On the third evening, Raff called in to see him. Raff wasn't his real name. That was unpronounceable. The two had known each other for many years when they were both junior reporters in the Midlands. Raff's family was of Sikh origin but they were deeply divided by issues of caste and belief. Raff had been brought up by an aunt who flouted Sikh convention and mixed freely with many cultures. As a result, Raff had a broad understanding of the Asian community in England as well as having a foot firmly in the English camp.
Raff sat by the bedside devouring Doug's fruit and chocolates whilst enquiring about the court procedures. He frowned and scratched his forehead as Doug ran through the list of charges and the advice given by Winston that his best defence was to plead ignorance.
"Might make you look a bit stupid to plead you didn't know what was going on in your own department."
"I've got very little choice."
There was a pause as they both digested this fact, broken only by the sound of Raff sucking loudly on a grape.
"Changing the subject, Raff, I need some advice?"
"What's that, mate?"
"I told you about Nick, my son, and his Indian girlfriend?"
"You mentioned it – yes."
"Well, it's getting tricky. You see she's Muslim and her father's banned her from having a relationship with a non-Muslim. In fact, he wants her to marry a boy from back home in India. She's refusing and has even said she'll take her own life. I want to help them but I don't know where to begin."
"Easy. Tell Nick to get out. Mixed relationships don't work. I've seen it many times. Someone always ends up getting hurt – usually the girl."
"I suggested that but Nick stormed off. He takes things seriously and he says he's in love with her." Raff sucked air through his teeth as he picked the last grape from its denuded stem.
"I mean, where does all this prejudice come from? If I could understand it, I might be able to arbitrate in some way."
"You have to go back to why these people left India in the first place. It was in the fifties and sixties when the first ones arrived. Mostly they were farm workers and they ended up doing unskilled factory work. There was a lot of discrimination. They couldn't get houses. They were never promoted. So they began to stick together. They concentrated in city centres – often run down areas where they could afford houses. And their religion became the glue which held them together. The temple or the mosque became the core of each community. And to protect that community, marriage outside of the faith became increasingly frowned upon."
"But there must be exceptions?"
"Oh, it happens alright, but there are consequences – often enforced by idealistic young radicals. Sometimes they're converts to Islam attracted by Sharia law."
"Sharia law – that's law laid down by the Koran?"
"Correct. It's both moral and religious law. The trouble is the Koran is interpreted in many different ways. The most extreme interpretation involves amputations, mutilation and beatings as punishments."
"Why don't the police step in?"
"These communities don't want the police involved. Sharia law reinforces the authority of the religious leaders. It's about power and control from within the community."
"There must be someone who can help?"
"The problem is these communities have shut themselves off from the rest of the world. No one speaks to outsiders. That's why there's a high incidence of honour killings and suicide amongst young Asians. There were nearly three thousand honour attacks in the UK last year – terrible things like acid attacks and mutilations – usually against women who have brought shame on the family."
After Raff had gone, Doug surveyed the remnants of his fruit bowl and pondered his dilemma. If he encouraged Nick and Aleena to elope it was possible they might be hunted down and their lives put at risk. If he tried to reason with Aleena's father he felt sure he'd find himself up against a cultural brick wall. And at the back of his mind was the worry that Aleena could try to take her own life. He needed to speak to both Nick and Aleena and get a better understanding of their situation. At the same time, he was determined to continue his research into Penhallam. Something about the manor and the mysterious Julia Masters drew him back.
On the fourth day, he managed to get a laptop delivered to the hospital and was able to send an email.
'Dear Julia. Thank you so much for showing me around Penhallam. Meeting you provided me with the stimulus I need to begin this book. However, as so often happens, this first encounter has raised more questions which I would dearly love to put to you. I'm hoping to be in Bude next week. I don't want to put you to any more trouble, so how about lunch? I'm sure I owe you that. Let me know what you think and then perhaps we can fix a date. Kind regards, Douglas Penhallam'
He hoped she would say yes. There was so much more he needed to know.
Chapter 7: London, April 20th 2011
He was discharged from hospital after six days and returned to the chaos of his Kilburn flat. The only sign of life amongst the debris that still littered the living room was the flashing light on the message service. He let himself collapse into his favourite armchair and poured a large whisky. Then he pushed the 'play' button on the answer machine.
'Hello, Douglas. It's me ... Heather. Do you remember? I was with you the morning the police came banging on your door. Erm ... I haven't seen you around. Look, I was hoping you could give me some help – like – promotion, you know, put a good word in. It's not that I gossip, Douglas, but I don't think you'd want word of our night together leaking out – 'specially some of the details. Don't think it would do your career much good. Look, just give me a call and I'm sure we can sort it out.'
He sighed. The poor girl didn't even seem to know he'd been sacked. Still, he could do without the details getting around if he was about to go on trial. He could imagine the headlines – 'Phone hacking journalist's perverted sex antics interrupted by early morning police raid'. He shuddered and made a mental note to contact her.
He pressed the button again.
'Look, Douglas. It's Winston here. We've got a new date for the committal hearing. They're charging five other journalists too. I think we need to talk. The media's going to have a field day. We need to discuss what you can and can't say. Call me.'
He sank back further into the security of his armchair and breathed deeply to combat a sense of rising panic. Still the answer machine winked relentlessly at him. He pressed the 'play' button again.
'Is that you, Mr. Penhallam – er, Douglas? It's Julia Masters – from the manor house. I got your email. I'm not sure I can be of any further help but, if you think otherwise, I'm happy to have lunch. Well, let me know when you're coming down then. Goodbye.'
"You have no more messages." The machine clicked off. He felt strangely elated. She'd agreed to have lunch. He'd contact Nick and arrange to see him then go on to Penhallam. But first, he'd better steel himself to pay a visit to the offices of Dalton, Brown and Sidley.
"It's shaping up to be something of a show trial," said Winston Brown, sitting at his desk surrounded by files. "I've never been involved in something like this before. It's all going to be very public."
"What will happen at this committal proceeding?" asked Doug, trying not to sound too anxious.
"Oh, it's a formality really. You and the other journalists will be asked how you plead and the case will be referred to the Crown Court. That's in three days. After that, we'll have about six weeks to get our case together."
"What are my chances, Winston? Do you think I may actually go down?"
"Difficult to say at this stage, I'm afraid. We think Halshaw may be wavering – regretting he cooperated so closely with the police in the first place. The PM's starting to distance himself from the newspaper proprietors. He senses there's unease out there in the shires about a witch hunt. Then there's the 'freedom of the press' lobby getting worked up about censorship. The Crown Prosecution Service is finding itself trapped between different lobbies. But
we're onto a good barrister – name of Harriet Westing. Lots of experience in human rights. She'll need to talk to you soon. So don't go too far away."
Sitting in a bar down the road from the offices of Dalton, Brown and Sidley, he decided it was better not to wait around in London for the committal hearing. He would drive down to see Nick tomorrow. Perhaps he could also get to meet Aleena. Then he'd go onto Penhallam and buy Julia Masters lunch. He sent a text.
'Hello, Julia. I'm down in the West Country tomorrow so could buy you lunch on Friday. Is that OK? Douglas.'
Driving back down the M5 towards Exeter, his mind sifted restlessly through the conversation with Raff. He could understand that migrants in the fifties from rural India who found themselves in rain soaked Derby or Nottingham would want to preserve some of their culture and identity. But on the other hand, they had made the choice to come to the UK, knowing that it was a predominantly different culture. Surely, they must expect that their children would grow up with western ideas and values?
He switched on the sat nav as he arrived at the outskirts of the city. The assertive female voice commanded that he leave the main road and weave his way through a jungle of tightly packed backto-backs.
"You've reached your destination," she announced coldly.
He pulled in and looked at the houses either side. Rubbish bins decorated what had once been small front gardens. Gates hung off hinges. He checked his notebook. Number eighty-four. Locking the car and double checking it was secure, he made his way towards the house. It loomed forlornly in front of him, devoid of any noticeable paint and sporting two broken chairs in the front garden. Grey net curtains hung limply at the windows.
He rang the bell but there was no response so he banged on the window using his car keys to increase the impact. There was shuffling behind the door.
"Dad," said Nick, flatly, as the door opened to reveal a small hall stacked with boxes.
"Hi, Nick. Good to see you. How are you?"
"Come in. We'll go up to my room."
Navigating the stairs required stealth. A bike on the bottom stair led upwards to a suitcase and a food mixer. Beyond, the available space narrowed considerably as pile upon pile of books transformed the stairs into a makeshift library.
Reaching the top, he followed Nick though a door and into a darkened room. A dim light in one corner sent out a pale red glow. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a large old wardrobe dominating the room. Fixed to its door was a full-size mirror. Reflected in the damaged glass he suddenly made out the face of a girl sitting on a bed. Her eyes were cast downward and her hands were thrust between her knees.
"This is Aleena."
He turned to look at her as she raised her eyes towards his. She had long black hair which reached down her back. Her eyes were hazel set into an oval face.
"Hello, Mr. Penhallam."
"Hello, Aleena," he stammered, trying to say her name quickly before he forgot it. "I didn't expect to see you."
"We thought it would be best if we talked to you together," said Nick, moving into the room and sitting on the bed next to Aleena. He put an arm round her shoulder and looked at her with warmth. She met his gaze and smiled.
"Aleena's going home this weekend to speak to her father. We can't decide whether I should go too."
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"
"I have to. We can't go on like this," replied Aleena. "My brother has broken his word. He's told my father about us. It's better if I speak to him quickly before he speaks to others."
"What others?"
"The elders, the religious leaders. They stick closely to the old ways. They'll poison his mind against us."
"How do you think your father will react?"
"He'll be furious – so will my mother. It will bring shame on our family. They will be shunned by the community – spat on in the street."
"Then why go back?"
"Because somebody has to make a stand. Nick and I want to be together. After us there will others. If we let this evil continue, it will only grow. I won't let that happen."
Doug exhaled deeply as he digested the implications.
"Have you thought that you might be in danger – physical danger?"
"We both know the risks. But sometimes, Mr. Penhallam, those risks have to be faced. Otherwise, what else is there?"
Suddenly, the darkened room and the stale atmosphere became oppressive. He needed space to think.
"Look, we can't really talk here. Let me buy you lunch. Name a restaurant, any one – I don't mind."
They drove into the centre of Exeter and selected a functional-looking Indian restaurant. It had a distinctly plastic feel about it, with illuminated ornaments and artificial plants collecting dust in dark corners. Nick and Aleena ordered vegetarian meals whilst he requested a spicy lamb tikka.
"Aleena, tell me a bit more about your family so that I can get my head round this," urged Doug, as their drinks arrived.
"I have two sisters and one brother. My father came here from Kashmir in the mid-eighties. My parents were already married and my mother followed five years later. They settled in Derby where there is a strong Muslim community. Their lives centre around the mosque. It's not only a place where people worship. It's the centre of their community – where we meet friends, have a gossip, exchange news. For my parent's generation it's important to be approved of – to have status. And that means conforming to the rules."
"And marrying outside of the faith is against the rules?"
"Most definitely."
"Supposing I tried to speak to your father, Aleena – to reason with him. I expect he's a decent sort of bloke. We might get on."
"It's not just my father. There are others who set themselves up as guardians of the community. They are fanatics. My father would be in danger if he spoke to you about such things."
"I could meet him secretly."
"In my community that is not possible. Everything is known. The walls have ears."
"So, what if you just walk away – ignore your family? Set up home together miles away from them. Even go abroad."
He saw tears well in her eyes and immediately regretted his callousness.
"You don't understand. For us, our family is everything. A Muslim girl without her family is like a tree with no leaves – stripped of her identity."
There was a pause as the impact of Aleena's words sank in. Then Doug broached an issue that he knew would be difficult.
"I understand there is a boy in India who you parents want you to marry. Suppose they try and force you?"
"I will not marry him. I am clear about that. I would rather take my own life than become a slave. Because that is what it is – slavery."
"I don't like to ask you this but I must. Why Nick? Wouldn't it be easier to settle with a boy from your own culture?"
For a while she didn't reply, her head was bowed – framed by a curtain of shiny black hair. Then she looked at Nick, smiled weakly and turned to address Doug.
"I am a Muslim girl with strong links to rural India. But I have been brought up in Derby. My life is full of contradictions. I am dominated by the traditions of our culture yet I have grown up like many western children – watching TV, mixing with children from different countries, receiving an education that equips me with hopes for the future. I no longer know who I am. I feel trapped between two cultures. With Nick I feel there is a chance that I can discover who I really am. Nick doesn't make judgments. He is open and he listens. Together, I feel that we can create something that is different but truthful for both of us – something that allows us to be who we want to be."
Doug remained silent. He didn't want to trivialise what Aleena had just said. It was Nick who spoke next.
"And, by the way, she's in love with me."
A broad smile spread across Aleena's face. She placed her hand over Nick's.
"Yes. I love him. And you love me – right?"
"You bet." And he kissed Aleena on the lips.
As he drove down to Cornwall later that evening Doug felt strangely elated. His view of Nick had changed. He was no longer the feckless and diffident youth that he'd known before. Both he and Aleena displayed a maturity that was impressive. They recognised the risks they were facing yet refused to give in to prejudice and coercion. He thought back fondly to his own campaigning days as a student in Nottingham. Rachel and he had spent endless hours in dingy smoke-filled pubs debating questions of morality with other activists who shared their idealistic aspirations. It seemed a long way from his present world.
Before departing, Doug had persuaded Aleena to delay her visit home by a week. He wanted time to conduct some research into the recent spate of 'honour killings' amongst Asians – who carried them out and why? He also wanted to find out more about converts – those from other faiths who had embraced Islam. What was it that drew them into this highly regulated and controlling religion?
His mind drifted back again to Penhallam and Julia Masters. He hoped his lunch tomorrow wasn't a mistake. He had detected in Julia a sense of melancholy and cynicism that matched his own mood. And he thought she knew more about Kate Penhallam than she'd let on. He needed to dig deeper.
Chapter 8: Bude, April 22nd 2011
He arrived at the hotel in Bude at eight that evening. Ordering a double scotch from the bar, he made his way outside to the terrace overlooking the beach. A cool breeze blew inland, carrying with it dark rain clouds. He felt uneasy – unsure about his obsession with Penhallam? Did he really have an affinity with the place or was it the trickery of an ageing mind. Perhaps he was losing the astute analytical edge that had won him plaudits for his investigative features.
The Voice Within Page 6