Kate Pullinger - Landing Gear

It was strange to think about his mother losing everything in that moment. She wasn’t hurt, not physically; only the guy dressed as Frankenstein was injured, and that was just a bang to the back of his head. The fact was, Jack was glad he had been there with his mum; he was glad she had not been alone that night. He was glad he witnessed what happened to her with his own eyes, not on YouTube, not on Facebook where, beneath the video, thousands of people had clicked on “Like.”

When Jack got home from school, Yacub was in the sitting room watching TV; it was no longer necessary for him to hide. Jack felt a pang—he kind of missed having a strange man hiding in the little room out back. Harriet was in the kitchen baking a tart for dinner. Once Jack got out of his school uniform, cleaned himself up and put on his newest jeans and his favourite T-shirt and a ton of cologne—you can never wear too much cologne—he was ready to head out to the shops with Yacub. His mother handed him a wedge of money. He looked at her in amazement.

“Two hundred pounds? You never give me this kind of money. Can I buy something for myself?”

“No,” she said. “You can have a drink and a cake somewhere.”

He was aware that Yacub had walked into the kitchen and was standing behind him, and he imagined what Yacub was thinking. Yes, Jack thought, I’m spoiled, I’m a fucking spoiled only child, but it’s her fault, she’s the one who spoiled me. He didn’t look at Yacub.

“Yacub has nothing, remember. He needs underwear. He needs socks. He needs pyjamas.”

“Mrs. Harriet, I have no shoes,” Yacub said.

“He needs shoes, he needs T-shirts and trousers and— He has nothing.”

They both turned to look at him. He was wearing Jack’s old track pants and an old jumper of Harriet’s; somehow, he looked almost stylish.

“Mrs. Harriet, I have no shoes.”

“He needs shoes,” Harriet said.

“No,” Yacub said, and Jack thought, why, why does he keep repeating the same thing? “Excuse me, but you don’t understand. I have no shoes now. They must have come off when I…” he paused, frowning, thinking, “disembarked from the plane.”

“Oh,” Jack and his mum both said, and they looked at his feet, which were indeed shoeless, plus Jack noticed he had a hole in one of his socks.

“Oh my god,” said Harriet. “I’m so sorry.”

There was no way that any of Jack’s shoes would fit him. Jack was a giant with a giant’s feet. Michael’s were nearly as big. Harriet went to the cupboard near the front door and foraged, returning with a bunch of shoes, mostly her own old trainers. She made Yacub sit down and she lined up the shoes in front of him and they watched as he tried them on, one pair at a time, both of them willing the shoes to fit, as though he were Cinderella and Harriet and Jack his collective Prince.

And he was lucky. Even though Harriet was several inches taller than him, a pair of her old black Chucks fit, at least well enough to enable him to walk over to the high street with Jack to buy proper footwear.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harriet,” Yacub said.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “We’ll get you some shoes that actually fit properly. Please, call me Harriet.”

“I will pay you back, Mrs. Harriet,” he said, and he sounded both earnest and anxious. “Harriet,” he corrected himself. Jack looked at him and thought, shit, this can’t be much fun for him, he’s a grown man, not a lousy teenager like me, happy to live off my mum’s handouts.

“I know you will,” Harriet said, and she smiled.

So Jack walked him through the leafy streets, past the big houses, watching him as he looked around, wondering what he saw.

“Everything is green,” Yacub said.

“It rains a lot,” Jack replied.

“It’s cold,” he said. “It is very cold in England.”

“This is warm, mate,” Jack said. “Let’s start by getting you a jacket.”

It was like taking an alien shopping. Each time they went into a new shop, Yacub paused on the threshold. He took a good look around before entering. Jack had no idea why he did this. He himself headed right in and wandered around looking at stuff. Yacub caught up eventually. Jack didn’t know if Yacub had ever been in shops like this before; he seemed startled by the idea of a fitting room. “You try things on first to make sure they look good,” Jack said. “Then you take them off, put your own clothes back on and pay.” Yacub found a few things he liked and he actually seemed kind of excited when they went into the next shop.

“The colours,” he said, “are nice. The clothes look,” he paused again, “American.”

He said the word American with such relish that Jack found it hard not to laugh.

“That’s because they are American,” he said.

Jack didn’t often go into any of these stores because he was too tall to fit most of the clothes; he bought stuff online from specialty websites. Also, this particular shop was not cool, so ordinarily Jack wouldn’t go near it. But Yacub was excited and that made Jack happy. I’m a good host, he thought. I’ll have to remember to tell Mrs. Harriet. That woman underestimates me.

Jack was standing near the entrance to the fitting rooms, taking care of Yacub’s bags while he tried things on, when Ruby walked through the doors.

She was standing in front of a table full of pastel-coloured cardigans. She moved toward the shelves of jeans. The shop was not busy so Jack’s view of her was clear. He hadn’t run into her for several months, which was about a decade in teenager-time, but she looked the same. Maybe her hair was a bit longer. Ruby had one of those bodies that made you turn away with embarrassment—it was so perfect. Everything tiny except the bits that were big. Her clothes were always exactly right, her hair, her lips, the way she smelled, the way she laughed, the way she… Jack hoped Yacub stayed in the fitting room forever so he could stand there for the rest of his life staring at Ruby without her noticing.

Ruby began to move through the shop toward him. Jack was not sure what to do. She glanced around a few times as though she was looking for someone, but she didn’t see Jack. This happened quite often. People did not notice Jack. Jack had a theory that he was too tall for people to see. On first glance he didn’t register as human. People thought he was a tree. Or a lamppost. He kept watching her and as he watched, he saw her take one of the pastel cardigans she’d been looking at and slip it into her handbag. Then she made her way toward the fitting rooms. And, at long last, she saw him.

“Jack!” she said. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, “Ruby.”

She put her hand on his arm and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Yacub chose that moment to come out of the fitting room. He looked at them. Then Jack watched his eyes widen as he took in Ruby, her shorts and her top, her hair, her eyes and her lips. I bet they don’t make them like this where you come from! Jack wanted to shout, but he managed not to do that, because of course they probably did make them like that where Yacub came from, they were just a little more covered up maybe.

“This is Yacub,” he said to Ruby. He felt compelled to explain further, so he said the first thing that came to him: “He’s my cousin. From the Pakistani side of my family.”

“Cool,” Ruby said. “Hi.” And she held out her hand to him.

Yacub found the shopping trip with Jack overwhelming. It was not like him to find anything overwhelming. In Karachi the lady of the household took him shopping with her; she needed a peon to carry for her. The driver took them to the Forum, which was the brightest, slickest, shiniest place he had ever seen. They drove past the banks of sandbags and the guards in their towers with their machine guns, right up to the main entrance. Of course, once he got to Dubai he saw shops that were bigger and brighter and slicker and much more shiny, but he never actually entered any of those. So Richmond High Street made him display his amazement, something he was not comfortable doing. And Jack carried his bags.