Chapter 29
As Jamie’s colleagues are preparing to leave the office at the end of a busy day, Jamie pulls up a forty-page inspection report and begins reading.
‘Don’t stay too late,’ says Emma, from the neighbouring cubicle.
‘No rest for the wicked.’ Jamie pulls what he intends to be a rueful expression. ‘Just need to get this squared away.’ He turns back to his screen, frowning intently. The report is practically finished, and in any case isn’t due for a fortnight, but Emma doesn’t know that.
‘See you, Jamie!’ someone calls from across the room.
‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’ The boss, Adam -Bennington, his coat already buttoned up against the autumn chill.
‘Almost done.’
As the office slowly empties, Jamie drops the pretence and leans back in his chair, letting out his breath in a long, audible sigh. His thumbs hesitate over his phone for a few seconds, before he taps out a message to Nadeeka.
Need to stay late at work, sorry xxx
She doesn’t reply right away, and Jamie goes back to his report, only half-concentrating.
Things between them have been strained since the girls came back from Scott’s.
On Sunday evening, Maya had refused Jamie’s offer of help with her homework, and so Nish had refused too, and although Jamie had told Nadeeka it was no big deal, the rejection had smarted.
‘You’re not still sulking, are you?’ Nadeeka had said when they’d been getting ready for bed. Jamie had recalled her spread-eagled on the bed with come-to-bed eyes the previous evening, and had marvelled at the difference twenty-four hours could make.
‘I haven’t been sulking at all.’
‘The girls are still getting used to having you around. Don’t let it get to you.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Nadeeka had laughed, but it hadn’t felt funny, and when she’d reached for him later, Jamie had pretended to be asleep.
By the time Maya and Nish got home from school yesterday, Scott’s poison had been sufficiently diluted for Nish to tell Jamie a joke she’d learned at school, and for Maya to ask for Jamie’s help with a science project.
But now it’s Wednesday and the girls are with Scott, and the exhausting and demoralizing cycle will start again.
Jamie’s phone beeps with a reply from Nadeeka.
Okay, see you later. Don’t work too hard! Xx
He checks his watch. He can’t avoid the fallout from Scott badmouthing him, but he can avoid Scott. Another half an hour, then he’ll go home.
When Jamie gets to the bus stop, the digital screen shows Cancelled in place of the bus he’d been planning to take.
Karma for lying to Nadeeka, he thinks wryly.
He hasn’t owned a vehicle for years, opting for more environmentally sound options where possible, and renting a car when driving is the only option.
His commute to work from Nadeeka’s house is inexpensive and easy . . . when the bus is running.
He crosses the road to the Two Princes pub. There are worse ways to kill some time before the next bus, and at least now he doesn’t risk running into Scott if he’s late dropping Maya and Nish home.
Jamie is carrying his pint and a packet of crisps to an empty table in the corner when he hears someone call his name. He turns and smiles, recognizing Carrie Finder, the perennially sociable head of ‘People and Culture’.
‘Did you get your report done?’
It takes Jamie a second to remember his lie. ‘Yes, all done.’
‘Cheers to that!’ She raises her wine glass. ‘Join us, if you like?’ She’s sitting with two men, each with half-drunk pints and uninterested expressions.
‘Oh, no – I won’t intrude.’
‘Nonsense! I insist. You’re not intruding at all. Alan, Chris, this is Jamie from work.’
Jamie can’t figure out a way to refuse without being rude, so he pulls out a chair and nods a hello to Carrie’s friends. ‘Hi. My bus was cancelled, so . . .’ He takes a sip from his pint.
‘It used to be a great service around here,’ Alan says. He’s in his fifties, with ruddy skin beneath an untidy greying beard. ‘Bloody cuts.’
‘Nightmare,’ Jamie says, for want of anything else. The TV on the wall is showing Sky News, the sound too low to hear more than a murmur. ‘So, what do you guys do?’
‘I’m a teacher,’ Alan says.
‘Oh, what subject?’
‘ICT. Secondary.’
‘Enjoy it?’
‘I spend most of my time stopping the lads using VPNs to watch porn.’ Alan grins. ‘It’s eye-opening, I tell you.’
Jamie turns to Chris. ‘Are you a teacher, too?’
‘God, no.’ He’s younger than Jamie – in his early thirties – and wearing the joggers-and-hoodie uniform of a lad even younger. His dark hair is shaved to grade two, and a small gold stud glints from one ear. ‘I’m at Hex Precision. The factory by the ring road? We make car parts.’
‘I got to know Chris when he was going out with one of my mates,’ Carrie says. ‘We’ve been trying to shake Alan off, but he’s persistent.’ She and Chris laugh, and Alan joins in; it’s clearly an old joke. ‘So, Jamie.’ Carrie nudges his arm. ‘How are you settling in?’
‘Yeah, good.’ Jamie is thumbing a quick text to Nadeeka.
Bus was cancelled, so having a quick drink with someone from work xx
‘One more for the road?’ Carrie says. ‘It’s my round.’
‘Take the chance while you can,’ Alan says. ‘I can’t remember the last time Carrie opened her wallet.’
‘I bought you a pint last week!’
Jamie’s phone pings with a text from Nadeeka.
That’s brilliant! Told you it wouldn’t be long before you found some drinking buddies! Have a great time! xxx
The exclamation marks are a measure of how much Nadeeka wants him to be happy; how she’s been hoping he’ll join clubs, make friends, put down roots. Stay.
Carrie points at Jamie’s glass. ‘Foster’s, was it?’
‘Go on, then. Cheers.’ How ironic, he thinks: most girlfriends want to get their partners out of the pub, not encourage them to stay.
‘ . . . bound to be approved, with that kind of agenda.’ Alan is talking to Chris. He looks at Jamie as though he expects an answer. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Hard to say,’ Jamie says, which is true enough.
‘What happens afterwards, that’s what I want to know.’ Chris picks up a beer mat and turns it around in his hands. ‘Once they’re all given leave to stay, and there’s no more room in the centre, where will they live? What jobs are they going to have?’
‘Ours,’ Alan says grimly.
‘Oh – you’re talking about the new immigration centre?’ Jamie takes his pint from Carrie, who’s carrying all four drinks at once and is perilously close to dropping one. ‘Thanks.’
‘Five hundred rooms, it’s going to have,’ Alan says. ‘Not beds, rooms. With en-suite bathrooms and “kitchenettes”.’ He makes quotes with his fingers. ‘I’m on thirty-six grand a year and my house doesn’t have an en-suite, but these buggers are getting one for free!’
‘I haven’t even got my own house,’ Jamie says. It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, but Alan bangs his fist on the table.
‘Exactly! Because you’re not called Abdul and you didn’t come here on a boat.’ He holds up his palms, nodding as though graciously acknowledging applause. ‘Am I right or am I right?’
Jamie dips his head to one side in a gesture he hopes Alan will take for agreement, then picks up his pint and takes several deep swallows. There’s no point arguing with people like Alan; their views are firmly entrenched, fuelled by tabloid hysteria and generations of judgemental ignorance.
‘That’s a bit of an assumption.’ Chris breaks into a grin. ‘Maybe his middle name’s Abdul.’ He laughs uproariously. ‘Well, is it? Is your middle name Abdul, Jamie?’
Carrie giggles. ‘If it is, I’ll have to get you a new ID badge for work.’
‘My middle name is not Abdul,’ Jamie says tightly. He takes another swig of his Foster’s. A couple more, and he will make his excuses.
‘Glad to hear it,’ Alan says.
‘It’s Mohammed.’ As the rest of the group roar with laughter, Jamie swallows the dregs of his pint, then places the glass firmly on the table. ‘Right, I’m off,’ he says. ‘Thanks again for the drink, Carrie. It’s been . . . enlightening.’
As Jamie leaves the pub, he passes a chalkboard menu propped on the bar. The day’s special is gammon and chips, and Jamie wonders if Alan and Chris have seen it, although perhaps they wouldn’t get the joke. Bigots never see themselves as bigots, do they?
He’s glad to finally be on the bus; even gladder to put his key in the lock of 10, Cedar Walk twenty minutes later and be greeted by Nadeeka’s arms around his neck, softly scented from the shower.
‘Did you have fun?’ She leans away from him, scrutinizing his face.
Jamie takes in her anxious expression; her desperation for him to be happy. ‘It was great.’
‘Who did you go with?’
‘Um, Carrie from work – she’s the HR manager – and a couple of friends of hers. Alan and Chris.’
‘Nice blokes?’
Jamie thinks of Alan’s ruddy face becoming more agitated as he considered the five hundred refugees who had the temerity to need basic cooking and bathroom facilities. He thinks of Chris’s guffaw as he ribbed Jamie about being called Abdul. He turns away to take off his coat. ‘Yeah. Nice blokes.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased!’
Nadeeka will worry less now she thinks he has friends, Jamie knows, and if she asks if he’s going to see Alan and Chris again he can easily give an excuse. He doesn’t have their numbers, or they live too far out of town.
Whatever story he gives Nadeeka, one thing is certain: Jamie has no intention of spending any more time with Alan and Chris.