July 2019, Clooneven
Jessie
Their names were Phan Thi Linh and Tran Duc Quan, and they lived in the third shed. Save for a table, a small fridge, an even smaller cooker, a mattress and two old nylon sleeping-bags, the building was unfurnished. They washed themselves and their clothes in a tub of cold water. There was a portable toilet in the far corner. The only light came from two bare bulbs, which cast thin shadows across the room, making the scene feel all the more unreal – and all the more pitiful.
Linh had been tending the cannabis plants in the adjacent shed when Jessie and Ger had walked in. After a few moments of panic, when they’d feared she would scream, she’d brought them next door to meet her boyfriend, Quan. They were Zoë’s ‘people out the back’.
They didn’t know how long they’d been living in Ireland because they didn’t know what month it was. They’d arrived in February, they said. The plants and watering system had already been in place, and they had reason to believe that others had lived in the shed before them.
‘That means you’ve been here for almost six months,’ said Jessie.
This surprised them. They thought it had been even longer.
Quan, who was twenty-two, appeared to understand more English than he spoke. He left most of the talking to nineteen-year-old Linh. After an hour of coaxing, and repeated assurances from Jessie and Ger that they had no connection to the police, she began to thaw. As much as Jessie wanted to be honest and tell the couple that Lorna was her sister, she feared it would scare them.
‘We live in the area,’ she said, trying to explain their sudden presence. ‘We saw a light and decided to find out what was happening. That’s all.’
Ger and Jessie sat on the ground, Quan and Linh on the mattress. Linh spoke haltingly, occasionally opening up, then shutting down again. Jessie suspected the only reason she was talking at all was out of desperation.
The process was slow. Linh paused frequently, either because she was grappling for the correct word or because she was considering how much to say. Then a dense quiet would settle over the room. Every so often, Quan spoke in Vietnamese, and she would translate. Once or twice, he intervened, causing her to backtrack. Jessie sensed that, rather than being coercive, his behaviour was motivated by fear.
Both had the gaunt, waxy faces and red-rimmed eyes of people who rarely saw sunlight. Even the slightest noise from outside caused them to stiffen their backs and lower their voices. Every so often, one of them left and walked the short stretch to the other sheds. Their job was to keep a mundane vigil, watering plants and switching lights on and off. Hour after hour. Day after day.
While, theoretically, they could walk away, in reality they were prisoners. Surrounded as they were by fields and trees, they hadn’t known that the town of Clooneven was only a few kilometres away. Plus, from what Linh had said so far, they’d entered the country illegally. Oh, and they were growing and harvesting an illegal crop. Jessie could see why they would be reluctant to seek help.
According to Linh, they were from a province in Vietnam called Ha Tinh. Compared to the big cities, she said, life in their village had remained relatively basic.
‘We grew up poor,’ she continued, ‘but not hungry. Our lives were . . .’ she paused ‘. . . good.’
Jessie did a search and brought up several images of Ha Tinh on her phone. They showed a strip of white beach, sun glinting off the water, an emerald island on the horizon. ‘Wow,’ she said, ‘it’s gorgeous.’
It took her a moment to appreciate how crass she was being. Thankfully, neither Linh nor Quan was upset by the pictures. If anything, they appeared proud to be from such a beautiful place.
As was often the case, the images revealed only part of the story. Linh told them that until a couple of years earlier people had made their living from fishing. Then, a toxic waste spill from a factory had poisoned the coastline and killed the fish. Even where the fish survived, selling them was illegal because of the risk of contamination. Overnight, people were stripped of their livelihoods. They had nothing to do and nothing to sell. There were protests, but some of the protesters were jailed.
In desperation, young people started to leave. Some were dazzled by Facebook posts showing prosperous Vietnamese communities in England and France. Chien is managing a restaurant, the posts would say, or Ping now has her own salon. Families bragged about how well their sons and daughters were doing abroad. They were running businesses and sending money home, their lives laden with opportunity. Jessie thought of the generations of Irish families who’d made similar claims. In too many cases the boasts hadn’t reflected reality.
Eventually, both Linh and Quan’s parents had taken out loans to pay for their passage to Europe. They’d intended to go to London where others from the area had settled. They were assured they’d make enough money to pay off their parents’ debts. After that, they would save for their wedding and then they’d return to Ha Tinh and buy a house.
The young couple were reluctant to say how much they’d paid the smugglers. Quan shook his head vigorously when asked. Linh picked at the sleeve of her matted grey fleece. From what Jessie could gather, the journey had been split into several parts, with different sums due at various points along the route.
Linh referred to the organisers as ‘the line’.
‘They didn’t tell us their real names,’ she said, her voice a feathery whisper.
Their first stop was in China. After that, they went to Russia. From there, they crossed by foot into Belarus. The trip was arduous, and they rarely had enough to eat, but by the time they reached Poland, they were confident the worst was over.
Days and nights flew past, as a series of vans and lorries brought them across the continent. Every once in a while, they would get stuck in a house or apartment. Then, with a few minutes’ notice, they would be moved on again. At last, they reached the outskirts of a French port where they were met by two men, the penultimate part of ‘the line’. At the time, they assumed the men were English.
The container held twenty people and a wall of cardboard boxes, making it extremely cramped. They were instructed to hide behind the boxes and to make as little noise as possible. It was bone-chillingly cold, and none of them had sufficient clothing to stay warm. Nor could they see anything; their surroundings were completely black without even a hint of light. Breathing became more and more difficult. Linh remembered falling asleep, then waking with a sense of dread.
‘I worried that everyone was dead,’ she said. ‘For a few seconds, I worried that I was dead.’
After a while, she heard a strange noise. A tearing sound. Someone was ripping up one of the boxes. She called out. Quan was using the cardboard as insulation.
The couple’s eyes met, the memory causing them to share a smile.
Later, said Linh, the crossing became rough. The ferry rocked and swayed until some of the group were sick. She feared the boat would sink.
When, finally, they arrived at their destination, they were divided into smaller groups. They travelled into the countryside, believing all the while that they were in England. On an isolated road, Linh and Quan were transferred to a waiting car.
‘I asked the driver if we would reach London soon, and he laughed,’ she said. ‘He kept laughing, like I’d told a really great joke. In the end, he said we were in Ireland. The men in France had also been Irish.’
Jessie could only imagine their confusion. It was plain that, back then, the name of their new home had meant relatively little to them. And why should it have done? Her knowledge of Vietnam was limited to a handful of tourist clichés.
‘Who was the driver?’ she asked.
Quan and Linh stayed quiet.
She tried again. ‘Do you still see him?’
Once more, there was no answer. Quan’s right leg began to jiggle up and down. Linh said something to him in Vietnamese. His reply came quickly.
‘It’s all right,’ said Ger. ‘You don’t have to tell us.’
Anger rising all the while, Jessie was desperate to discover if either Simon or Dave had brought them here. But pressing Linh and Quan wouldn’t just be futile, it would be heartless. Instead, she asked if they knew why they’d ended up in Clooneven.
‘They told us we owed money,’ said Linh, ‘and that when we’d paid them, we would be free. They also took our passports and phones.’
‘Do they still claim you owe money?’ asked Ger.
She nodded. For the first time, she looked as if she might cry. ‘They say they’re putting money into a bank account, and it will be ours when we leave.’
For the next while, Ger asked Linh about home.
Without their phones, they were unable to contact their parents. ‘They must think we’ve forgotten them,’ she said. ‘Or that we’re dead.’
Jessie offered them her phone. Linh declined. ‘It’s been too long. I don’t know how to . . . how to explain this to them.’
She spoke about her worries for her elderly grandparents and for Quan’s younger sister who had poor health. The sentences were stilted, as though each one caused her pain.
Jessie found it hard to focus. Only a few hours earlier, she’d viewed Dave and the cannabis plants in an almost comical way. She’d tried to convince herself that the enterprise was no more sinister than a poitín still or a shebeen. But this was a long way from the old fellows who sold homemade spirits or ran an unlicensed bar. This was dark.
Quan and Linh might have left Vietnam willingly, but they hadn’t chosen to come here, to the very edge of Europe. Nor had they chosen to live in a damp shed where they were expected to work night and day for nothing. Their vulnerability had been exploited. What was being done to them wasn’t just illegal, it was exceptionally cruel.
It was five in the morning when Jessie and Ger left. Linh and Quan insisted that if they didn’t go, someone would see them.
‘Some days they’re early,’ she said, careful once more not to identify who was in charge.
Quan spoke for a minute or two in Vietnamese.
‘He says we shouldn’t have spoken to you,’ said Linh. ‘He’s worried we can’t trust you.’
‘We won’t do anything unless you want us to,’ said Jessie. ‘I swear.’
‘You can’t stay here, though,’ said Ger.
Linh bowed her head. ‘There’s no choice.’
‘Yes, there is. If you leave – when you leave – there are people who will help you. I promise you that.’
She shrugged, her gesture suggesting that she didn’t believe him.
As they trudged back across the fields, the birds were in full voice, as if this was a morning like any other. Jessie’s mind roved across everything they’d heard. She rummaged for loopholes and excuses. In truth, there were none. Although she’d read about cases like this, never in a million years could she have pictured a member of her family being part of the story.
Why? she kept saying to herself. But no matter how many times she asked, there was only one answer. Money. This prompted another question: how much money did Lorna and Simon need? Would her sister really get involved in the drugs trade for a kitchen of shiny appliances and a wardrobe of well-cut clothes?
‘What are we going to do?’ said Ger, as the lane where they’d left the car came into view.
‘I don’t know. Like you said, though, Linh and Quan can’t stay in that shed. We’ve got to get them out.’
‘So you agree we should go to the guards?’
‘I . . .’
Her hesitation was long enough for him to read its meaning. ‘You don’t want to go to the guards?’
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just . . . they’re here illegally and they’re growing weed. What if they end up in trouble?’
‘They won’t,’ he said, in his most emphatic voice. ‘The only people who’ll be in trouble with the law are the ones who deserve it.’
‘Can you be sure?’
‘Did you not see the state of that place? Linh and Quan aren’t there through choice. They’re the victims in this. And, from what they said, they aren’t the first people to live there either.’
‘Don’t get angry with me. I’m not saying they’re to blame for anything. What’s being done to them is revolting. But at the same time . . . well, going to the cops isn’t completely straightforward.’
‘Yes, it is.’ They’d reached the car. He turned, leant back against it and stared at the sky. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I hear what you’re saying, and I get that this is awkward for you. But we can’t pretend we didn’t meet them.’
‘I’m not suggesting we forget about them,’ she said, her mouth so dry she could barely get her tongue around the words. ‘But I’m also thinking of my parents. They’ve had a lot to cope with over the past few months. Hearing about Lorna being mixed up in something like this would be horrendous for them. And what about Ethan and Zoë? What would it mean for them?’
The implications of going to the gardaí were stacking up in front of her like a never-ending line of cards. Of course, right was on Ger’s side, but she wanted him to acknowledge that whatever they did would have far-reaching consequences.
‘Seriously, Jessie,’ he said, ‘there’s no comparison between what you did and what your sister appears to be involved in. None at all. Your only crime was being a bit of an eejit. People can’t get away with human-trafficking just because they happen to have sound parents or nice kids.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’ The phrase ‘human-trafficking’ hit her like a twenty-foot wave. Putting a name to something made it feel even worse.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t blame you for being shocked. Only—’
‘We don’t have to do anything right this minute, do we?’ she said, massaging the back of her neck, which, like the rest of her, burnt with tiredness. ‘It’s not like Linh and Quan are going to rush up to the house and tell Simon and Lorna about us.’
Jessie was beginning to regret involving Ger. Why couldn’t he understand that, for her, this wasn’t clear-cut? Even as every cell in her body vibrated with shame, she had to consider what going to the police would mean for her family.
‘We need to make a decision today,’ he said. The longer we leave it, the worse it’ll get.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Talking of your mam and dad, I hope they haven’t been looking for you.’
‘Don’t worry. I might be living at home, but Mam’s managed to loosen the apron strings a little.’
‘I take it you’re working today?’
‘Yeah, at half eight, though how I’m going to handle it, I don’t know. I suppose I could always bunk off.’
‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea. You can’t risk giving Lorna or Simon any reason to believe that something’s up with you.’
‘Fair enough,’ she said, climbing into the car.
She was annoyed by his tone. Who was he to tell her what she could or couldn’t do? He wasn’t the one who’d have to spend the day making coffee and pretending to enjoy holiday banter. Still, she couldn’t quarrel with the substance of what he’d said. She didn’t want to give her sister any cause for suspicion.
‘What time do you finish?’ he asked.
‘Five-ish, if I last until then.’
He turned the key. ‘I’ll pick you up, and we can decide what to do.’