Chapter 31
Nadeeka looks at him sympathetically when he gets in. ‘Tough day?’
‘A few issues with the foreman on the Bradstone development, that’s all.
It’ll get sorted.’ It’s alarming how easily the lie trips off his tongue, but what else can he say?
I think my HR manager is a fascist and your company is on her hit list .
. . He doesn’t even know what Carrie’s list means yet.
He turns away to hang up his coat. ‘How was yours?’
‘Great!’ Nadeeka walks into the kitchen, raising her voice as she moves away from him. ‘I had this idea for a recruitment day, and corporate are running with it. I’ve even been given a budget.’
‘What are you planning?’ Jamie follows her, his mind still on Carrie’s list. If he asks Carrie outright about Echelon, she’ll wonder why he’s singled out that one in particular, and the last thing Jamie wants is to make Nadeeka’s employer even more of a target.
Nadeeka flicks on the kettle. ‘I’m thinking stalls for each career pathway, a staff rep for each department . . .’ She grins. ‘Like a Freshers’ Fair, but without the booze and shagging.’
Jamie manages to smile. ‘You’ve, er . . . got a pretty diverse workforce at Echelon, haven’t you?’
The question sounds forced but Nadeeka doesn’t seem to notice. She wrinkles her nose. ‘Not really. We don’t have a single female forklift operative, even though the hours are really flexible.’
‘But you have loads of different nationalities?’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, over twenty, last time I counted.’ Nadeeka takes out two mugs.
Hers is the Best Mum one Jamie helped the girls buy for her birthday; his says Health and Safety Inspectors do it with protection.
‘We’ve got a fair number from Poland and Bulgaria, here under the EU Settlement scheme, plus a few on skilled visas. And a couple of dozen refugees.’
‘Refugees?’ An uncomfortable sensation forms in Jamie’s throat as he thinks of the immigration centre protest. ‘I didn’t know they were allowed to work.’
‘They can once they’ve been granted asylum.
’ Nadeeka waits for the kettle to boil. ‘Or they can apply if they’ve been waiting over twelve months for a decision.
’ She laughs. ‘I bet you’re regretting asking now.
I can talk you through the intricacies of hiring someone with Resettled status, if you really want. ’ She grins.
Jamie gives a faint smile. ‘You’re all right. So your recruitment drive is to bring in, what, more local people?’ He wonders if Carrie already knows about the job fair, or whether Echelon is on the list purely because of their inclusive hiring policies.
‘Local, English, Ukrainian, Eritrean . . .’ Nadeeka gives an exaggerated shrug. ‘It’s all the same to me as long as the work ethic’s there. Corporate have given the go-ahead for a month-long recruitment drive, finishing with a job fair on site. It’s going to be great.’
‘I wonder if you’ll get any backlash from it,’ Jamie says, as though the thought has just occurred to him.
Nadeeka looks at him in surprise. ‘Why would we?’
‘People can be narrow-minded.’
‘Oh, you mean the “Johnny foreigner stole my job” brigade?’ Nadeeka hands him his tea.
‘Fuck ’em.’ She laughs at Jamie’s surprised expression.
Nadeeka hardly ever swears. ‘I mean it, Jamie. I’ve lost count of the number of local lads I’ve put in the warehouse only for them to turn up late or not at all.
Don’t get me wrong, we’ve got some great Brits on the payroll, but some of our best and most reliable workers are from other countries. I bet it’s the same for you at ATP.’
‘I guess,’ Jamie says weakly. Should he tell Adam about Carrie filtering the resumés? Carrie has worked at ATP for years; she and Adam are pretty tight. What if it backfires and it’s Jamie who loses his job?
Nadeeka leans against the counter, cradling her tea. ‘When my parents came to the UK in the Eighties, they were literally spat at in the street. People thought nothing of calling them Pakis, or refusing to serve them.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Jamie cringes a little at his response, which sounds so insignificant, even though he means it wholeheartedly.
‘Yeah, well, if Mum and Dad can put up with that, I can deal with a few small-minded bigots.’
‘Even so, maybe it would be better not to focus too much on the foreign-born workers in your recruitment campaign.’ Jamie swallows. ‘Just . . . you know, in case anyone has a problem with it.’
There’s a long and uncomfortable silence.
Nadeeka studies him. ‘It sounds a little bit as though you have a problem with it,’ she says slowly.
‘Me? God, no.’ He shakes his head. ‘Not for a second.’ His revulsion at the suggestion makes his protestations so vehement he fears they sound insincere. He takes a deep breath. ‘Absolutely not,’ he says, more calmly. ‘I just don’t want you to attract any undesirable attention, that’s all.’
Just as Nadeeka opens her mouth to form a retort, Nish careers down the stairs. ‘Maybe you should stick to construction sites,’ she says instead, and despite the lightness there’s a sharp undercurrent. ‘I don’t think you’re cut out for recruitment.’
Carrie pronounces herself ‘thrilled’ when Jamie asks when she’s free for a drink, immediately proposing they join Alan and Chris after work that evening.
Jamie would willingly go the rest of his life without seeing either man again, but Carrie’s flirtations make him nervous, and he doesn’t want to give her the wrong idea.
Better to have chaperones – even obnoxious ones.
Jamie half-hopes Nadeeka will say he can’t go, or at least hint at some displeasure, but when he calls her at lunchtime, she’s almost as delighted as Carrie.
‘It’s so great you’re making local friends,’ she says.
Jamie has been careful not to bring up the recruitment fair, or anything to do with Echelon’s hiring strategies, and the tension between him and Nadeeka has dissipated.
She tells him to enjoy himself and not to rush home.
‘Maybe we could have them all over for drinks some time,’ she adds.
Jamie imagines opening the front door to Alan, Chris and Carrie – imagines their faces when they see Nadeeka – and sweat trickles down his spine.
The day passes all too quickly, and soon Jamie finds himself back in the Two Princes, his palms slick with nerves.
‘Good to see you again, Mohammed,’ Chris says. Jamie forces himself to laugh. They shake hands, and Jamie notices Chris surreptitiously wiping his on his trousers as he sits back down.
‘Carrie said you’re up for joining the march.’ Alan raises his pint towards Jamie. ‘Good man.’
Jamie lifts his own pint in acknowledgement. ‘You have to vote with your feet, right?’
‘Right!’ Carrie nods enthusiastically. ‘Here’s my mobile number; give us a bell when you get there and we can meet up.’ She scribbles it on a beer mat and hands it over.
‘Thanks. And if . . .’ Jamie clears his throat. ‘If I come across any companies that deserve to go on the list . . .’ He gives Carrie what he hopes is a knowing look.
The silence that follows makes the hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck stand up.
‘The list?’ Alan says eventually.
Jamie attempts a more meaningful look towards Carrie. ‘You know, the list.’
Another silence. Jamie’s nausea intensifies.
‘You absolute tit, Carrie,’ Alan says. ‘What have you told him?’
‘Nothing.’ She looks up through her eyelashes at him. ‘But it’s okay – I’ve got a good feeling about him.’
There’s another pause – another exchange of glances between the three friends – and Jamie feels suddenly out of his depth, as though he’s stepped off a sandbank and is flailing in the water.
Alan rests his forearms on the table and fixes Jamie with a gaze so intense it feels like a burn. ‘You one of us, then?’
‘Maybe.’ Jamie tries to sound nonchalant, as though his reticence is because he can’t be arsed, and not because he doesn’t have a clue what Alan’s talking about. One of us? One of who?
‘The marches are only part of it, you know,’ Chris chips in.
‘I know.’ Jamie’s heart rate quickens.
‘You interested in getting involved?’ Alan’s still staring at him. Jamie has to force himself not to look away.
‘Maybe,’ Jamie says carefully. His pulse is a drumbeat now, thrumming in his ears, and he doesn’t dare lift his glass in case the tremor extends to his hands.
Alan glances at Carrie, then at Chris, then back to Jamie. There’s a long silence, then he breaks his gaze away, takes a sip of his pint, and leans back in his chair. ‘D’you catch the news this morning?’
Jamie exhales. Alan’s moved on. Jamie must have passed the test – whatever it was.
‘The RNLI story?’ Chris says.
‘Yeah. Boats being used to rescue migrant scum.’ Alan looks directly at Jamie as he says this, and Jamie’s pulse surges once more. That hadn’t been the test . . . this is the test.
‘Loads of people have cancelled their direct debits over it,’ Carrie says.
‘Course they have.’ Alan shakes his head. ‘Old Mrs Miggins doesn’t give up a tenner of her pension each month for the RNLI to nanny a bunch of scrounging shitbags who decide it’s a good idea to cross the Channel on a lilo.’ He looks at Jamie. ‘Does she?’
Jamie swallows. It’s clear there is only one acceptable answer. ‘She certainly doesn’t.’
‘You agree they shouldn’t launch the lifeboats, then, if it’s for migrants?’
Fuck. He wants him to actually say it. He wants to know if Jamie can be trusted, if his views are aligned with their own. ‘Exactly.’ Jamie’s voice feels pinched. ‘Like you say, it’s not what they’re funded for.’
‘So if they see migrants in the water, they should . . .’ Alan gestures for Jamie to finish the sentence.
The pub is suddenly too hot, too crowded. Jamie blinks hard, takes a sip of his pint to buy time. ‘They should . . .’ God, they’re all looking at him. Waiting for his answer; for the answer he knows they expect. ‘Let them drown,’ he finishes quietly.
A broad smile spreads across Alan’s face, and Jamie swallows his nausea with a chaser of Foster’s.
‘Saves doing the job once they reach dry land, right?’ Chris chuckles. He leans forward conspiratorially, drawing in Carrie and a reluctant Jamie. ‘The other night, right – must have been gone eleven, it was after last orders – Alan and me found one of them in the entrance to the shopping centre.’
He glances at Alan, as though seeking his permission to continue with the story. Jamie’s stomach hollows in trepidation.
‘He asked for a quid so he could get a drink.’ Chris pushes back his chair and half stands, and the corners of Alan’s mouth twitch. ‘So we gave him one for free!’ Chris holds one hand in front of his crotch, spraying an invisible hose across the table. Alan and Carrie roar with laughter.
Jamie fights to hide his revulsion. He pulls out his phone and frowns at an imaginary message. ‘I’d better be off.’ He can’t stay in this pub a second longer. Racist rhetoric is bad enough, but pissing on a homeless guy? They’re psychotic.
‘Is everything okay?’ Carrie asks.
‘Yeah, fine, just . . .’ Jamie can’t finish.
‘You know . . .’ Alan glances at the others. ‘There’s a few of us – like-minded individuals who want this country back the way it used to be . . . You should join us.’
Jamie pushes back his chair. ‘I’ve got to shoot, sorry. My girlfriend wants me home.’
‘Under the thumb, much?’ Chris is trying for a rise, but Jamie isn’t biting. He just wants to get the hell out of the Two Princes.
‘I forgot we were having dinner,’ Jamie explains. ‘My bad.’
‘You should bring her next time.’ Carrie smiles. ‘It would be nice not to be the token female.’
‘She’s got young kids – it’s tricky to get a babysitter.’
‘What’s her name?’ Carrie asks.
‘Nad—’ Jamie bites back the foreign-sounding name just in time. ‘—ia,’ he finishes. ‘Her name is Nadia.’