Grow

by Luke Palmer

  A pause.

  ‘Then, in the camps, there were groups of people who would be looking for … for soldiers, I guess. I was young, and my mother kept me close, but I wasn’t too young for them to notice me. What they could make me into. I know the tactics they use to get you to feel that ugly, the switches they press to make you feel like there’s no alternative. Like you’re making a good choice. And this,’ he points at Dad’s tree, ‘this is a pretty good lever to pull.’

  I ask the question before I’ve thought of it. ‘So, what’s the answer?’

  ‘To their way of thinking? I guess it’s just your basic humanity.’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Look. It might be that each argument they make seems justified on its own. And you may even find yourself nodding along at the start. So what, there’s a few more people using the schools or the doctors or whatever, but they turn that into some huge threat, like things are being overrun. And some money has to be given to house asylum seekers at first, because they’re not allowed to work. But my mum’s been working for years now, and her taxes have easily paid back what we owed. But they turn that into words like handouts and scroungers and fraud, and labels like refugees, asylum seekers. Whatever, once there’s a label, people are never seen as more than that, you know? You don’t see people in the news described as ‘potential IT Consultant’ do you? They’re just ‘immigrant’. Then you get hate, then you get violence. But the comeback to all of it is just realising we’re all people. We’re all trying to be alive in this world, you know? It’s about getting to know people for who they are, not what you think they represent. Basically, it’s just being human.’

  The poem from Mrs Burgoyne’s class comes back to me. How stupid I was. I knew I was doing it at the time, ignoring the whole point of it, enjoying the role that Alan and Vince had cast me in, seeing the world in the most simple terms – ally, enemy. It had felt easy at the time, being a soldier, and I’d equated easy with right. But, recalling it now, a new wash of shame goes through me. ‘Yes,’ I manage to choke.

  ‘And you’re human, Josh. Like me, right? You know about compassion, and kindness, and love. He taught you that.’

  He’s pointing to the tree, and I nod. The tears in my eyes feel cool, oddly cleansing, natural. I don’t brush them away like I would if I were talking to anyone else. I wonder if Ahmed would understand about the bucket I’ve felt has been coming up through my body these last few weeks. Is that what’s inside it, shame? These tears feel cleaner than that. Perhaps it’s shame that’s been trying to pull it back down, keep it in the murky dark.

  ‘But listen, Josh. I think I’ve found out something over the last few weeks. Since before the holidays, there’s been much less traffic on that site. Much less activity. Now that could mean one of two things. One, everyone’s packed up over Christmas and hasn’t gone back to work yet. Who knows, maybe the Ghost of Christmas Present has visited them and they’ve all decided on an ordinary life full of Dickensian charm.’

  I can’t help laughing as Ahmed does a near-perfect impression of Mrs Burgoyne in full flow.

  ‘Or,’ he continues, his voice darkening a little. ‘There’s another option. The traffic has moved elsewhere. Which means something is happening that they don’t want anyone to know about. Or the police.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘What, you think that these sites can just go on preaching hate and violence without being watched? Come on, you’re smarter than that. The police know it’s there. They know about all of them. Like I said, this group I’m in, we share things with a national police network. They might not do anything about most of them, but they certainly know about them. And they’ve got a pretty good idea of who visits them.’

  I think of the interview at the station, the smashed laptop at the bottom of the well.

  ‘Look, Josh. Ninety-five per cent of the traffic to these sites is just curiosity. Kids messing around, looking for something shocking. They like a few Pepe the Frog memes on social media and take one click too far, then U-turn pretty quick. You won’t get anyone knocking at your door any day soon. Unless…’

  ‘Unless what?’ Even I can hear the desperation in my voice.

  ‘Unless you know something? But, if you do know something, perhaps you should be thinking about knocking on their door.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘Maybe I should.’

  FIFTY EIGHT

  The next day, I’m walking between lessons along the science corridor. There’s a commotion up ahead. I can see Vince’s head – freshly shaved again – above the sea of bodies. I think about taking a longer route, but I’m too late; he’s spotted me.

  ‘Where’s Dana?’ he shouts, elbowing his way towards me through the throng.

  A wall of students forms behind me – I’m blocking the flow and there’s no way out. But I haven’t seen Dana all day and I say so.

  ‘Where the fuck is she then?’ Vince comes very, very close to me, his nose just an inch from my own. When he presses his forehead against mine, his extra six inches in height mean it feels like he’s trying to drive me into the floor.

  ‘Vince, back down. He doesn’t know.’ Alan comes up behind him, tries to pull him by the arm.

  Vince shrugs him off. ‘What if he’s lying? What if he’s lying like that bitch is lying?’ On either side of us, throngs of other students start pushing, shoving. A whisper goes through the crowd that there’s going to be a fight. Some students are jumping on the backs of others for a better view and the noise is getting deafening.

  Mr Walters suddenly appears from his classroom. He bellows, ‘What on earth is going on here?’ Seeing Vince and me squaring off, he wades through the throng, pulling bodies out of the way by their rucksacks, and plants himself between Vince and me. He locks eyes with the snarling youth. ‘What are you doing, Vince?’

  ‘He’s not doing anything, Sir, just asking our mate Josh if he’s seen someone.’ Alan’s attempt at carefree gives away his own tension. I bristle at being called his mate, reminded of how recently I’d considered it to be true.

  Mr Walters retorts, ‘And from what I heard, he hasn’t. So perhaps you’d better ask elsewhere. Or, even better, get to your lessons.’ He says the last part not just to Vince and Alan’s retreating backs, but loudly to the gathered mob around us.

  Students start to move along again, disappointed that nothing really happened. The two rivers of school uniforms flow around Mr Walters and I, still stood in the middle of the corridor. Mr Walters watches them go by for a few seconds, his angry-teacher-face fixed. Then he turns to me. ‘Alright, Josh?’

  I nod.

  ‘Actually, there’s a bit of an investigation going on into Dana’s whereabouts since this morning. We’ve all been asked to keep a look out for her, stealthily mind.’ He winks. ‘So, you really haven’t seen her?’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  ‘Good, good. On your way then. But if you hear from her, you let me know, OK? Or any other member of staff, of course.’

  And he disappears back into his classroom, shutting the door.

  The corridor is empty again. Except for me.

  *

  When I knock on the garden door after school, Dana opens it almost immediately. She fidgets with her hands and has made one of her nails bleed slightly. She sucks it as we speak.

  ‘It’s got to be soon, Dana. Now, maybe.’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ Dana is firm, despite her clear nervousness.

  ‘We can’t put this off anymore.’

  ‘I’m not putting it off, but there’s something arriving at Carl’s tomorrow that he has to keep hold of for a few days before passing it on.’

  ‘What’s arriving?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly. But I know it’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to have without a permit or something. It’s definitely something he doesn’t want to get caught with.’

  ‘OK then, tomorrow. We’ll go in the morning. First thing?’

  Dana is hesitant, n
ervous. ‘I can’t go back there, Josh. To my house, I mean. I can’t do it. Not anymore.’ Dana seems to root herself into the soil. I know I can’t argue with her, and I don’t want to anyway.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t go anywhere he’ll find me. If he gets hold of me, he’ll kill me. I’m not supposed to be here. I was supposed to stay with him. He—’

  ‘Slow down,’ I say, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. ‘Look at me. Breathe. Slow down.’

  She takes a few gulps of air. Her hands stop worrying at each other.

  ‘Dana, what’s going on?’

  Her words come with difficulty. ‘Last week, when he said about this thing arriving, he said he wants me with him all the time now. He wasn’t going to let me go to school but I persuaded him that’d look bad. Made up some crap about my attendance being so low that if there was anything unexplained, they might send someone to look for me.’

  ‘Yeah. Mr Walters was asking after you today, too.’

  She seems a little surprised at this. ‘Right, yeah. So, Carl said he’d pick me up every day straight after school at the front gates, and that Alan would be keeping an eye on me, and I wasn’t to leave his sight. And I haven’t, and it’s been… But…’

  ‘But you’ve slipped away. And you’ve come here.’

  ‘I snuck out before break this morning. I’ve been here all day, waiting for you, hoping you’d come.’

  ‘And you need somewhere to stay.’

  ‘I was going to camp here. I’ve done it before, in the summer. But it’s supposed to rain tonight, and…’ She is desperately fragile. Standing in the protection of her garden, her own walls – walls which she’s been dismantling for weeks – are crumbling to dust.

  Now I’m the one who needs to be strong. ‘You can stay at mine. Mum’s off to her parents’ this afternoon. Can you wait here another hour or so, then I’ll come and get you?’

  FIFTY NINE

  Unexpectedly, Mum’s home when I get there. She wants to make sure I’m going to be OK on my own – it’s the first weekend this year that I’ve not been with her. I explain that, so far this year, there haven’t really been that many weekends.

  She smiles. ‘I’ll be back late again on Sunday.’

  ‘You and Walters starting things up again?’

  ‘I wish you’d stop calling him that. He’s got a first name you know.’

  ‘It feels weird. He’s my teacher.’

  ‘I know, love. But he’s…’

  ‘Yeah, you said. He’s “good for you”. I get it.’

  What with the following mum-fussing, and being told exactly what’s in the fridge, freezer, cupboards and shed, it’s almost two hours before I can get back to the garden.

  The door is ajar when I arrive. Dana is leaning against a wall, shivering, her coat zipped and buttoned up to the throat, her hands deep inside her sleeves. It’s a tense walk, darting along pavements, turning at every engine we hear. On top of this, there’s a cold stiffness to her that doesn’t thaw out until we get to my house and I place a cup of tea between her palms. She keeps her coat on, huddled over the curls of steam.

  ‘Do you want a bath?’

  Dana’s flashes me an accusatory look. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To warm up. Did you think I—’

  ‘I don’t like baths.’ She cuts me off. ‘Why would I want to float around in my own dirt?’

  ‘Just thought it’d warm you up. Sorry.’

  I go and fuss around in the kitchen, pull a couple of pizzas out of the freezer and rummage through the fridge for the bag of salad Mum had described in detail. Twice.

  A few minutes later, Dana comes in. There’s a bit more pink in her cheeks, and her lips have lost their blue tinge. She taps her fingernails against her empty tea cup.

  ‘Want another one?’

  ‘No, thanks. Can I have a shower, please? You’re right. It’ll warm me up.’

  I get fresh towels from the airing cupboard and show her where the power cord for the hot water is, then go back downstairs to turn the oven on and put the pizzas in. As I pass the door to the lounge, a sweep of headlights arcs through the front window as a car pulls into the driveway. I hear a door open and close, but the engine is still running. I recognise the deep, throaty grumble it makes.

  Then comes the knock at the door.

  I can’t pretend I’m not home; there’s lights on all over the house, and probably steam rising from the bathroom window that faces onto the front garden.

  ‘Josh, I can see you by the stairs!’ Alan’s voice confirms that I can’t hide.

  When I open the door, Alan is struggling to conceal his worry.

  ‘Is she here?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dana. Fuck, Josh, who else would I be running around town for on a Friday night?’ He’s trying to make jokes, but he keeps twitching his head back over his shoulder to the car.

  ‘No. Why would she be here?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe because we’ve tried everywhere else. And Carl has this strange feeling that you know something.’

  As if on cue, the driver’s door opens. Carl is a silhouette behind the glare of his headlights, but no less terrifying for it. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘No,’ Alan and I say in unison.

  ‘Fucking liar. Who’s upstairs?’

  ‘My mum, in the shower.’

  ‘Where’s her car then?’

  ‘At the garage. Something about a part not arriving until tomorrow. Brakes I think.’ I’m amazed at how quickly I’m thinking. I feel fierce. Protective.

  ‘You’re lying. You’re trying to cover for her aren’t you, you little shit? Alan, bring him here.’

  Alan, leaning in the doorway, shrugs slightly, flashes me a weak smile, then grabs me by the scruff of my jumper and pulls me outside. I almost trip over the doorstep, and stumble clumsily into the bonnet of the car. Alan brings a firm hand down on the back of my head and the vibrations of the engine make my jaw rattle as I’m held against the warm metal.

  ‘If she’s in there, and you’re lying, then I won’t just stop at that immigrant friend of yours. I’ll do you too. The same way. And her as well. Now, tell me. Is Dana in there?’

  ‘No, it’s my mum. I promise.’

  ‘And what if I checked?’

  I shake my head free enough of Alan’s grip to get the words out. ‘Then you’d see my mum in the shower, and if you’re trying to keep a low profile at the moment, you don’t want the police called, do you?’

  ‘Fuck do you mean?’ Carl deflates, but only slightly. I’m amazed at my own confidence, and when I feel Alan’s grip ease slightly, I yank myself free, stand up and continue

  ‘You can’t walk in on a middle-aged woman in the shower and expect her not to scream, right? Or call the police? Or do you want to blow our cover and ruin this plan we’ve all been working towards? Remember, that’s why we’re doing this. The immigrant’s not my friend. I’m doing my job.’ The words stab as I say them. I try to summon up the old fire, the one that coursed through my veins like battery acid at the end of last year. But all I can find is the surface of it. It will have to be enough just to act it. ‘Why aren’t you out there doing yours?’

  Carl is momentarily speechless. He didn’t expect this reaction. I press my advantage, however flimsy it may be.

  ‘What Dana knows and doesn’t know about what’s going on isn’t my problem, it’s yours. If you’ve told her too much, you need to deal with it. Any idiot can see she’s unstable. Always has been. She can’t be trusted. You’re supposed to be some kind of leader, right? So why can’t you control some little girl who’s half your age and stop fucking around making it my problem?’ I try, as much as I can, to sound like his superior officer.

  ‘Careful,’ Carl’s voice is low, quiet. I think I may have gone too far. ‘Be very careful.’

  There are a tense few seconds when things could go either way. I hold Carl’s stare through the headlights’ insistence.

>   It’s working. Carl looks away first. ‘Fine, it’s your mum upstairs. But if you see her, you know what to do.’

  I nod. I’m nearly there. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘And if I find out you’ve been lying, I mean it, after this business is done, I’m coming for you. And your mum if I need too.’

  ‘Fine, now get the fuck off my driveway. My neighbours’ curtains are twitching. I’m sure Martin wouldn’t want this whole thing brought crashing down because of your useless slut of a girlfriend.’

  Carl stares at me for a few seconds – a cold, hard look. I am unflinching, unwavering, unmoving. Despite how much that hurt, I don’t move.

  Nor do I move when he gets back into the car and guns the engine. The bumper quivers against my legs, but still I do not move. As the car leaps backwards, out onto the street, and the revs rise and fall away towards the main road, still I do not move.

  The sound of the shower upstairs stops a full minute later. This brings me to my senses and I rush back through the front door, slamming it behind me. As I lean against it, my whole body begins to shake.