Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

Randeep thanked him, and at the bus stop he waited with his case while Avtar continued on to work.

*

That evening, Tochi was stacking cans of lager in the chiller cabinet at the shop when Aunty called him upstairs, saying her husband was back and wanted to meet him. The cans immediately doubled in weight. He dumped the cardboard in the recycling bins and slowly made his way up the steps at the side of the counter. He’d never been into the flat. The stairs turned at the top, into a living room papered sunshine-yellow.

‘Aajo, Tarlochan,’ Aunty said. ‘Come inside.’

She was sitting on one of two brown leather settees. On the other was her husband, a big, shaven-headed bloke with a scruffy goatee. From somewhere deeper in the flat came the sound of computer games.

The husband got up and extended his hand, as no one from back home would have done. So, one of those first-generation men: born here, married there. Tochi had nothing to worry about.

‘Kaise ho?’

‘Good, thank you,’ Tochi said, shaking the hand. ‘The work’s good. Thank you.’

‘More than good,’ Aunty said. ‘Not once has he been late or had time off. Everything is done quickly and cleanly. He even knows how to do the newspaper returns. You know how they hurt my back so.’ She sounded eager for her husband’s approval.

‘OK, OK. You did good. Stay for roti?’ he added, to Tochi, but Tochi said he’d already eaten and should get going if there wasn’t anything else.

Back at the house, he transferred his wages to a small metal box which he kept hidden in his room. He stroked the money rolls packed into the tin, like cigars in their expensive box. His savings really were mounting up. The shop work, the hotel work, plus what he’d earned in Southall. It was still early, but, who knows, by the end of the year he might even have enough to rent on his own.

Over the next week, the invitations upstairs became more and more frequent. At first it was to help move a cupboard from the living room into the bedroom, or to see if he could have a look at fixing the noise coming from the sink. Soon, he was asked to join them at the table, especially as Aunty was plating up anyway and the boys were heading out with their friends. ‘I’ll only be throwing it out,’ she said. ‘It’s already two days old. Keep us company.’ So Tochi asked to wash his hands and sat down tentatively. Uncle wondered if he’d join him in a whisky, and when Tochi declined, saying he didn’t drink, he saw a smile spread into Aunty’s face.

One evening, after using his clunky English to move on a couple of boys drinking outside the shop, Tochi was approached by Uncle who had a good long chat to him about his plans and hopes for the future. Did he intend on living illegally forever? Was he going to return home once he’d earned enough?

‘I don’t know.’

‘Your aunty says you have no family back home?’

‘Ji.’

‘They passed away?’

‘Ji.’

‘Brothers, sisters?’

Tochi shook his head, once.

Uncle nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s up to us to think of something for you, then.’

He was asked up to another dinner a few days later and that was when Aunty came right out and said that she had a beautiful niece who would be the perfect match for him.

Tochi stared, then said, ‘No. Sorry.’

‘Just think about it only.’

‘No girls agree to marry boys like me from India.’

‘Well, she’s divorced and thirty-eight with a twelve-year-old boy, so obviously her choices in this life are limited. She needs to be realistic about who she can get.’ Then: ‘But she’s lovely. Really, she is. She can cook and clean and she’s such a respectful girl. She’s had some real bad luck in life, that’s all.’

After a short silence, Tochi said, ‘Thank you, but I don’t want to get married.’

She batted this nonsense away. ‘You boys all say that. Your uncle was the same. But once the hot fresh rotis start coming you soon change your mind. Now,’ she went on, tapping the table with a coin, ‘obviously if your matah-pitah were still with us I’d speak to them, but is there anyone else, an elder, I can speak to?’

‘I’ve said, marriage isn’t for me. I’m not the right person.’

Uncle seemed to register some of Tochi’s concern, and laid his hands flat on the table, warning them of the plain speaking to come. ‘As usual, your aunty is getting too far ahead of herself. All we are saying is that the family is desperate to get Ruby married. The longer it goes on, the less chance there is, and you know the stigma of having unmarried girls sitting at home. Especially ones with children. Secondly, we think you’re a hard-working young man. You’re a good Jat Sikh boy. You’ve been with us for several months now and we’ve been very pleased with you and we trust you. We feel we know you. We don’t think you’d run off and divorce her and get a normal bride once you got your stamp. So many boys do that these days and it’s a real worry for us.’

‘And she can still have more children!’ Aunty exclaimed, as if that was the clincher. ‘I know some of the girls you boys have to settle for can’t, but she can. She’s all there.’

‘Mum,’ her husband cautioned, and she withdrew, apologized. ‘Tarlochan, all we’re saying is why don’t you and Ruby meet and if you decide to take it no further then that’s fine. But if you do get on and things reach their natural conclusion, then, well, both Ruby’s problems and yours are solved, aren’t they? And isn’t that what we all want?’

They wouldn’t stop talking about the girl, saying how perfect she was, that once he saw the photo he’d soon change his mind. They weren’t listening, and, on the site, his frustration seemed to be powering the hammer drill all afternoon, until he saw Vinny parking the van. Very gently, Tochi released the drill brakes. He’d learned his lesson last time when he’d stopped drilling all at once and the shock of it had taken his feet from under him and the shooting pains in his shoulders lasted an entire week. Now, the metal growling calmed, died, and he shook each arm in turn until it felt normal again. He pawed at his face with the yellow plastic gloves and the oversized goggles slipped off. He tapped the chalk out of them. Forty metres, he guessed. Forty extra metres he’d drilled, all because some gora architect got the gas pipes on the plans in the wrong place. Vinny stepped out of the van. But it was too early to be picking them up. He had a tie on, too. Tochi watched him stride over to the foreman’s cabin, knock, enter. He didn’t look happy.

They teased him about the tie on the ride home. Interview, Vinny Sahib? Take us with you!

‘I’d rather eat my own turds,’ Vinny said, charmingly.

He seemed in a better mood now, but later, when someone asked why the electricians hadn’t turned up yet, his eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror and he told them all to keep their bastard mouths shut.

More suits turned up over the next five days, some leaving with boxes of files under their arms, and John, Tochi noticed, was spending less time on the site, more on the phone in his cabin. He watched Vinny on the rides home; at the tense, shifty way he sometimes glanced about. If they really were on to him, it wouldn’t be long before they found and raided the house. Maybe it was time to return to London. He could call Ardashir. Then, one evening, Vinny showed up at the shop. Tochi hid himself in the aisles. He didn’t know why Vinny would’ve come here. Or how he knew this was where he worked. He’d been careful to not tell anyone the shop’s name. Always checked no one from the house was following him.

‘Del!’ he heard Vinny say. ‘How goes it?’

‘Well, well, look who it is.’