Quick Before They Catch Us

by Mark Timlin

  I didn’t know if he was having a go.

  ‘That is where I met Suri. He came to me as a sixteen-year-old waiter. I trained him up. There was something about the boy… in time he managed a restaurant for me, then two. Then he wanted to spread his wings. Open his own place. I didn’t want him in competition so I told him I’d back him anywhere but Manchester. He decided on London. He is doing well. Another place is in the pipeline. He is not yet thirty. By the time he is my age he will be a big operator. I’m glad he moved south. But I miss him and his silly Elvis music. He is like one of my own sons. But business is business.’ He took another sip from his glass. ‘Now I am rich. Extremely rich, with a beautiful house in Didsbury, just outside Manchester. That doesn’t protect me from traitors from inside. Traitors like Paul Jeffries. But I am rich enough to hire men who can. Men like you. Will that suffice, Mr Sharman?’

  I felt like he was rubbing my nose in it, but I just nodded. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘But one thing still worries me. It’s obvious from the way you speak, the way you are, that you are an operator yourself. A big wheel in the Asian community.’ He didn’t correct me so I went on. ‘And it strikes me that London is full of Asians, Mr Khan –’

  ‘A Paki shop on every corner, you mean,’ he interrupted angrily.

  ‘That’s not quite how I’d put it, but yes.’

  ‘To you English, all Asians are Pakis. Is that not right? Pakis to be used and abused. I wonder why your countrymen treat us thus, Mr Sharman. Don’t you remember how it used to be before we came?’

  I did as a matter of fact. All shops opening at nine and closing at six with half days on Wednesdays and never being able to get a packet of fags after the pubs closed. ‘I remember,’ I said.

  ‘You English hate to work. You want to lie in bed all day in your own stink and you hate us for being industrious. I never took a penny from this country and have paid a fortune in taxes, but still I’m a stinking wog. A dirty Paki. So called by people who have never washed and live in places that have never seen a mop and bucket.’

  ‘You don’t think much of my countrymen, do you, Mr Khan?’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why ask me to work for you?’

  ‘Because you can go where my men cannot.’

  ‘It still worries me. If Paul Jeffries and your daughter know that your network reaches near and far as you put it, then I really think that they’ll look for somewhere Asians are in a minority.’

  ‘They need money. Friends and money. He has family here.’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘His mother.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  ‘And his brother. Another piece of scum, who works on building sites when he works at all.’

  ‘You’re very judgemental if I may say so, Mr Khan,’ I said.

  ‘You may say what you like, Mr Sharman. That is your privilege. And I may ignore it or not. That is mine.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘So are you interested in working for me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ll pay you well. Double your normal fee, whatever that is.’

  ‘Like I said, Mr Khan, money isn’t my prime motive in life.’ I looked over at Melanie.

  Khan saw my look. ‘You are with a beautiful woman, Mr Sharman. No doubt you wish to return to her side.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You look like a man who is used to the company of beautiful women.’

  ‘I’ve had my moments,’ I said.

  ‘I too once had a beautiful woman. Meena’s mother. But she is no longer with me. In a way that’s for the best. This business would have broken her heart.’

  I knew what he was going to say.

  ‘She died three years ago. I’m sure that if she was still with us none of this would have happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, and I meant it. ‘I’m no stranger to death myself. I’ve lost many people.’

  ‘Death sits beside all of us, Mr Sharman. It is our constant companion.’

  I knew what he meant. And the way he said it made me warm to him slightly. ‘I’ll have to think about this, Mr Khan,’ I said. ‘How can I contact you?’

  He took a thick business card and a pen from his pocket and wrote an address and number on the back. ‘I’m staying at a hotel in Bayswater. I’ll be there until Monday morning. Please think about my offer.’

  ‘I will,’ I said and rose from the table. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  7

  ‘So what was all that about?’ asked Melanie when I got back to our table and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Big trouble in little India.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘The domestic kind. His daughter’s done a runner.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She met someone and Daddy didn’t approve.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well he’s white for a start.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Don’t be so naive, Mel. A lot. Everything in fact. Why do you think he was getting so aereated?’

  ‘Like that, is he?’ she said.

  ‘Very much so. Our Mr Khan seems to think that the entire population of this country are just lazy racist pigs.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not far wrong.’

  ‘Maybe not. And she’s promised to another.’

  ‘But she’s not keen.’

  ‘Never met the fella. It was arranged between the parents.’

  She gave Khan a dirty look over her shoulder. ‘Does that still go on? Do they go in for female circumcision too? And segregation of women when they’re having their periods because they’re unclean?’

  She was getting a bit aereated herself, and I knew why. It always happened just before her time of the month, and I thought that now wasn’t the time to tell her the one about the only difference between a woman with PMT and a Rottweiler was lipstick. I didn’t fancy walking home wearing the dregs of her latest Irish coffee down my front. So instead all I said was, ‘Now don’t start getting political on me.’

  She gave me a dirty look too and I knew my decision had been the right one. ‘And he wants you to find her?’ she asked. ‘Is that what it’s all about?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Are you going to do it?’

  ‘Dunno. I told him I’d think about it. I don’t think so. I didn’t like the man.’

  ‘He was getting pretty excited there for a minute. I thought he was going to take a swing at you.’

  ‘Me too. Or have a heart attack. I told you. He’s very old fashioned in his ways. And I rather think he expects a certain amount of deference from his employees.’

  ‘Which you didn’t supply.’

  ‘I’m not one of his employees.’

  ‘But you might be.’

  ‘I might be, but right now I’m just an ordinary bloke out enjoying a quiet meal.’

  Whilst we’d been speaking Khan had been joined by his two silent companions and then Suri trotted over and they had a little chat before the away team got up and marched out of the restaurant without a glance at us. Suri headed in Mel’s and my direction again.

  ‘May I join you?’ he asked when he arrived at our table.

  ‘Please do,’ I replied.

  Suri pulled up an empty chair and sat between us. ‘Mr Khan told me he enjoyed your talk. He was most impressed with you.’

  ‘It didn’t seem like that to me, and I can’t say that I feel the same way,’ I said.

  Suri’s face fell. ‘Did he offend you?’

  ‘Not particularly. I’ve been offended by experts. I just didn’t like him. His attitude got up my nose.’

  ‘But are you going to take up his offer of work?’

  ‘I don’t know. I told him I’d be in touch. I doubt it somehow.’


  ‘It would be a great personal favour to me if you did.’

  ‘I take it you know what the job is,’ I said.

  Suri nodded. ‘Mr Khan is devastated.’

  ‘His pride’s hurt, more like,’ I said.

  ‘No. He loves his family and Meena was the apple of his eye.’

  ‘You’d think she was dead the way people talk about her.’

  ‘Mr Sharman. In our culture she might as well be. At least to men like Mr Khan. Some of us are a little more liberal. The younger ones like me. But his generation…’ He didn’t finish.

  ‘Maybe so,’ I said.

  ‘And since his wife died –’

  ‘I know, Suri. I got the full half-hour,’ I interrupted.

  He looked at Mel and me. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘The whole story,’ I explained.

  ‘I see. And you felt no compassion.’

  ‘Suri. The man more or less accused me of racism to my face, and my only crime it seemed to me was to come out to dinner, then do you both a favour and listen to his sad little story. And he’s the biggest racist of the lot of us. I don’t need that kind of shit at the end of a hard week.’ I didn’t dare look at Melanie as I said the last bit in case she burst out laughing, but I felt justified in a little exaggeration. ‘He rubbed me up the wrong way. Sorry, Suri.’

  ‘But this is business, Mr Sharman. Did he not make you a reasonable offer?’

  ‘Very reasonable. He offered to double my fee. But you know –’

  ‘Are you busy?’ It was his turn to interrupt.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then consider the offer, Mr Sharman. Please. I know you are no racist. That’s ridiculous. He is upset. He over-­compensates. He is a good man in reality. A kind man. You don’t know him like I do. Please think about it. For my sake if for no other.’

  I gave in. It was easier to do that than to keep arguing. Besides I was fond of Suri and I could tell it was important to him. ‘All right, Suri,’ I said. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  His face split into a white-toothed grin. ‘Then we shall have a brandy to celebrate. The best in the house, and I shall take pleasure in tearing up the bill for your dinner.’

  So we did and he did.

  8

  Melanie and I walked back home together arm in arm after we’d finally finished our meal. We got there around eleven-thirty. I put on the kettle for coffee and she watched me with that kind of look I’d come to know so well from all the women who had ever been in my life from my mother onwards. And believe me there’ve been plenty. Too many, if you want to know.

  ‘Anything on TV?’ I said to deflect it. I knew there was trouble brewing, and I didn’t mean in the cafetière.

  ‘Can’t you forget the TV for once?’

  ‘Why should I? TFI Friday’s on. You know I love Chris Evans. He’s such a wag.’ Actually I think he’s a prick, but I had to have some excuse.

  She shook her head sorrowfully.

  Christ, I thought. How many times have I been here before?

  ‘Nick,’ she said.

  I put up my hand like a traffic policeman. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The usual. ‘‘You’re wasting your life.” ‘‘Think about the future.” ‘‘Take the job.” All the old bollocks. I told you before. I’m not broke. I don’t need to work right now. Anyway, I choose what I want to do. What jobs I take, or don’t, whichever the case may be, if you’ll excuse the pun. That’s what I am. Please don’t tell me how to run my life.’

  ‘But Nick…’

  ‘What do you want from me, Melanie?’ I asked, as I felt the icy grip of reality clutch at my heart. Time after time this has happened. Everything’s tickety-boo, and then someone, generally a woman, has to puncture the balloon and let the cold water of truth into my nice comfortable world.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I thought you’d change.’

  ‘Under your tender ministrations you mean,’ I said. ‘But if you wanted me to change, what did you see in me in the first place?’

  ‘Someone exciting.’

  ‘But I’m not that exciting, Mel,’ I said in exasperation. ‘Exciting things just happen round me, don’t you see?’

  She nodded and came up close so that I could smell her perfume. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just hate to see you wasting your life.’

  ‘But I’m not,’ I said, putting my arms on her shoulders and drawing her even closer until I could feel the points of her breasts on my chest and her thighs on mine. ‘At least I don’t think I am. This is me, babe. I know you hate it when you go off to work and leave me in bed. You think I’m just a lazy bastard, and maybe you’re right. But you’ve got to remember I don’t get a pay cheque every month and all the benefits that go with it. I’m walking a tightrope and if I fall there’s no safety net. Can you imagine me going off down the DSS and telling them I need the dole. They’d laugh in my face. That’s the decision I made years ago and right or wrong, win or lose, that’s the deal. I’m too old and ugly to change now. If you can’t handle that…’ I left the sentence unfinished.

  She smiled up at me. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I’ll mind my own business. It’s almost my time of the month. You know what that does to me.’

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘Just one thing though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The kettle’s boiled.’

  I made the coffee and poured a couple of brandies and we caught the tail end of Chris Evans’ show, but it didn’t even make me smile. At twelve-thirty we went to bed and made love, but I could tell it wasn’t up to scratch and I guessed that Melanie could too. She fell asleep after, and I lay awake until I got up and sat at what the estate agent long ago called the breakfast bar, but in reality was just a Formica laminated plank of chipboard, and smoked a Silk Cut and thought about my life.

  Before I’d stubbed out the cigarette half finished I’d had enough of that, and instead thought about what Khan had told me.

  Then I thought about Suri pleading with me after Khan left, and the less than subtle pressure that Melanie was exerting on me to get my life right, and I realised that before the weekend was through I’d probably take the sodding case on.

  But then, at least I’d get a decent fuck if I did.

  9

  I went back to bed and finally fell asleep somewhere in the wee small hours and didn’t open my eyes again until ten-ten by the clock on the bedside table. Melanie was curled up in a ball next to me, the short nightie she insisted on wearing rucked up round her waist and her bare bottom pushing into my back. Listen, there are some compensations for being henpecked.

  I turned round and pulled back the bedclothes. She was dead to the world and I let her be. I got up, tugged on my dressing gown, put on the kettle and went into the bathroom to clean my teeth and take a piss.

  I came back and made some tea, sat where I’d sat the night before and lit the first cigarette of the morning.

  Melanie isn’t the fastest individual when it comes to getting it together in the morning, hence her tiny resentment when she has to get up early for work, but this being Saturday I just let her lie in. You know, secretly, there’s nothing better than having someone trust you that much that they can sleep on whilst you’re around.

  It was close to eleven before she started to come back to the world and by then I was washed, shaved and dressed and on my third cup.

  Eventually she stuck her nose up from under the sheet and said sleepily, ‘What day zit?’

  ‘Saturday,’ I replied. ‘Don’t worry. No work.’

  ‘Thank God. Whassa time?’

  ‘Pubs are nearly open,’ I replied.

  ‘Trust you.’

  ‘And a very good morning to
you too, my love.’

  ‘You’re cheerful.’

  ‘I made a decision last night whilst you were dreaming about me.’

  ‘I thought I’d had a nightmare.’

  ‘Amusing.’

  She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. One breast was fully exposed and I grinned.

  She looked down, frowned and pushed it safely back under the black silk of her nightie. ‘Spoilsport,’ I said.

  ‘What kind of decision?’

  ‘Probably the worst kind if past experience is anything to go by. I’ll phone Khan. Tell him I’ll try and find his daughter for him.’

  She grinned through the wisps of hair that fell over her face, pushed back the duvet and gave me an interesting flash of blonde pubic hair as she came off the bed and over to where I was standing. She threw her arms round me and I smelt the warm bed on her and her nighttime breath as she hugged me. ‘Oh Nick,’ she said. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘How come?’ I said, holding her away from me. ‘I thought you were a feminist. This girl has run away from an arranged marriage, don’t forget.’

  ‘You haven’t promised to be best man,’ she said pragmatically.

  ‘I haven’t promised anything yet,’ I said.

  ‘I know. But you will. And if anyone can find her you can. That’s the deal, isn’t it? You just find her?’

  ‘Yeah. I suppose.’

  ‘So find her, reconcile the family, and let her explain to her father why she had to run away. Take the money he’s offering and feel good about yourself.’

  ‘What about all that business of female circumcision and being unclean?’