Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

‘Isn’t that stealing?’ Randeep said, in the kitchen.

Avtar flattened the bag into a circle around the chicken and then, with both hands, and with something approaching reverence, lifted the meat out and onto the wooden chopping board. It was large and fleshy and plump-legged and kingly. Yes. It looked majestic.

‘So you stole it?’ Randeep said again.

‘Shall we just starve, then? That bhanchod gave my job away.’

‘Still,’ Randeep said, though he had to admit the chicken looked like the best chicken ever. He could hear the saliva in his mouth.

‘Do you know how to take the bits out?’ Avtar asked.

‘The bits?’

‘You know.’ He flicked his eyebrows to the right, as if indicating someone over there.

‘They have bits?’ Randeep said.

‘Of course they have bits. What did you think they had?’

‘But aren’t they taken out before. . before they get to us?’

Avtar looked at the chicken. ‘Do you think so?’

‘I’m not sure. Where would they be?’

They turned the chicken over so it rolled slightly to one side, and peered in, nostrils doing the opposite of flaring.

The chicken — chopped and curried — provided two meals a day for three days, for all of them. At the end of the third day, Gurpreet slurped up the last of the gravy, licking his spoon clean in a predictably vulgar manner.

‘Good work, Nijjara. You got the next one ordered?’

‘No,’ Randeep said and looked to Avtar for confirmation. But Avtar had a guilty touch about him. ‘Bhaji, think of the risk!’

Chuckling, Gurpreet rested his hands on his turban. ‘Not even a year and stealing like an old hand. You’re on your way.’

They didn’t steal a chicken, in the end. They stole a whole crate of them. The night before, Avtar lay awake calculating how many chickens he could sell and at what price. Each crate contained twenty, he remembered, and at least ten crates arrived every morning. Malkeet wouldn’t miss the one. He wouldn’t even notice. And Avtar figured he could get maybe five pounds for a whole chicken.

‘Two hundred pounds a day?’ Randeep cried, as they watched for the delivery truck.

‘Shh! And it’s one hundred. And I’ll have to give Hari something.’

‘Wow. That was nearly a whole week on the hotel. But what if we’re caught?’

‘Drop the chickens and run,’ Avtar said, and they looked at each other and laughed.

When the truck came past — Northern Foods Ltd — Avtar shimmied up onto the bus shelter and watched it reverse onto the forecourt, obscuring his view of the shop. The delivery guy got out — a friendly Scot called Gordon, Avtar recalled — and the flaps of the truck opened with a squeal.

‘What’s happened?’ Randeep asked him.

The crates were levered onto a pallet and wheeled to Hari. Then Gordon saluted — ‘OK, boss,’ he used to say — and less than a minute later the truck was on the road again.

‘It’s gone,’ Randeep said.

‘Yeah,’ Avtar said, still watching.

Tochi came out and carried one of the crates indoors. It would take him at least five minutes to unwrap twenty chickens and perhaps another five to arrange them in that massive fridge of theirs. He saw what must’ve been Hari’s hand gently closing the door, and then his phone glowed.

‘Go!’ Avtar said, jumping down, running.

They slowed at the corner, making certain the door was still closed, then rushed forward again. Avtar unclipped the catches, detaching the crate from its stack, and gestured urgently for Randeep to grab the other end. And though they started off with it lifted up to their chests, by the time they shuffled past the bus stop their arms were at full stretch and the crate like a swing between their thighs. The chickens were heavy.

All the chickens were sold by the following morning. Avtar sent a text round to every single fauji and scooter he knew, saying he had twenty chickens, each one enough to feed five men two meals a day for three days. Only 5pd. Jaldi! Their last sale was to a cheeky scrote of a Bangla who bought three chickens, intending to eat one and sell the other two at a profit.

‘Right. The next lot I’m pricing at eight pounds,’ Avtar said, coming back into the kitchen. ‘But in the meantime. .’ He grinned and handed Randeep his share. ‘Money! We’ve got money! Can you believe it?’

‘We’re rich!’ Randeep said, circling the money around Avtar’s head, as if he was a groom. ‘We’re rich!’ and they did a little bhangra around the kitchen table, arms aloft, laughing, making up the tune as they went along.

Randeep passed Narinder the envelope, feeling a little smug. ‘Early this month.’

She smiled, which surprised him. She never smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Randeep. I’ll see you soon.’

‘We’re making good money now,’ he blurted out, keen for her to stay.

‘Oh, that is good news. Are you still at the hotel?’

‘No, no, that ended — ’ he counted out loud — ‘nearly two months ago now. We’ve gone into business.’ He waited for her to be impressed.

‘Business?’ she said, though she wasn’t really listening any more, distracted by Tochi coming up the road.

Randeep could feel his face filling with a meld of embarrassment and jealousy. Didn’t she know how humiliating it was for him to be seen standing on her doorstep like this?

Without looking at them, without a word, Tochi sidled past and disappeared into his flat.

‘Sorry What were you saying?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, deflated. ‘I should go.’

‘Me too. I have plans.’

‘Oh?’ Was she doing something with him? ‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘I am, yes.’ She smiled again, wider. ‘I’m going swimming!’

It had, of course, been Vidya’s idea. At first Narinder pleaded that she’d never been swimming and didn’t even own a swimming costume. Then, once a suitable costume had been sourced, she said she couldn’t be in a pool with naked men. The thought of it seemed outrageous. A week later Vidya announced that she’d found a pool that offered once-a-week ladies-only sessions. ‘We’re going. No more excuses.’

Narinder emerged from the changing rooms in a neck-high elbow-to-knee number. ‘Why are you trying so hard not to laugh?’ she said to Vidya.

‘I’m not! You look great.’

‘I look like a seal.’

There were only three other women in the pool, all brown, and the whole place was thick with the smell of chlorine. At the shallow end, Vidya climbed in first, then waded out, her arms in a circle above the water.

‘Is it good for the baby?’ Narinder said.

‘Just get in, you chicken!’

She clutched the chrome rail and touched her foot to the water. Cold. But not too cold. She put her foot in again and this time left it there. She looked at it, at the water and light rippling over her toes. She lowered herself in, the water coming up over her shins, her knees, all the way up to her thighs. It didn’t stop. It felt like she was being taken over. Shivering, she turned round to face Vidya.

‘Come over here,’ Vidya said. ‘You’ll be fine once you start moving.’

So she started pushing through the water, arms in an X over her chest. The shivering ceased.

‘Isn’t that better?’ Vidya said.

‘It’s still cold.’

‘You need to get your face wet.’

‘What?’

Vidya cupped her palms under the water and splashed Narinder’s face.

‘Pehnji!’

‘Now do this,’ and she pinched her nostrils together and dunked under the water. When she rose back up, her face was glistening, hair drenched. ‘Your turn.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Just do it!’

She placed a palm over her face, covering her mouth and nose, and bent to meet the water, not going down vertically like Vidya, but forwards, as if she was bowing for prayer.