928 Miles from Home

by Kim Slater

  Sergei stands up and walks towards me. He looks as if he’s going to slap me round the head or threaten me. There’s nothing I can do about it in this state; maybe I even deserve it.

  I steel myself for what’s coming, but he knocks me out in a whole different way. His face softens and he lays his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Calum,’ he says simply. ‘You are my friend.’

  My chest bucks as I try and hold in a sudden sob that comes from nowhere. I look away and blink furiously before I make a complete fool of myself.

  I think of everything Sergei has done for me while I recover from the accident, how he has always forgiven me the awful things I’ve said to him and brushed aside the fact I’ve been part of a group that has mercilessly bullied him at school.

  And it’s at that moment that I realize something for the first time.

  Sergei Zurakowski is my friend.

  He’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had.

  Sergei is in the kitchen, making lunch.

  I glance at my phone on the arm of the chair and see that I have a voicemail message. I left it on silent so didn’t hear it ring.

  The voicemail is from Dad.

  ‘I’m back later today. Listen, I’ve got to bring the stuff back to the flat, just overnight. It’ll be gone again tomorrow but I wanted to say, no more wisecracks about it being illegal in front of Sergei, OK? We don’t want to worry Angie about all this. See you later.’

  By ‘the stuff’ I assume Dad means his haul of fake handbags. He’s never brought anything like that back to the flat before. I know it’s risky. If the police catch him with it here, they could prosecute him.

  I decide not to mention it to Sergei.

  ‘Dad’s coming back later today,’ I tell him when he brings the sandwiches through.

  He nods. ‘There is something I would like to show you this afternoon, Calum. Something I would like you to see.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say with a shrug, wondering what building he’s planning on making this time.

  After we’ve eaten, Sergei helps me over to the settee and settles his mum’s laptop on his knees so we can both see.

  ‘I want to show you Warsaw, my home.’

  I don’t really feel like looking at some scabby little village with no running water or electricity. There are other things I need to think about, like how I’m going to tell Dad that Angie has an older son called Janusz that he didn’t know about and who is currently banged up in Nottingham Prison for assault.

  Sergei is my friend, but my dad . . . Well, family is family, right?

  Sergei pulls up a photo on the screen. It shows a sprawling city at night. There is a big square with a tall monument in the centre. Little market stalls lit by tiny lanterns line the side streets, and the whole area is surrounded by beautiful buildings, most of them tall, with many floors and windows. The buildings are painted in different colours – terracotta, cream and green.

  I point to a stunning building on the right with a clock tower and curved ornate decoration.

  ‘Ah, this is one of my favourite buildings also, Calum,’ he beams. ‘Zamek Królewski, the Royal Castle. It was built in the fourteenth century. Now there are many concerts held here, and some wonderful art inside.’

  Sergei flicks through photo after photo, showing stunning architecture, a university, a presidential palace.

  I shake my head slowly in amazement. ‘I thought you came from a little town with hardly anything but squirrels there.’

  Sergei laughs out loud. ‘There are approximately two point seven million people living in Warsaw. It is hardly a tiny town. Much bigger than Nottingham.’

  He tells me that most of Warsaw was flattened to rubble during the war and had to be completely rebuilt. That’s hard to imagine, looking at the impressive skyline there now.

  ‘But there is more to Warsaw than buildings. We have many forests there, too,’ Sergei adds, proudly showing me photographs of him and Angie sitting at a small cafe table, surrounded by trees. ‘And here is the Chopin monument at the Royal Lazienki Park.’ He points to another shot of himself posing proudly beside it.

  He clicks on another photograph, and when it loads up he’s struck silent for a few seconds.

  ‘And this . . .’ he says softly. ‘This is home.’

  It is a small, neat house on the edge of a pine forest. Sergei, Angie and a grizzled old man stand together outside.

  ‘This is Dziadek.’ He points to the old fella and his voice softens. ‘Our neighbour took the photograph just before Mama and I left to come to England.’

  They are all smiling in the photo, but I know from what Sergei told me that it must have been a very scary time. They were all afraid of his father and what he might do next.

  Sergei is showing me some photos of his best friend, Pawel, when we hear a noise at the back door.

  ‘Hello,’ Angie calls. ‘Surprise, I am home!’

  She’s not supposed to be back yet. Dad is on his way with his illegal goods haul.

  I hear her struggling in with her suitcase, and Sergei runs through to help her.

  ‘How is he?’ I hear him ask breathlessly as they drag luggage into the hall. ‘How is Dziadek?’

  ‘He is good, Sergei.’ She smiles when they reach the living-room door. ‘He is much better. I think he is going to be OK.’

  Sergei hugs her, then turns to look at me, and I grin and give him the thumbs-up. His eyes linger on me a bit longer. He’s wondering if I’m going to tell Angie I know that Janusz is in prison.

  ‘And how are you, Calum?’ Angie walks over to me. ‘Are you also getting better?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ I say. ‘My leg is still really painful but Sergei’s a great nurse.’

  ‘Ha!’ Angie laughs. ‘Perhaps this is your calling in life, Sergei. Not to become an architect of great buildings but a nurse.’

  Sergei shakes his head, and grins, but his eyes keep darting at me, unsure of what I’ll do next.

  I reach for my phone. I need to let Dad know Angie is home.

  I text Dad several times but there’s no reply.

  When Angie and Sergei are busy in the kitchen, I ring him. There’s no ring tone, it just goes straight to answerphone, which must mean the phone is off or he’s in an area of poor signal.

  I’ve decided I’m not going to mention the Janusz situation to Dad by phone. Best to wait until he’s home.

  But they’ll have to tell him as soon as he gets back. It’s only right.

  Angie comes into the room and I know immediately, by the look on her face, that Sergei has told her I know about Janusz.

  ‘I am sorry you had to hear the news about my eldest son from someone else, Calum,’ she says, her eyes downcast.

  ‘It’s just . . . Dad. My dad should know about him.’

  ‘Of course.’ Angie nods, her eyes shining. ‘I should have told him right away, I know that. It is just that there was never a good time and I admit I was afraid he would tell us to go, to leave. And I really don’t want to leave, because I love your father, Calum.’

  Blimey. This is all getting a bit too intense.

  I shuffle uncomfortably in my chair and stare at my phone screen.

  Angie seems to sense I’m embarrassed and goes into the kitchen. I send another couple of texts to Dad, but he still doesn’t reply.

  An hour later, Sergei and I sit in the lounge while Dad and Angie are arguing in the kitchen over what Sergei says is a mountain of black bin bags filled with fake handbags.

  ‘I just don’t understand why you are dealing with criminals, Pete,’ I hear Angie cry out. ‘You are a talented man who can rely on his own hard work and skills to make money. And you could go to prison.’

  A deathly silence falls in the kitchen. Sergei and I glance at each other.

  And then Angie tells Dad. She tells him all about Janusz.

  Dad and Angie disappear into the bedroom ‘to talk’.

  Sergei listens at the door for a while, but all he says he
can hear are the odd few heated words and his mum sobbing.

  After seeing Angie, and how upset she was about not telling Dad the truth, I believe what she says is true. That there was just never a good time to talk about Janusz. Just like there was never a good time to tell Linford that Sergei had moved in with us.

  I believe Angie is a good person. I trust her.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ll sort it out,’ I tell Sergei, noticing how quiet he is. ‘Everything will be OK, you’ll see.’

  ‘I was just thinking about something, Calum. There is something important we still do not know the answer to.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You still have your mystery to be solved.’ He looks at me. ‘If I am not the person vandalizing the centre, then who is?’

  I nod. ‘And there’s the even bigger mystery of who was driving the car that mowed me down in broad daylight.’

  Dad says the centre is probably going to have to close after this latest damage, and somewhere there’s a crazy driver who is still loose behind the wheel.

  ‘Why don’t we just camp out there?’ I’m suddenly filled with bravado. ‘We could hang around every afternoon until we find out what’s happening.’

  Sergei’s eyes drift to my legs.

  ‘You can push me in the wheelchair,’ I urge him. ‘And we won’t do anything stupid. We’ll call the police if anything kicks off, maybe get a picture on my phone as evidence. What do you say? We’ve nothing else to do with our time.’

  Sergei’s face lights up.

  ‘We can begin tomorrow afternoon.’ He grins. ‘Maybe we can ask Amelia to help us. I think she could keep a secret.’

  Later, Dad and Angie come out of the bedroom and sit side by side on the settee.

  Sergei and I stop sorting through the pieces of card required to build his latest project, the Eiffel Tower, and look at them both.

  ‘We just wanted you to know everything is fine between us,’ Dad says, reaching for Angie’s hand. ‘I understand why it was so hard for Angie to tell me about Janusz. Do you understand that too, Calum?’

  ‘Yep.’ I nod. ‘Totally.’

  Angie takes a deep breath as if she’s steeling herself.

  ‘Sergei and I want you to know, Pete and Calum, that we respect you and we are sorry for keeping this information from you.’

  Angie looks at Dad, and smiles, and he kisses her on the cheek.

  Sergei looks at me and smiles, and I smile back. But he’s not getting a kiss. He grins like he knows what I’m thinking.

  ‘We feel bad missing Calum’s birthday,’ Dad says, looking at me. ‘So when you feel up to it, son, we’re going to have a couple of nights in London to celebrate. All four of us.’

  ‘Wow, thanks,’ I say. Dad’s never done anything like that for my birthday before and I don’t know whether to believe him or not.

  I look at Angie, and she gives me a secret wink. I know she’s telling me it will happen.

  Dad goes to the chippy and we all sit in the lounge. When we’ve finished eating and chatting about what we’ll do in London, Angie puts the TV on.

  Dad is trying to watch the news headlines while Sergei takes him through the very lengthy process of how he built The Shard.

  We just look like an ordinary family, having an ordinary evening in.

  My chest feels warm and solid, like everything is going to be OK.

  I sit and look out of the window. I can see the street from my chair. It’s dusk now but our curtains are still open. The odd car comes down the street, but all the younger kids have gone inside, so there’s no football on the road and no squealing and laughing.

  A lone figure comes into view, someone wearing a zipped-up jacket with a hood, hands buried deep in his pockets. I watch as he crosses over the road and stops outside our gate.

  He pulls off his hood so I can see his face and he looks straight up at our window.

  He has a black eye and he looks thinner than I remember. Even though he is a long way from me, I think I can see something in his eyes that tells me he wishes things were different. He looks scared.

  Without thinking, I raise my hand and nod.

  And Linford waves back. Then he pulls his hood up and carries on walking down the street, cutting a lonely figure in the semi-dark.

  I wake up to banging in the hallway outside my room. Sergei’s bed is empty.

  I sit up and rub my eyes.

  ‘Hello?’ I call.

  The door opens and Dad puts his head round.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, son. I’m just getting my tools together to put in the van.’ Dad’s face is grim. ‘Someone broke nearly every window in the centre last night.’

  My mouth drops open and I get this heavy feeling in my throbbing legs, like they’re both filled with cement.

  ‘Shaz had only just locked up, so it must’ve been just after nine, because neighbours called the police at nine thirty.’ Dad shakes his head in frustration. ‘I’m off now to board up, so see you later, son.’

  ‘Bye, Dad,’ I say quietly, lost in my own thoughts.

  Dad was watching the Ten O’Clock News last night at about the same time I spotted Linford outside on the street.

  Later, Dad and Angie go shopping, and Sergei helps me down the steps and into my wheelchair.

  The agony of my injured leg heats me up from the inside and I feel like abandoning our plan to go to the centre.

  ‘If you cannot manage it, do not worry, Calum,’ Sergei says. ‘We can go another day.’

  But by the time I collapse down into the wheelchair at the bottom, I can’t face going back up the steps again, so the decision is made.

  As Sergei pushes, we talk. I tell him my suspicions about Linford.

  ‘He is your friend, Calum; you know him well. Do you trust him?’

  I don’t reply, but of course the answer is no. I don’t trust Linford one bit.

  Sergei parks up my wheelchair just the other side of a low hedge that borders a patch of waste ground on the edge of the estate and directly next to the centre.

  The gates are locked up and the main shutter is pulled down over the entrance door. The windows Dad boarded up last night look like sightless eyes. The centre looks quiet, and a bit creepy, but there is nobody suspicious around.

  There’s a shout behind us and we both jump, wondering if it’s someone out to get us.

  Amelia starts to run towards us, smiling and waving.

  ‘I only just saw your text, Sergei,’ she says, slightly out of breath when she reaches us. ‘The signal isn’t very good on the boat.’

  ‘Shh,’ Sergei tells her. ‘We need to stay quiet and out of sight.’

  I grin at her. I’m glad she’s here.

  I haven’t noticed until now that Sergei has a rucksack strapped to his back. He unbuckles it and pulls out sandwiches, cake and crisps.

  ‘We forgot to have lunch at home before we left,’ he explains.

  ‘Ooh, good, I’m starving.’ Amelia helps herself to a cheese sandwich without being asked.

  My stomach has been churning all the way here, not through hunger, but from wondering if we will witness Linford causing more damage.

  Sergei hands me a small bottle of water and I take a long swig.

  ‘Not much happening,’ I say with a shrug. ‘We might as well have gone fishing in the canal for all the hours we’ll probably sit here with nothing to do.’

  ‘This is all very . . . exciting.’ Amelia rolls her eyes. ‘But we’re a bit old to be playing spy games.’

  ‘There!’ Sergei hisses, and ducks down, bending his knees so his head is below the hedge.

  I part the hedge and catch movement. Over by the bins.

  ‘It looks like him,’ I whisper, taking in his dark jeans and hoody. ‘It could be Linford.’

  ‘He looks dodgy,’ Amelia says, crunching a crisp near my ear.

  The figure has his back to us, but his hoody is pulled up over his head, and only his jeans and trainers are visible. The outfit
certainly looks very similar to what Linford was wearing last night.

  The figure creeps around the side of the building, rattling the window boards Dad had secured.

  ‘I think he is trying to find a way in,’ Sergei whispers.

  ‘What shall we do?’ asks Amelia. ‘We can shout, to stop him causing more damage?’

  ‘No. We need to catch him in the act or else it’s just our word against his,’ I say.

  I take out my phone and snap a couple of pics, but when I check them, all I can see are hedge leaves. As I look at the screen, my phone dies. I forgot to charge it last night.

  The figure pulls at one of the boards and then looks around shiftily. He pulls something from a deep pocket. A crowbar.

  ‘Ring the police,’ Sergei hisses without looking at me.

  ‘I can’t, my phone just ran out of charge.’

  Suddenly there is a loud thud, and a board pulls clean away from one of the windows.

  Sergei stands upright.

  ‘I am going over there,’ he says, his face thunderous.

  ‘No! Are you mad?’ Amelia grabs his arm. ‘He might turn on you.’

  ‘Someone has to stop him,’ Sergei says, shrugging her off. ‘He will run off and you two must try and see his face.’

  Before I can say another word, Sergei is off. He bolts over the fence and shouts, ‘Hey!’

  The figure turns around, but we still haven’t got a good view of his features because of the hedge in front of us.

  I can hear shouting, scuffling. I can’t move, and Amelia is rooted to the spot with wide eyes. The frustration burns like acid in my throat. And then I see there are more figures appearing inside the centre yard; I don’t know where they have come from.

  ‘Oh no, Sergei’s going to get hurt,’ Amelia cries out, running towards them.

  I let out a yell of fury, desperate to help Sergei and Amelia but unable to move my legs.

  There’s a screech of brakes as Dad’s van pulls up by the waste ground, and out he jumps. When I look round, Mrs Brewster is barrelling down the road towards us.

  ‘Are you OK, Calum, love? I told your dad you were stuck out here.’ She leans a hand on my wheelchair and bends over, gasping for air.