’ve got five seconds or the pigs are here.’

One of them — light-brown curls cut close to his skull — moved to the door and spat right into Avtar’s face. ‘Cunt.’

They filed out, spitting in turn, and Avtar closed the door, locked it, dimmed the lights, and went back to the toilet to clean his face in the basin. He heard Kirsty behind him.

‘I’m so sorry, Avtar.’

He nodded, though perhaps even worse than the spitting was the quietness in her voice, the sense of someone being embarrassed for him.

*

Narinder took the letter from the pocket of her cardigan. It had arrived for her at the gurdwara, over a week ago now, and it was from Karamjeet, her fiancé. She reread the brief, typed message for perhaps the twentieth time. He said he knew she was in Sheffield and that he wanted to meet. If she refused then she left him with no choice but to tell her father and brother where she was. He reminded her of his mobile number and signed off by saying that he hoped she agreed that he deserved an explanation at the very least. As she slipped the letter back into her pocket, there was a knock on the door.

‘Sat sri akal,’ Randeep said. ‘The front door was open so I came straight up.’

She looked past him and down the stairs. ‘I must’ve forgot.’

‘I thought maybe someone had moved in. Into the flat. Downstairs.’

‘Have they?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Who is it?’

‘No one. I don’t — sorry?’

She shook her head, apologizing — she seemed agitated — and moved aside to let him past. ‘Please, sit down,’ she said and poured tea with her back to him. She wore one of her usual plain salwaar kameez. A light-blue and white one, like a Panjabi girl’s school uniform, which on some level Randeep was too anxious to reach for he found vaguely arousing.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I just thought it would be better if we discussed this face to face.’

‘No, I’m sure you’re right.’

They sipped their teas. She asked him how work was going, gesturing towards his hands. He looked at his rough palms.

‘It’s fine. Thank you for asking. Easier in this weather. Even if everything’s so damp. I hated the snow. And for you? You’re still enjoying living here?’

She smiled a so-so face. ‘The weather doesn’t really affect me.’

‘Yes. The summer will be nice when it comes.’

‘Let’s not get our hopes up.’

He wondered whether a joke might be appropriate here, something about how British they were being, talking about the weather like this. She stood and returned with a piece of paper from a low kitchen drawer.

‘They say the visit shouldn’t last more than a couple of hours.’

It was a confirmatory note from Her Majesty’s immigration people. As per the terms of the spousal visa, they intended to pay a routine visit which included interviews with both parties. The last line of the letter specified the date of the appointment and an injunction that Mr Sanghera and Ms Kaur make every effort to accommodate the visit, or to call them as soon as possible if this wasn’t possible.

‘It’s good they gave a date. They don’t usually do that.’

‘How do you know?’

He smiled. She must think he did this kind of thing all the time. ‘Someone told me.’

She closed her fingers around her tea. He could see her swallowing.

‘Please don’t be nervous,’ he said. ‘I’m here.’

‘It’s hard not to be.’ Then: ‘I suppose you’ll take the day off work and come here in the morning?’

He placed the note back down, adjusting its position by minute degrees until its edge sat exactly parallel with the table’s. ‘I was talking to some of the guys and they said the things the inspection people look for are signs that we’re definitely living together. For example, that I know my way around the flat. One couple was caught out because the inspectors asked the man if they could have a glass of water while they interviewed the wife. And the man didn’t know which cupboard the glasses were in. They got suspicious and then it was all over for them both.’

‘So shall I show you where everything is? It won’t take long.’

Randeep tried again: ‘Actually, Narinderji, my bhajis were saying I should spend some time living here before the inspectors come.’

She waited for him to go on.

‘They said two weeks, at least.’

Her face betrayed no reaction. She put her mug down.

‘I’ll be at work most of the time. And then after the inspection, I’ll be gone. I promise. As soon as they leave, I’ll go too.’

‘No. I’m not going to agree to that. Two weeks is a long time.’

He nodded that it was, it really was. ‘I just don’t want anything to go wrong during the visit, that’s all. And I’d sleep on the settee, of course,’ in case that was what was troubling her. She looked at him as if to say where the hell else did he think he would be sleeping?

He started on a routine of press-ups and crunches. Each morning, while he waited his turn in the bathroom, he leaned his mattress against the wall and did fifty of each, and the same again in the evening after work. When Avtar accused him of trying to impress Narinderji — ‘What are you going do? Walk around with your top off?’ — he laughed it off, saying that was only for those filmi hero types. On the evening of the move, he finished his press-ups, jumped to his feet and looked down at himself. His white vest seemed to hang on his frame as limply as ever. There was no discernible change in his soft biceps. No muscles showed through his stomach.

Avtar knocked, entered.

‘I shouldn’t have to do this, you know,’ Randeep said. ‘You’d think working on that building site all these months would’ve made some difference.’

‘Ready?’

The crack in the mirror ran right over his mouth, so he had to bend slightly to check his teeth were clean. They were. And, yes, his shirt buttons were done up correctly, as was the zip on his black trousers. He turned round and picked up his suitcase.

‘OK. I’m ready.’

They made a strange pair walking down Ecclesall Road. Tall, thin Randeep dressed as if for the office, rolling a suitcase behind him, and Avtar in his baked-bean orange. The neon of various restaurants struck out against the fresh damp evening, and queues were hedging up outside the more popular bars. Avtar read the signs out loud. Any chance to practise his English.

‘Cubana. Prezzo. Mud Crab. Café Rouge.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Abuelo? Is that right?’

Randeep looked. ‘That’s right,’ he said, not really knowing either way. ‘You’ll fly through the exams.’

‘Arré, Baba, don’t tempt the evil eye,’ and Avtar palmed up some imaginary dust from the pavement and threw it over his shoulder. ‘Was Vinny OK with all this?’

Randeep nodded. ‘He said he’ll pick me up from the station first and then do the rest of you.’

‘Makes sense. And it’s light when he picks us up now. You’ll be fine.’

‘Jashn-e-bahaar, bhaji.’ He inhaled. ‘My favourite time of year. Everything’s so new.’

‘Acha, acha, calm down. Don’t get too excited about staying with her.’ He sighed. ‘You on the rota?’

‘No. I checked.’

‘Good. And I’ll cover your milk run. I’ll speak to Gurpreet.’