‘Sat sri akal,’ Randeep said. ‘The front door was open so I came straight up.’
She looked past him and down the stairs. ‘I must’ve forgot.’
‘I thought maybe someone had moved in. Into the flat. Downstairs.’
‘Have they?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Who is it?’
‘No one. I don’t – sorry?’
She shook her head, apologizing – she seemed agitated – and moved aside to let him past. ‘Please, sit down,’ she said and poured tea with her back to him. She wore one of her usual plain salwaar kameez. A light-blue and white one, like a Panjabi girl’s school uniform, which on some level Randeep was too anxious to reach for he found vaguely arousing.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I just thought it would be better if we discussed this face to face.’
‘No, I’m sure you’re right.’
They sipped their teas. She asked him how work was going, gesturing towards his hands. He looked at his rough palms.
‘It’s fine. Thank you for asking. Easier in this weather. Even if everything’s so damp. I hated the snow. And for you? You’re still enjoying living here?’
She smiled a so-so face. ‘The weather doesn’t really affect me.’
‘Yes. The summer will be nice when it comes.’
‘Let’s not get our hopes up.’
He wondered whether a joke might be appropriate here, something about how British they were being, talking about the weather like this. She stood and returned with a piece of paper from a low kitchen drawer.
‘They say the visit shouldn’t last more than a couple of hours.’
It was a confirmatory note from Her Majesty’s immigration people. As per the terms of the spousal visa, they intended to pay a routine visit which included interviews with both parties. The last line of the letter specified the date of the appointment and an injunction that Mr Sanghera and Ms Kaur make every effort to accommodate the visit, or to call them as soon as possible if this wasn’t possible.
‘It’s good they gave a date. They don’t usually do that.’
‘How do you know?’
He smiled. She must think he did this kind of thing all the time. ‘Someone told me.’
She closed her fingers around her tea. He could see her swallowing.
‘Please don’t be nervous,’ he said. ‘I’m here.’
‘It’s hard not to be.’ Then: ‘I suppose you’ll take the day off work and come here in the morning?’
He placed the note back down, adjusting its position by minute degrees until its edge sat exactly parallel with the table’s. ‘I was talking to some of the guys and they said the things the inspection people look for are signs that we’re definitely living together. For example, that I know my way around the flat. One couple was caught out because the inspectors asked the man if they could have a glass of water while they interviewed the wife. And the man didn’t know which cupboard the glasses were in. They got suspicious and then it was all over for them both.’
‘So shall I show you where everything is? It won’t take long.’
Randeep tried again: ‘Actually, Narinderji, my bhajis were saying I should spend some time living here before the inspectors come.’
She waited for him to go on.
‘They said two weeks, at least.’
Her face betrayed no reaction. She put her mug down.
‘I’ll be at work most of the time. And then after the inspection, I’ll be gone. I promise. As soon as they leave, I’ll go too.’
‘No. I’m not going to agree to that. Two weeks is a long time.’
He nodded that it was, it really was. ‘I just don’t want anything to go wrong during the visit, that’s all. And I’d sleep on the settee, of course,’ in case that was what was troubling her. She looked at him as if to say where the hell else did he think he would be sleeping?
He started on a routine of press-ups and crunches. Each morning, while he waited his turn in the bathroom, he leaned his mattress against the wall and did fifty of each, and the same again in the evening after work. When Avtar accused him of trying to impress Narinderji – ‘What are you going do? Walk around with your top off?’ – he laughed it off, saying that was only for those filmi hero types. On the evening of the move, he finished his press-ups, jumped to his feet and looked down at himself. His white vest seemed to hang on his frame as limply as ever. There was no discernible change in his soft biceps. No muscles showed through his stomach.
Avtar knocked, entered.
‘I shouldn’t have to do this, you know,’ Randeep said. ‘You’d think working on that building site all these months would’ve made some difference.’
‘Ready?’
The crack in the mirror ran right over his mouth, so he had to bend slightly to check his teeth were clean. They were. And, yes, his shirt buttons were done up correctly, as was the zip on his black trousers. He turned round and picked up his suitcase.
‘OK. I’m ready.’
They made a strange pair walking down Ecclesall Road. Tall, thin Randeep dressed as if for the office, rolling a suitcase behind him, and Avtar in his baked-bean orange. The neon of various restaurants struck out against the fresh damp evening, and queues were hedging up outside the more popular bars. Avtar read the signs out loud. Any chance to practise his English.
‘Cubana. Prezzo. Mud Crab. Café Rouge.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Abuelo? Is that right?’
Randeep looked. ‘That’s right,’ he said, not really knowing either way. ‘You’ll fly through the exams.’
‘Arré, Baba, don’t tempt the evil eye,’ and Avtar palmed up some imaginary dust from the pavement and threw it over his shoulder. ‘Was Vinny OK with all this?’
Randeep nodded. ‘He said he’ll pick me up from the station first and then do the rest of you.’
‘Makes sense. And it’s light when he picks us up now. You’ll be fine.’
‘Jashn-e-bahaar, bhaji.’ He inhaled. ‘My favourite time of year. Everything’s so new.’
‘Acha, acha, calm down. Don’t get too excited about staying with her.’ He sighed. ‘You on the rota?’
‘No. I checked.’
‘Good. And I’ll cover your milk run. I’ll speak to Gurpreet.’
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, plu
s 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.’
They spoke for a while. The usual things. Family, football, work. Vinny said it was going well. That he had a big project – a hotel – in his portfolio and a couple more in the pipeline. ‘Happy days. Just waiting for the funds to come through.’
So, he needed money.
‘Well, if you need any more faujis,’ Uncle said, ‘I might know someone.’
And maybe he gestured or something because Vinny appeared at the top of Tochi’s aisle. ‘Him?’
Tochi came forward, nodding at Vinny. ‘Uncle, shall I start sweeping up outside?’
He was ignored, while Vinny explained that Tochi was one of his men, that he’d picked him up from a restaurant in Southall.
‘You didn’t say you worked on the building side?’ Uncle said.
‘I didn’t want to.’
‘Oh, I bump into them everywhere,’ Vinny said. ‘Fuck knows where the pigs are looking, cos I can’t go into a chippy without seeing one of my lot. You’ve got a good one here, though. Hard worker. Not the chattiest, mind.’
Uncle agreed. ‘But he’s stubborn. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. We want to get him set with my missus’s niece. Marriage-wise. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He just says no.’
Tochi stared at the floor, heat rising horribly up his neck. It was all going to come crashing down. Right here. Vinny looked from Tochi to Uncle and back again. ‘That’s great. That’s really open-minded of you, Del.’
Tochi closed his eyes, waiting.
‘He’s a good lad,’ Uncle said. ‘He deserves a break.’
‘Still. Good on you.’
Vinny left soon after, saying he’d come again another day. They watched the van reverse out.
‘I was waiting for that,’ Uncle said. ‘He’s been everywhere with his begging bowl. Lucky for me you were here.’
Tochi said nothing.
‘He’s a nice boy but they’re on to him so if you’ve got any sense you’ll cut your ties. Find another job. And if you’re living in one of his houses, move.’
Tochi asked again if he should start sweeping up outside.
‘And if you’ve go
t any real sense, you’ll agree to meeting the girl.’
Tochi looked away.
‘Uff, so what if she’s divorced? Or is it her boy? Look, son, in your situation that’s the best you’re going to do. Most wouldn’t think twice.’
‘I’ll get the broom,’ Tochi said.
‘Yes, yes. Fob me off. But don’t think for a minute your aunty is going to be so easy.’
Alone in his room, Tochi made a call to Ardashir. There was nothing at the restaurant, he said – Tochi had been replaced by a fauji from Bangla.
‘Let me know if that changes.’
‘OK.’
‘I’d need somewhere to live, too.’
‘Was there something wrong with my floor?’
He went downstairs and sorted himself some water from the sink. He checked the rota. No, not his turn tomorrow. Beneath it, the naked girls calendar was still on March, a month out of date. The front door went and Avtar came in and walked straight past Tochi and to the cooker. He took two rotis out of their foil and spooned on some cold sabzi from the fridge. His rucksack hung squarely on his back, a textbook discernible through the thin material.
‘Vinny’s in trouble. We’re going to be raided,’ Tochi said.
‘Move, then.’
‘And jobs. We’ll lose our jobs.’
Avtar looked across. ‘How do you know?’
‘What’s it like where you are?’
‘There’s nothing.’
Tochi looked at him for a long while, then pushed off the counter and returned upstairs.
His eyelashes quivered, he wasn’t sure; something, some furry dream-tail, was trying to lead him back to sleep. But that was his watch pipping, which meant – what? 5 a.m. already? He remained beneath the duvet and it took another minute for sleep to evaporate completely. He could hear the pale sounds of the gurbani coming from her bedroom. Before he’d even arrived, she’d cleared the shrine from its corner, saying he could use the vacated space for his suitcase and things. At ten past, he swung his feet to the carpet and padded softly to the bathroom. He showered in the evenings after work – and what a joyous feeling it was to once again have a shower, and a hot one at that – so all he had to do in the mornings was brush his teeth and wash his face and take a piss, which he aimed at the side of the bowl. He didn’t want to disturb her praying. He dressed in his work clothes, reflector jacket over the top, folded the duvet to the end of the settee and at twenty-five past he started for work. It was a delicate and spotty light that greeted him these days.
The Year of the Runaways Page 24