Mum is really shaken about Samir and she starts on about how dangerous it is in town now. “You’ll have to stay at home until the police catch the gang. I don’t want Terrence Bellows coming after you,” she says.
Is she mad? “I have to see Samir,” I say, pulling on my jacket and grabbing my keys. Trudy is whimpering up at me and Mum’s eyes are filling with frightened tears. “I have to make sure he’s all right, Mum, don’t you understand?”
“Alix, please . . .” But I’m already out the door.
It’s hard to leave her like that but I have to see for myself, make sure Samir is alive. There was so much blood.
And I’m also worried about whether Steven managed to get Mohammed safely away. This is such a mess and there is so much to sort out.
As I sprint down the path she yells out, “I’m calling your father,” but I just keep going.
A bus pulls up just as I get to the corner. I leap on, run upstairs and call Kim. “Where are you, how’s Samir?”
“I’ve just left the hospital,” she says. “They won’t let me see him. His auntie’s here and his brother. Not very smiley, is he?”
“Didn’t they tell you anything? Has Samir had stitches, what about his insides, they must be all messed up?”
“I don’t know anything, Ali, but one of the nurses followed me out and said not to worry too much.”
“I suppose that’s good, isn’t it?” But I wasn’t sure. What if his organs are sliced up, like his liver. Do you die if you get stabbed in the liver? I even think about calling Lindy with her first aid training, but I don’t know her number.
“I finally got hold of Steven, he’s gone with you-know-who somewhere safe,” says Kim in a whisper. “I’ll meet you off the bus.”
It’s a bit Lara Croft, all this secrecy, but actually, right now all I want is to make sure everyone’s safe and no one’s mortally injured. Not asking much, am I?
The bus is held up by traffic and I seriously consider jumping off and running all the way into town. Then we’re crossing Langstone Bridge. The tide is going out and I can see the remains of the old Wadeway stretching out in a long green line. The Wadeway goes back more than a thousand years. Before there was a bridge it was the only way to reach Hayling Island at low tide. I’ve tried walking on it but it’s very slippery with seaweed. If you fall off into the mud you can sink up to your neck in places. The coast guard has to rescue people every year.
Rescue. That’s all I seem to think about these days. So many people in my life need to be rescued.
Like my mum, who can hardly walk, has lost her job and now she’s applying for benefits. So why didn’t she tell me that?
My dad’s such a loser so even if we are going to start meeting up again—and I’m really glad we are because I didn’t realize how much I missed him until I saw him again—it’s a good thing I decided to give the paper route another go. With parents like mine I need to earn money so that I can rescue them.
Mohammed and Steven will need rescuing if the police catch up with them.
And what about Lindy? It looks like she needs rescuing from her brother, probably her entire family. She could have given us away but she didn’t.
No one’s going to rescue me. Not since Grandpa died.
As the bus pulls into town Mum’s words ring through my head, “What if Terrence comes after you?” I can’t help looking around nervously but there’s no sign of anyone from the Bellows family.
Kim almost drags me off the bus and starts pulling me down the road, speaking in a rapid, low voice. “Mohammed’s in a house near school.”
“Is it safe?” I mutter back as we hurry along. My heart is thumping in my chest and all I can think is, We have to get there before the police. How many more chances will we have before he’s caught? Before we’re all caught? A chill scutters down my spine.
Kim goes into a street I don’t know and knocks on the door of a middle terrace house.
The door opens a crack, a young man peers out at us and then says, “Come in.”
We go inside a narrow hall and a man with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail leads the way into the kitchen at the back.
“Mohammed!” I cry out, and there he is, sitting on a chair. I’ve never seen him on a chair before. He looks totally different, sort of normal, ordinary.
“Aleex, my friend,” he says, and tries to stand up but another guy who looks Indian, with short black hair, in jeans and a T-shirt, stops him.
“You need to rest, Mohammed, Alix understands, okay?” He looks at me and I nod.
“Pritesh,” he says, offering his hand and we shake. It feels very grown-up. “This is Jerry, we’re from RROK, RefugeeRightsOK. Your friend Steven contacted us and told us all about Mohammed and how you’ve been hiding him. That’s so amazing.”
Kim gives me a grin and I can’t help feeling a bit pleased. Mohammed is nodding and looking at me with his sad dark eyes and they remind me so much of Samir’s eyes when he was lying bleeding on the square, begging me to get to the hut before the police, that I feel tears welling up. Should I have gone to the hospital first? But Samir will want to know what’s happened to Mohammed.
Steven comes in and he and Kim hug each other as if they haven’t met for months. Everyone laughs and I feel a bit better. So I say, “What can you do for Mohammed?”
“A human rights lawyer will come and meet him here tomorrow,” says Pritesh. “He’ll help Mohammed to put in an application for asylum through the proper channels.”
“What channels? How do you know that’s safe? They could send him straight back to Iraq.”
These two don’t look much older than me. What do they really know? Samir would never forgive me if I make a mistake now after everything we’ve been through.
Then Mohammed says, “I know you are scared, Aleex,” his voice calms me a little, it feels almost familiar now, “but you don’t have to worry no more. You are brave, you take me from the freezing English seas. I am dying from drowning and cold and afraid of being . . .”
“. . . beheaded.” It just slips out and Kim gives a gasp. The room goes very quiet and Pritesh and Jerry exchange looks. They’re probably deciding to send us home and I don’t know what I’ll tell Samir. Should I take Mohammed back to the hut?
Then Jerry says, “RROK is campaigning to change the law so that people like Mohammed who were interpreters for the British army in Iraq, even for a few months, are allowed to stay here. We’re very hopeful. It’s obvious that Mohammed has been tortured and that it would be very dangerous to deport him.”
That sounds a bit better. I look straight at Mohammed and say, “I don’t know if Samir would agree.”
Mohammed reaches for a bottle of mineral water on the table and takes a sip. His movements are slow and deliberate. I can see he’s in a lot of pain but he’s looking very thoughtful.
Then he says, “You must to decide for him.”
Everyone is looking at me—so no change there—and I feel as if I’m weighed down with a great bag of Hayling breakwater stones that even an elephant couldn’t move. I have to make the biggest decision of my life and it’s for someone else. For Samir. If he feels I’ve let him down then he’ll stay an ice man forever and never trust anyone again. What would he want me to do?
Then I remember his words on the beach, when he was talking about the river that runs through Baghdad and playing with his friend Daoud. Samir said he couldn’t be deported now because he has proper permission to stay.
“Samir wants Mohammed to have refugee status like him and Naazim and Auntie Selma. Then he can’t be deported and he can stay here and work or go to university.”
Pritesh is listening to me very seriously. Perhaps I judged him and Jerry too quickly. I thought I’d stopped doing that.
“We have a lot of experience with gaining refugee status for asylum seekers,” Pritesh says, and he does sound as if he knows what he’s talking about. “It’ll be obvious to anyone that Mohammed needs safe asylum in England. We’re very confident with our lawyers.” He glances at Jerry who gives a firm nod.
That’s what Samir wants, isn’t it?
I take a deep breath and say, “Okay.”