Refugee Boy (17 page)

‘No, I don’t know them. I have never seen them before.’

‘But why,’ Mrs Fitzgerald asked. ‘Why don’t you want to call the police?’

‘I just want to forget it. If I want another bike I will get one but now I just want to rest. These boys will not be happy, something will happen to them.’ Alem began to head towards his bedroom.

‘What did they look like?’ Mrs Fitzgerald asked.

‘I didn’t get a good look at them. One was Black and one was Asian.’

‘Didn’t anyone come and help you?’ asked Mrs Fitzgerald.

‘Yes,’ replied Alem. ‘Two women came to help me. I had a good look at them, one was Black and one was Asian as well.’ He then made his way to his bedroom, turned his computer on and fell asleep on his bed.

Alem slept the kind of light sleep that meant he could hear noises from the house and still stay sleeping. He had fallen into bed wearing his jacket and shoes, and had chosen to sleep more as an attempt to forget everything than because of tiredness. At various times he heard Ruth in the house, he heard the bell ring a couple of times, he heard general communication coming from downstairs and at one point he even heard Mrs Fitzgerald telling someone to be quiet because he was sleeping. But he tried to block it all out. He was just about to fall into a deep sleep but then he could feel the presence of someone else in the room.

The person sat on the bed and put her hands over his eyes. ‘Alem,’ she said. It was Ruth. ‘Alem, I’m sorry to hear about your bike. But listen, I have a surprise for you. I want you to keep your eyes closed, turn around slowly and then when I take my hands away you can open your eyes, all right?’

Alem wasn’t in the mood for fun and games but he guessed that somehow his bike had been returned or a replacement bike had been obtained. ‘OK,’ he said almost reluctantly.

He turned around to face the door and sat up with Ruth’s hands still covering his eyes. Ruth now pressed her hands against his eyes, making him feel slightly uncomfortable, and he felt she was doing this more for herself than for him.

‘Open your eyes after three,’ she said, pointing his head in the direction of the door and placing herself out of view. ‘One – two – three!’ She took her hands away and in a flash Alem’s world lit up.

Standing before him was his father. His arms were outstretched and his smile said, Come and get me! Alem leaped from the bed straight into his arms. He hugged him hard, speaking to him in Amharic.

His father rubbed the top of his head with his hand and said, ‘English, young man, you must speak English.’ At which point they both burst into laughter and hugged some more, swinging each other from side to side.

Alem didn’t notice all the other people standing just inside his room behind his father. It wasn’t until his father properly entered the room that he noticed them disappearing downstairs: Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald, Mariam and Pamela from the Refugee Council, and Sheila the social worker. Ruth was the
last to leave, carefully closing the door behind her.

His father looked around the room, noticing the picture on the computer. ‘Very clever, very clever indeed! Your mother – I don’t have a single picture of her. Do you still have the original?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘You have a nice room here, young man. So you know how to use this computer then?’

‘Yes, Father, I’m not great but I’m getting better.’

‘And have you read all those books?’ he said looking at all the books on the floor.

‘No, not really.’

‘What does “not really” mean?’

‘Well, Father, I have read some of them but I have only read little parts of most of them.’

‘If you start something, you must see it through.’

‘I know, Father, I try,’ Alem said cheekily, ‘but there are so many things to see through.’

Alem’s father sat with Alem on his bed and explained that he had landed at Heathrow Airport that morning. Then he made his way to central London on the Underground and contacted the Refugee Council. Not wanting to sadden the occasion too much, he only spoke a little about the way the war was impacting on the people. Alem knew that soon they had to talk about his mother but now he wanted to celebrate.

‘Do you plan to go back?’ Alem asked.

‘No, of course not,’ replied Mr Kelo. ‘Not now anyway. I told you in my letter that at the moment there is nothing back there for me, so I come here. Let us go downstairs.’

They went downstairs to the living room to find that the other visitors had gone, leaving only the Fitzgerald family. ‘Where have they all gone?’ Mr Kelo asked Mr Fitzgerald, who was sitting next to Mrs Fitzgerald on the settee.

‘They said that they felt it was best if they left. But Mariam – you know, the young girl – said she’ll pick you up at ten tonight.’

Ruth took a brown envelope from the table. ‘And she told me to give you this,’ she said, handing it to him.

‘What is this?’ asked Mr Kelo.

‘She said it was your money, your dollars turned into pounds or something like that.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Kelo said, smiling and opening the envelope. There was a small amount of money inside, which he took out and waved as if it was thousands of pounds. ‘I would like to take you all out for a treat,’ he said.

Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald looked at each other, knowing that the amount he was waving around wasn’t the kind of money that could give five people a treat, and anyway they weren’t the type of people who ate out. They liked their own toilet, home cooking and home entertainment.

Ruth jumped up. ‘Mr Kelo, we’re fine. You only have until ten and it’s seven now. You take Alem out, it’s your night.’

‘That’s right,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said with Mr Fitzgerald nodding in agreement.

‘Are you sure?’ Mr Kelo asked, looking around the room. All of them nodded. ‘And Alem, what do you think?’

‘Yes, Father, if it’s OK with everyone else it’s OK with me.’

‘No, Alem,’ said his father, encouraging Alem to think for himself. ‘Never mind everyone else, I’m asking you. Is it OK with you?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘All right, let’s go.’

Alem still had his jacket on. He began to button it up quickly.

His father watched him and could see the sheer excitement on his face, as did the Fitzgeralds. All smiled at seeing him as happy as he had ever been.

‘So what do you want to eat?’ asked Mr Kelo. That devious look returned to his face. ‘Remember we are in London, you can eat anything here.’ He paused. ‘Let me guess – Italian!’

‘No,’ said Alem with an even more devious look on his face. ‘Ethiopian.’

They called a taxi and went to the Merkato, an
Ethiopian restaurant that Ruth had discovered on Plashet Road. They ate traditional fairsolia beans and doro wot sauce on injera, a large bread made from flour and water, and to remind themselves of home they performed gursha, feeding each other with their hands. The other customers (all Europeans) watched them feeding each other while trying not to be openly nosy. Alem and his father carried on regardless.

When they had finished eating, they talked for a while. ‘I want you to be absolutely honest,’ Mr Kelo said sternly. ‘How do you find this family?’

‘Father, I don’t have one complaint. They have given me a nice home; they don’t pressure me in any way. They let me do what I want but they are always ready to talk to me and they treat me very good. I can’t say anything bad about them.’

‘And your school?’

‘My school is good. There are children from all over the world there and the teachers are good. It is very different from school back home but I like it very much and I have made good friends there.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Kelo replied, ‘and who is Robert?’

‘Robert is my good friend, he’s a nice boy. I met him by accident on my first day and he was the one to show me around the school and help me fit in. The problem is he smokes.’

‘He smokes?’

‘Yes,’ Alem replied. ‘Many children smoke here, no
one really says anything.’

Mr Kelo leaned forward over the table. ‘Do you smoke?’ he said.

‘Of course not,’ Alem said. ‘I can’t see its purpose.’

After the meal they caught a taxi back to the house where Mariam was waiting to take Mr Kelo to a bed-and-breakfast.

‘What will you do tomorrow?’ Mr Fitzgerald asked.

‘Tomorrow I have a meeting with the Refugee Council in the morning, then on Monday morning I will have to report to the Home Office to make my application for political asylum. So I will see you all late afternoon, if I may.’

Everybody agreed.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you are, and if it’s OK with you I’ll see you after school on Monday,’ he said to Alem.

‘Yes, Father,’ Alem replied. He walked towards him and hugged him.

As they were leaving, Mrs Fitzgerald said, ‘On Monday we would like to feed you, Mr Kelo.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied.

Alem said, ‘Can I help you cook, Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘Of course you can. If you like, you can do the cooking, we’ll just help you.’

‘Right, Father, that’s it, on Monday I’ll feed you.’

Mr Kelo reached out and rubbed Alem’s jaw. ‘OK, young man, I look forward to that.’

After school on Monday, Alem ran home as fast as he could to cook his father’s meal.

‘Did you get the spaghetti?’ he asked Mrs Fitzgerald as he hung up his jacket and went into the kitchen.

‘Yes, I got it,’ she replied.

‘And is it Italian?’

‘Yes.’

‘Actually made in Italy?’

‘Yes, yes, yes! It says “produce of Italy” on the packet and the shopkeeper said he knows the Italian family who export it.’ She handed him the packet. ‘You can’t get more Italian than that. Now wash your hands.’

Mrs Fitzgerald guided him around the kitchen and helped him prepare the spaghetti and the sauce. Ruth came home as the cooking was ending and laid the table for them before going to her room to listen to some music. Not sure exactly what time Mr Kelo was coming, the household went into a state of limbo. Mr Fitzgerald was happily rearranging things in the
garden shed, Mrs Fitzgerald began washing used pots and cleaning the kitchen, and Alem went upstairs and started to tidy his room.

Then the doorbell rang and everybody headed for the front door. Alem leaped down the stairs and beat everyone to it. He opened the door to find Mariam and Sheila standing there. He looked beyond them and to the left of them and to the right of them, hoping that there was a surprise or a trick in store, but he could see by the expressions on their faces that they were playing no games.

‘Where’s my father?’ Alem asked.

Mrs Fitzgerald came up behind Alem. ‘Let them come in, Alem.’

They all went into the living room without saying a word until Mariam spoke. She directed her words to Alem. ‘I went with your father today to the Home Office to help him with his application and he was arrested and taken to Campsfield.’

No one spoke. Alem stared at her. He felt like crying, he felt like shouting, but instead he just whispered, ‘What is Campsfield?’

‘Campsfield is a detention centre where they detain asylum seekers.’

‘You mean it’s a prison?’ Alem asked.

‘Well, officially it’s not a prison,’ Mariam replied, ‘however, I’m afraid that everyone I’ve known who’s been there has said it’s just like a prison.’

‘What can we do?’ said Ruth.

‘There’s not much we can do,’ Mariam said. ‘We’ll be using Nicholas Morgan again, Alem’s barrister. He’ll get to work first thing tomorrow. Until then there really is very little that can be done.’

Sheila reminded Alem that she was there if he needed her. Alem thanked them both and went to his room. He felt as if his life was a roller-coaster going from one extreme to the other. He considered his age and asked himself if this was the way his life would continue. He sat silently. He heard Sheila and Mariam leave. He heard the Fitzgeralds talking; he had no intention of joining them.

When Mrs Fitzgerald stood outside his door urging him to eat something before the food went cold, he just said, ‘I can’t eat now, Mrs Fitzgerald.’

As the Fitzgeralds were eating, he went to the bathroom, but after that he never left his room for the rest of the night.

The next morning to everyone’s surprise Alem was up early. He had breakfast as usual and went to school. Mrs Fitzgerald tried to get him to stay home but he insisted on going, saying that he had to learn as much as he could. But at school everyone could see that something was wrong with him. Robert knew it was serious but instead of asking, he hoped that Alem would tell him what it was.

Alem walked home alone and when he arrived, Mrs Fitzgerald, who was in the middle of a phone conversation, opened the door. ‘Alem has just come in now,’ she said to the person on the phone. ‘Would you like to speak to him? OK, here he is,’ she said, handing him the phone.

‘Hello. This is Nicholas Morgan here, Alem.’

‘Hello,’ Alem replied.

‘Look,’ Nicholas continued, ‘I don’t want you to get too worried. We’re going to apply for bail. He really doesn’t have to be in there and we think that we have a strong case. So don’t worry too much, all right?’

‘All right,’ Alem said.

‘I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I know anything. Now can you put Mrs Fitzgerald back on?’

‘Yes,’ said Alem. He handed the phone back to Mrs Fitzgerald.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK – will do – no problem – thank you – goodbye,’ and she put the phone down. ‘Don’t worry, son,’ she said to Alem.

‘I’m all right,’ Alem replied. He went to his room, turned on his computer and changed his clothes.

He didn’t say much but he ate with the family as normal that evening, retiring to his room early again. Soon after there was a knock on the door.

It was Ruth.

‘Can I come in?’ she said, opening the door ever so slightly.

‘Of course.’

She entered the room and sat on the bed next to Alem. ‘I really don’t know what to say. If I were in your place, I would have cracked up by now. You’ve had to deal with so much.’

‘I suppose it’s my life so I have to deal with it.’

‘I don’t think it’s as simple as that. You have to be tough.’ She had a small package in her hand which she handed to Alem. ‘I have a present for you. I took a chance – you may hate them but I thought I’d give it a try.’