Secret Gardens (5 page)

“Not slaves,” she tells me. “We can walk away when we want.”

We have nowhere to walk to. Nadimah’s English is getting better. She talks much more than when we first met. She tells me about the war in Ivory Coast, where she comes from.

“Ivory Coast belonged to France before the war,” Nadimah tells me.

“Why didn’t you go to France?” I ask.

“Roland told my parents it would be better here.”

I think ahead. It is July. There is work in the fields until late September, people say. Then they go home. I have no home to go to. I have the keys to the allotment. But what if the council gives the allotment to someone else?

I am sixteen in November. I have to stay until then. I talk to other men about work. “Stay here till you’re sixteen,” some say. “Then you can get papers.” Others say, too risky, go to London. There is work in hotels, in restaurants. No one bothers about papers there, just as long as they get their food cheap.

The potatoes are finished. Heavy rains come. We must pick the strawberries before they turn to mush. At first, I love the taste of strawberries. They let us eat as many as we like. Nadimah works beside me. We feed the sweet fruit to each other until we get sick of them. Nadimah gets a tummy upset. She is sick on the ground. But she has to keep picking. We are paid by the kilo. If we don’t pick, we don’t get paid.

On Saturday, tourists come.They pay to pick their own strawberries, for fun.The rain holds off, but we are not allowed to work. Nadimah and I hear the tourists laughing and joking.We walk to a nearby village to get away from them.We buy a comic and some food.When we get back, most of the tourists are gone.A big blue people carrier is parked by the farmhouse. Sol, the gang-master is there. He has someone with him.

Roland.

We run and hide behind the big bins beside the farmhouse.

“Why is Roland here?” Nadimah asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe he’s not here to look for you.”

“Roland doesn’t know who you are,” she says. “You could go and listen.”

I go over and pretend to be looking for something. I hear the two men talking. But I don’t understand what they’re saying. I listen harder. Then Sol sees me.

“What do you want, Aazim?” Sol asks.

“I dropped a key,” I say.

“And what do you have a key for?”

“It was my mother’s. I don’t want to lose it. What language are you speaking?”

“French. Didn’t they teach you it at school?”

I shake my head and turn to go.

“Wait!” It’s Roland. His voice is deep and has a strong accent. “I want to show you something. Do you know this girl?”

He shows me a picture of Nadimah. The photo is old. Nadimah doesn’t look much like that now. I could lie. But Sol has met Nadimah. He knows what she looks like. So I can only tell half a lie.

“A girl who used to work here looks a bit like her.”

Roland nods. Sol leans forward.

“Didn’t that girl come with you?” Sol asked.

“No.” I look right back at him.

“Where is she now?”

Sol doesn’t know that Nadimah’s still here. But he’ll find out soon, from the farmer. He only has to ask.

“She got laid off, a week ago,” I lie.

“Did she have other work to go to?” Sol asks.

“I don’t think so. Not round here,” I say.

“And you have no idea where she’s gone?”

I shake my head.

“OK,” Sol says. He turns back to Roland and begins to speak in French again. I want to know what they’re saying. Nadimah would understand them but it’s too dangerous for her to come near. I go back to the bins.

“Roland’s looking for you. Soon he’s going to find out that you’re still here. We have to leave now!”

We cut across fields until we get to the road. It’s too risky to go to the village. That’s the first place Roland will look. We walk along the road, on the field side, hidden by the hedge. When we get to a bus stop, I look for a timetable. There isn’t one.

“What shall we do?” Nadimah asks. “Shall we keep walking?”

“There might not be another bus stop for miles.”

How often does the bus come? Every half hour? Once an hour?

“We can’t wait on the road,” Nadimah says. “If Roland drives by, he will see us.”

“But if we stay in the field, we won’t see the bus when it comes. I know what we have to do.”

The grass by the road is cut short. But farther back, by the hedge, it is long enough to hide in. We hide in the tall grass. I can still see the road. Just. It’s not busy. No buses. The grass is wet from all the rain over the last few days. Our bums get wet.

A blue people carrier goes by. We duck. It might be Sol. The car doesn’t slow down. I keep checking my watch. Over an hour passes. At last, the bus turns up. We stand. Roland could come down the road. He could be on the bus. But he isn’t.

“Where to?” the bus driver asks.

“Where does this bus go?” I ask her.

“Lincoln.”

“Two to Lincoln,” I say.

The journey takes nearly an hour. We sit at the back of the bus, with our heads down. If we can see other cars, then other cars can see us. Only in Lincoln do we look around.

“We could hide here,” I tell Nadimah.

“We don’t know anyone,” she says. “It’s too close to Sol.”

She’s right. It’s the first place Roland and Sol will look.

“Why does Roland want you back so badly?” I ask.

“Sometimes, he takes photos of me. He gets me to write letters to my family. So they think I am OK. So people at home will send more girls over. Maybe the people at home are asking about me.”

The bus pulls into the bus station. This is the most dangerous place. And we still don’t know where we are going.

“We could go to London,” I say. “There’s work there.”

“Do you know anyone in London? Won’t Roland expect us to go there?” Nadimah asks.

“It’s a big place,” I tell her.

“Roland knows it but we don’t,” Nadimah says. “He lives there.”

I can only think of one other place we can go. A place where someone might help us.

“See that toilet?” I point. “Hide in there. I’ll come back when it’s safe for you to come out.”

I go to the board with the timetables. I look around. I don’t see Sol or Roland. But there is a policeman. If he asks for my papers, I’ll be in trouble. Too late. He’s seen me. I stare at the board. Maybe the policeman will ignore me. But he doesn’t.

“You look a bit lost, son,” he says. He’s trying to help.

“I’m trying to find a bus to Nottingham,” I tell him.

“There’s only one a day. You’ve missed it,” the policeman says.

“Oh.”

“But there’s a train every hour.”

“Where is the train station, please?” I ask.

The policeman points. “Across the road. Are you all right? Do you know where you’re going?”

“Oh, yes.Thank you very much,” I nod and smile at him.

I cross the road. I look at the train times. There are trains to London and to Nottingham. Some of the Nottingham trains are slow because they stop in many places. I know one of the places where the train is going. The last train there leaves in ten minutes.

By the time we have our tickets, the Nottingham train is already at the first platform. We get on. At the next platform, the London train leaves. When it’s gone, I can see that platform. A tall man stares at us. Roland. He must have been watching the London train. He sees me and begins to run.

Nadimah hasn’t seen him. She wants to hide in the toilet until the train leaves. Just in case. I say nothing.

This is the 16.37 train to Nottingham, calling at ...

One moment can change your life.To get to our train, Roland has to run up a bridge then come down again. Someone else gets on the train. When will the doors lock? Nadimah gets to the toilet.

“It’s too late,” I say. “He’s here. He’s seen us. He’s coming.”

She begins to shake. I look at the people in the carriage. Two teenagers and an old couple. Will any of them help us? Will Roland drag Nadimah off the train? I look out of the window. I see Roland running down the stairs of the bridge. Before he reaches the platform, there is a clunk. The doors have locked. The train begins to move.

Roland keeps running. He reaches our carriage. Nadimah sees him. He waves his fist, then opens his hand. He points at me, then pretends to cut his own throat. The train speeds up.

“Can he catch us?” Nadimah asks.

“I don’t think so. Even a slow train is faster than the road.”

“But he knows we’re going to Nottingham! He could phone the Ubanis. They’ll be waiting for us!”

“We’re not going to Nottingham.”

The train stops at some small stations, then at Newark, which is much bigger. Roland is not there.

The train goes on. Rolleston. Fiskerton. Bleasby. Thurgaton. At last we reach the place I know. Lowdham. It’s near Stoke Bardolph, where Mrs Babcock lives.

The station is small and old. We are the only people to get out. I look for bus information. There is a bus to Stoke Bardolph, but the last one left hours ago. We could walk, but I don’t know the way. I ask a taxi-driver for directions.

“It’s a long walk on a hot day,” he says. “I can drive you there for a fiver.”

If Mrs Babcock can’t help us, I’ll have to make our money last a long time. But we’re very tired and we get into the car. Ten minutes later we’re at her house.

I ring the doorbell. No one comes to the door. I call Mrs Babcock’s name. There is no reply. The taxi leaves. Nadimah looks like she’s about to cry. I’ve never seen her cry.

“It’s OK,” I say. “I know where we can wait.”

I take the back gate key from its hiding place beneath a pot. We go into the garden. I have not seen it like this before. Nearly every flower is in full bloom. Roses. Poppies. The smoke bush. Nadimah looks around.

“What’s that bad smell?” she asks.

Mrs Babcock comes home at half past six. Her daughter is with her.

“Aazim!” She says. “How lovely to see you. I thought you’d gone for good. And who is your friend?”

Her daughter, Penny, doesn’t look so happy to see us. I would rather see Mrs Babcock alone, but we have no choice. I tell them everything.

“How awful,” Mrs Babcock says to Nadimah. “You didn’t know the family before?”

“They’re not from my country,” Nadimah says, shyly.

“They ought to be arrested,” Penny Babcock says. “I’m going to make some phone calls.”

On Sunday, I help Mrs Babcock in her garden. We don’t talk much. Police come to talk to Nadimah. When they have gone, she sits in Mrs Babcock’s kitchen and reads Penny’s old books.

“What did they say?” I ask her.

“They say they will send someone who will care for me. Maybe they can care for you, too.”

She’s wrong.They will deport me. I find Mrs Babcock in the garden. I swallow my pride.

“Can I stay here?” I ask. “In secret. Just until I’m 16?”

Mistake. There is a cold look on her face.

“I’m not sure, dear,” Mrs Babcock says. “Penny will know what to do.”

I know Penny won’t help me. I’m on my own.

Later, the police come again. This time, they have a social worker with them. She wants to see Nadimah alone. When the social worker has finished, she speaks to Mrs Babcock, not me.

“Nadimah wants Aazim to come with her, but we can’t keep them together. We can’t sort Aazim out until tomorrow. We think his family are still in a detention centre, waiting to be deported. Is it OK for him to stay with you tonight?”

The social worker does not ask what I want. I’m too young – only fifteen. I don’t count. She turns to me. “Would you like to go and say good-bye to her?”

“You might not see me again,” I tell Nadimah, but she doesn’t believe me. “I’ll try to stay in touch.”

“Thank you,” she says. Her eyes are dry. Mine aren’t.

Penny comes to say good-bye to me.

“Will you be safe?” she says. “I mean, if they send you back to your own country?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Why did you come here? Were you escaping something? Or did you come for a better life?”

She doesn’t want me to tell a story that will make her feel bad. I can tell. She doesn’t really want to know.

“Everyone wants a better life,” I reply. “Don’t you?”

At bedtime I tell Mrs Babcock that I will leave in the morning.

“I thought you would,” she says. “Here.” She hands me a mobile phone. “Penny bought it for me but I never use it.”

“Thank you,” I say. “That will be very useful.”

“Please call me from time to time,” she says. “I’ll try to keep track of Nadimah. I know you’ll want to know how she is.”

I thank her again and go to bed. It’s my last night in a bed but I sleep badly. In the morning, I get up early. Mrs Babcock comes to the door to see me off.

“Good luck,” she says. But she does not ask where I’m going.

I came to Europe on a big boat. For days and days there was nothing to eat and little to drink. We had nowhere to wash or pee. We lived in our own mess. Then there was a lorry. The five of us nearly got split up but Dad gave the man extra money. Mum and Sabeen were the only women in the back.

The journey was very bad, but it was worth it to get here.We had been told what to do. As soon as we got to the UK, we asked for asylum. We asked for papers to let us stay. It took nearly two years for the UK to say no.

If the rest of my family go back, I can apply again when I am sixteen. Should I? There is nowhere to go back to. Yet I miss my family, more and more. Maybe it is time to hand myself in.

But not yet.

It’s a hot summer’s day. I walk up Hungerhill Road with my heavy bag. The schools are on holiday but I don’t care who sees me. This time I’m not going to hide.

I open the allotment gates. A police car zooms down the road. They have come for me, I think. That was quick. OK, it’s over. I won’t run any more. At least I’ll see my family soon.

But the police stop on the other side of the road. I watch from behind the gate. They bring Mrs Ubani out, and her three young children. There is a girl, too, of ten or eleven. She must be the new slave. Mrs Ubani shouts and swears. No one looks across the road, at me. The police take all five of them away.