Ruby Tanya

by Robert Swindells

  I nod. I will do it if I can; if they don’t come when I’m asleep. Listen.

  What?

  If you come tomorrow, or Wednesday or Thursday, and they tell you my parents have been taken, come to the ruins. I will be there. Don’t use the gates, walk away and come through Mushroom Gap. If I am not there, you will know they caught me sleeping.

  And sent me to the bad men, who will make me sleep for ever.

  - Sixty-Four

  Ruby Tanya

  I DON’T THINK it was my imagination: the camp kids were quieter than usual that Tuesday morning. In the yard, I mean. Oh, I tried to tell myself it was the Sabers’ plight getting to them, or the fact that we’d been done out of today’s little ceremony, but I knew it was ALIEN BRATS GO HOME really. They wouldn’t be hearing from the mayor today but they’d heard from the Moron of Tipton Lacey, loud and clear.

  The village was going to hear from him too. He’d had an e-mail last night from Sefton Feltwell to say they’d got the village hall for a public meeting on 6 December. He was so chuffed he brought the printout downstairs to show me and Mum. Here we go, he crowed; the launching of Ed Redwood, Monday 6 December at seven-thirty p.m. He smiled complacently and added, Councillor Redwood after the May elections, no danger. He’s so thick-skinned, he hasn’t twigged Mum’s not one hundred per cent behind his drive for an ethnically cleansed village with a Britain First councillor.

  Anyway, he’d made a good start depressing the camp kids with his banner. Ramsden’d seen it on his way in – he drives that way. He didn’t mention it in so many words, but when we assembled in the hall and he declared the shared area open, he asked us to notice the word shared. All of Tipton Lacey is a shared area, he said. It belongs to everybody who lives here, and everybody who lives here belongs to it. There have been no sightings of alien craft over Tipton Lacey. Kids who hadn’t seen the banner probably thought he’d fallen out of his pram, but I thought it was good.

  He didn’t say anything at all about Stuart Conway.

  At morning break I had a falling-out with Millie. I only wanted to walk round the yard with her, but when I said, Hi, she was like, You only want me ’cos your precious Asra’s not here, so you can sod off.

  I didn’t say a word, just spun on my heel and left, telling myself she was a touchy cow who wasn’t worth bothering with. Later, when I’d had time to think about it, I had to admit she was right in a way. It can’t be all that flattering to be somebody’s second-best friend. I promised myself I’d make it up to her if she’d let me.

  But I’d soon be too busy to fret over Millie Ross. As the buzzer brought break to an end, the police were swooping on the Sabers.

  - Sixty-Five

  Asra

  YOU CAN EXPECT something and still be shocked when it happens. I am helping Mother sort some things for packing when Mrs Butt screams and the curtain is ripped down. There are four policemen. Mother jumps up with a cry as they come towards us. Where’s your husband? demands one.

  Father is at the social club, still trying with Mr. Shofiq to find a way for us to stay. Mother murmurs, Fetch your father, Asra.

  No! The policeman shakes his head. She stays. Where is he?

  The social club.

  Perkins, Toller.

  Sir?

  Double over there. Don’t bring him here, go straight to the van. You. He looks to Mother. Gather whatever you’re taking with you. You’ve got five minutes.

  But I cannot carry …

  We’ll carry, you just get it together. He looks to me. Help your mother.

  Mother starts dragging bags and cases to the middle of the room. She is weeping softly. The two policemen stand with their arms folded, watching. I don’t think so they feel sorry for her. I am sorry, because in one minute I will add to her sadness.

  I look to one of the policemen. Please?

  What is it?

  I need toilet.

  Tch! Where is it?

  Through there. I nod to the blanket that separates our room from the next. The hut’s two toilets are in a little room at the end, with the shower.

  He nods. All right. Go with her, Les. I lift the blanket, drop it in front of Les’s face. Mr and Mrs Majid have listened, they know what is happening. Delay him, I say in our language.

  When Les ducks under the blanket I am halfway across the room, running. Oi! He is so busy looking to me he does not see Mr Majid crouching under his feet. He trips and crashes to the floor as I go under the next curtain.

  In this room a mother is feeding her baby. Her mouth falls open as I dash through. There are no more blankets, just the bathroom door on the left and the exit straight in front. I go for the exit.

  I am outside, but I don’t know how close is Les. On the airfield is nowhere to hide. If I run there he will catch me easily. At the edge of the path is a row of wheelie bins. I run to them, duck behind. Les bursts out of the hut and stands panting, looking round. There are other huts – I could be in one of them, or behind, or between. He doesn’t know what to do. I watch, breathing quietly. He decides, strides to the next hut, goes inside. I find a bin that is only half full and climb in, letting its lid rest on my head so there’s a slot I can see out of. If Les comes I will bury myself under the rubbish I am standing in, but I hope he won’t come.

  It stinks.

  - Sixty-Six

  Asra

  THIS IS WHAT I see from my wheelie bin. First Les comes out, talking to his radio. Then his friend leaves our hut, pulling Mother. He has a problem: he can’t help Les look for me without letting go of Mother, who kicks and bites. He has his radio in one hand, Mother in the other. He shouts at Mother and the radio. I think he is wanting a man to come from the van. Les goes in the next hut. His friend waits on the path, dodging Mother’s fists.

  In a minute comes a man from the van. That is a poem, I think: a man from the van. He’s bringed a dog. I don’t like dogs. The two men go into our hut, one dragging a dog, one dragging a woman. I wonder, Why is the dog? Not for little walkies, I think.

  Time to leave my bin. To my right, one hundred metres away, is a few trees. No sign of Les, so I scramble out and start to run. I never have ran so fast since the boys chased me to PC Willoughby’s gate. Every step I expect to hear that Oi! But it does not come. As I reach the trees and turn, the dog comes out dragging the man, who has my yesterday knickers in his fist. The dog sniffs the knickers, sniffs the path and pulls the man towards the wheelie bins, so I am glad to not be in the knickers or the bin.

  I can’t stay here though – the dog will follow my trail. I look around. Everywhere is open field. I must keep these trees between me and the policemen when I run, though it will not take me to the ruins. I am about to go off when I notice that the dog is not on my trail. It has barked at my bin, the policeman has looked but I am not inside, and now it doesn’t know what to do. I realize that the rubbish stink has destroyed my scent. I am puffed, so I stay where I am to see what will happen.

  It is funny. The man shouts at the dog, shoves my knickers in its face, jerks the lead. The dog lowers its nose and starts to follow the only scent it has: the one leading back to the hut. The man nearly jerks its head off, shouts Damn useless mutt, and treats it to a kick in the ribs. But it is not the dog’s fault if the rubbish smells stronger than me. And all the time the first policeman is standing near our hut, with one eye on the search and the other on my mother’s flailing fists.

  I think they will notice the trees and investigate, but they do not. They stand together for a minute talking, then the one holding Mother looks at his watch and says something that starts her wailing. It makes me cry, the way she is turning her head this way and that, calling my name. I almost come out – it is the hardest thing I have ever done, not to give myself up. I want to run to her, feel her arms go round me, but no: if I go with her we will never come back. If I stay …

  Mr Shofiq appears, shouting and waving his arms. The policemen take no notice of him but start to move away, towards the gate. My mother
is screaming, struggling. A small crowd has gathered; it watches helplessly the cruel thing that is being done. I catch a glimpse of my mother as she is pulled round the corner of the hut. The spectators follow. I listen to the voices going away: Mother, Mr Shofiq, the dog. Then there is only the wind in the treetops. I am alone.

  - Sixty-Seven

  Ruby Tanya

  SHE’S GONE, YOUR friend, said the man at the gates.

  Gone? It was seven o’clock Tuesday. What d’you mean, gone?

  He shrugged. Gone. Her parents are on a plane. Asra is not. She ran away.

  She did? Too late, I realized I’d sounded delighted.

  He narrowed his eyes. Yes, she did. You know nothing of this, of course?

  N-no. No, I don’t. You don’t happen to know where …?

  He shook his head. How would I know? The police asked everybody here, nobody knew. Who knows the mind of a child?

  Yeah, well. I took off my glasses, cleared the lenses of drizzle with my hanky, put them back on and blinked at him. Right. I better go then. Thanks. I’ll see you.

  I pedalled towards the village, telling myself I could have been a bit more convincing. I should have burst into tears. He was bound to wonder why I wasn’t upset, my best friend gone. And why did I say, I’ll see you? Where the heck was I going to see the guy?

  In the village I hung a right onto Glebe Lane, another onto Long Lane. Long Lane’s a swine on a bike in the dark, all potholes and puddles, but it was better than last time, hoofing it with a rucksack full of bedding. My heart was thumping, but not with the exercise. I’d always wanted a real adventure and now I’d got one. Me and Asra, two kids against the world.

  I propped the bike against an elder near Mushroom Gap. I wasn’t worried about it getting pinched: anybody daft enough to be out here on a wet Tuesday night would be too daft to know which end of a bike’s the front. I couldn’t see the ruins, but I knew the way all right. I set off, wading through long wet grass.

  I missed the old harrow or whatever it was, but it didn’t matter because the drizzle stopped and the moon came out and shone on all the wet roofs of the ruins. I scanned the upstairs windows, but Asra wasn’t watching from her chair. For the first time it occurred to me she might not be here. I crept forward, wishing I had a torch. In the shadowy yard I hissed, Asra?

  Ruby Tanya? She left the porch doorway, ran to me. We hugged, standing in the mud. Oh, Ruby Tanya, I am glad you have come. I have been here hours and hours, crying.

  Crying?

  Yes, of course. Mother and Father are in the sky; every hour they have gone another five hundred miles away from me.

  I gave her a squeeze. How absolutely awful, I can’t even imagine. I know I’d bawl my eyes out.

  We went inside. Asra had draped a blanket over the ancient chest. We sat down. Asra bent and switched on Gran’s handy lantern, which stood on the floor and shed a comfortable halo of light. I noticed another blanket over the windows behind us, indicated it with a jerk of my head. Thought of everything, haven’t you?

  She shrugged. In my country, sometimes it is best that nobody knows you are home. Her voice broke up, she put her hands over her face and I knew she was thinking about her parents. I twisted sideways, put both my arms round her and held her while she wept.

  My alien kid is home, Dad; they all are.

  - Sixty-Eight

  Ruby Tanya

  I HATED LEAVING her by herself in that spooky place, but I couldn’t stay all night. We’d nibbled some of Gran’s chocolate, sipped water, talked a bit. She’d stopped crying, though I imagined she’d start again after I left.

  The worst thing was the cold. I’d only been here an hour and a half and I was chilled to the bone. We thought she had everything she’d need, but she didn’t. I looked at her, huddled in one of Gran’s blankets. ‘What you need is one of those little camping stoves with a gas bottle,’ I said.

  She shook her head. I’m all right, Ruby Tanya. This chest will be my bed. When I am in it with all these blankets I will be snug as a bug in a rug.

  You’re going to sleep in it? I shivered. I couldn’t, it’s too much like a coffin. As soon as I said this I wished I hadn’t, but Asra just laughed. I will leave the lid up, she said, and let the lantern burn till morning. I think so I’ll be fine.

  So I left her. A cold wind had swept the clouds from the sky; the yard was awash with moonlight. I watched for a moment from the shadow of an outhouse, but nothing moved on the field. I turned. Asra had taken down the blanket and was watching me through the window, a silhouette in a frame. She raised a hand. I responded and left the yard quickly, knowing if I lingered I’d run to her.

  The bike was where I’d left it. I mounted and pedalled as fast as I could to get warm, swerving round a hundred moony puddles. I wasn’t going straight home; there were a couple of things I wanted to talk to Gran about.

  When you’ve sat in a freezing ruin with nothing but cold water to sip, even green tea tastes good. I huddled over the fire, my hands wrapped round the mug, and grinned at Gran through the fragrant steam. Well, Gran. She’s done it.

  Who’s done what to whom, sweetheart?

  Asra’s done a runner. They took her folks this morning.

  Pigs. She looked at me. Your friend’s at the old farm?

  Yes, I’ve just come from there.

  Is she OK?

  I shrugged. Upset, you know, about her mum and dad. But not scared of the place like I’d be.

  Does she need anything, Ruby? Apart from her mother, I mean.

  I nodded. It’s freezing cold, Gran. She could do with something to boil water on, brew tea. I was wondering about one of those camping stoves.

  Gran smiled. I used to have one of those; might still have it somewhere. Loft, if anywhere. Now why didn’t I think of that when I was packing the rucksack?

  You gave us loads of gear, Gran. We’d’ve been stuffed without you.

  Yes, but still, I ought to have thought. It’s December tomorrow, the poor kid must be perished. She looked at me. Call in after school, Ruby. If it’s in the loft I’ll have it ready for you, but it’ll need a bottle so I might have to go to Danmouth. And if I can’t find it, I’ll buy another and damn the expense.

  She’s a treasure, my gran. I hated to ask another favour straight away, but I had to. Gran?

  Yes, lovey?

  Another thing she needs is a bit of company. Would you lie for me?

  Gran pulled a face. Depends. Lie to whom, about what?

  Would you tell Mum and Dad I was sleeping over with you when I wasn’t?

  Depends where you’d actually be sleeping, young woman.

  At the farm, of course. One weekend.

  She nodded. In that case, no prob. There are bad lies and good lies, and this is definitely one of the good ones.

  I smiled. What’d be a bad one then, Gran?

  A bad lie is one that’s designed to do harm, Ruby. A malicious lie. The tabloids print ’em every day.

  We talked till ten, then Gran phoned Mum to say I was on my way. She didn’t say I’d been with her all evening, and she didn’t say I hadn’t. She saw to it I got no earache for being out till ten past ten, that’s all.

  No lie, no hassle, no harm.

  - Sixty-Nine

  Ruby Tanya

  WEDNESDAY I WAS summoned to Ramsden’s office in mid lesson. Not that it mattered – I was too busy thinking about the great adventure to learn anything. There was a guy with Ramsden, youngish feller with steel-rimmed specs and a grey suit. Ramsden introduced us but I don’t remember what he was exactly: some sort of policeman. His name was Kershaw.

  Now, Ruby Tanya, said Ramsden, I’m popping out for a few minutes. Mr Kershaw has a few questions to ask you, and I want you to help him all you can. All right?

  Yes, sir.

  When he’d gone, Kershaw sat down in the swivel chair and invited me to sit on the plain one meant for visitors. He smiled at me across the cluttered desk. It’s Ruby Tanya Redwood, is it?
r />   Yes.

  And you’re twelve years old?

  Yes.

  And like all twelve-year-olds you’ve got a best friend, haven’t you, Ruby Tanya?

  Yes.

  And her name is Asra Saber?

  Yes.

  He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk, steepled his fingers, landed his chin on their tips and stared at me. The thick glasses made his pale eyes look big. Would you say you and Asra were very good friends? By that I mean, do you confide in each other, tell each other your most intimate secrets?

  I think we do, yes. Only …

  Only what, Ruby Tanya?

  Well, you see, I’ve lost her, Mr Kershaw. She ran away.

  Yes. He nodded. I know she ran away. What I don’t know, and what I hope you are going to tell me, is where she is now.

  I shook my head. I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.

  He arched his brow. But you said you confided in each other. Surely she told you the family was being repatriated?

  Oh yes, but she didn’t say she was thinking of running away.

  Hmm. He sat back, clasped his hands behind his neck and gazed at something in the air above my head. My halo, perhaps. Do you know what happens to those who obstruct the police in the execution of their duty, Ruby Tanya?

  No, and I’m not obstructing. I don’t know where she is. I wish I did.

  You’d tell me, would you?

  No.

  He looked put out, spoke softly. Obstructing the police in the execution of their duty is an offence, Ruby Tanya. A serious offence. I’ve known people be sent to prison for, oh – months. He pulled a face. Of course, I’m talking about adults. People your age don’t go to prison; they go to what’s called a Juvenile Offenders’ Facility. He smiled. Doesn’t sound bad, does it? Well, it is. It’s a place where you’re yelled at and chased around from the minute you get out of your hard, narrow bed in a morning till you fall into it, exhausted, last thing at night. A place where you’ll eat cold slop with hairs in it and be bullied by kids twice your size. He shook his head again. You wouldn’t last a week, Ruby Tanya Redwood. Now, are you absolutely sure you can’t help me?