Close to the Wind (22 page)

But Steffan stepped from foot to foot and he
didn’t seem to notice. He said, ‘Dad’s got hairy legs and a hairy chest and he laughs like there’s no one else around and I like it when he laughs because I can see all his teeth and I like how big his mouth gets when he’s happy.’

Oskar picked up the heavy leather holdall and slung it across his back. He grabbed Steffan by his shirt and led him out toward the door with a hand around his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, Miss,’ he called out. ‘I’m taking him to the bathroom.’

Malik watched them go, not sure whether to follow them and perhaps miss meeting his family, so he stayed where he was and the couples passed among the boys and it seemed they talked to everyone but him.

The boys were asked to sit on the warehouse floor while Miss Price took the families to a different room to discuss which of the children they might take home with them.

Everyone was anxious and quiet and Malik was worried about Oskar and Steffan, who still hadn’t come back. He watched the double doors at the end
of the room but nobody arrived or left. The dinner lady offered them more tea.

Alex sat down next to Malik. ‘What do you think? Did you have any luck?’

‘I don’t think so. How about you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I saw that couple who talked to you. The ones with the boy. I liked the look of them.’

Alex nodded. He held his hands in his lap with his fingers crossed.

The double doors swung open and Miss Price took two steps inside and smiled at a boy who wore a green school cap. She held out a hand, ‘Come and meet your new family, Christopher.’ The boy hurried over with his bag and coat and she led him from the room.

Malik gave Booty to Alex and stood up. ‘I’m going to the toilet,’ he said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He hurried out into the corridor. A sign showed the toilets with an arrow pointing left and Malik followed it. He turned left again and then right. As he passed one of the doors he looked in through the glass and saw a woman at a desk on a telephone. He went into the toilets and found them empty except for a single locked cubicle. Malik knocked on the door. ‘Oskar? Steffan? Is that you?’

A man’s voice asked, ‘Excuse me?’ and Malik said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and he left the room.

He looked left and right. He didn’t want to get lost. He should go back the way he came, but decided instead to go as far as the next corner, and he walked on until he reached a hallway with a staircase. He stood at the bottom of it and looked up through the centre. There must be at least three floors up above, maybe four. They could be anywhere.

Then Malik heard a sneeze. It came from the space beneath the stairs, and he walked around the banisters and bent down to look into the shadow.

Steffan was sitting on Oskar’s long leather holdall, blowing his nose. He looked surprised to see Malik. ‘What are you doing here?’

Malik crouched under the stairs and crawled up close. ‘I was worried. Are you all right?’

‘I’m not going with them. I’ve decided. I don’t want a new mother and they wouldn’t have us anyway. Not both of us together. We’re better off on our own.’

‘Where’s Oskar?’

‘He’s finding a way out of here. Do you want to come with us?’

Malik thought about it. ‘No. I don’t know …’

There were quick footsteps on the tiled floor and Oskar appeared. ‘It works. I found a key that works.’ He held a thin flat key separate from the rest on Steffan’s ring.

‘Malik’s coming with us,’ said Steffan.

‘That’s great. It’s better to be independent – you’ll like it. I found a door that opens out onto the street. There’s loads of places out there we can go.’ Oskar pulled his bag from under Steffan. ‘Come on. Come quick. It’s just down here.’

He led them down another a corridor. Malik was thinking quickly. Should he go with them? Or should he stay and chance to luck with a new family? They reached a door. Above it was a window that looked out onto open sky and Oskar put his bag on the floor and slid the key into the lock. ‘It takes a bit of wiggling about.’ He pursed his lips as though it were unpleasant.

Steffan asked Malik, ‘Where’s your cat?’

The door clicked open and they could smell fresh air on their faces. Opposite them were shops that were busy. A car drove past. There were people on the pavement going places.

Oskar picked up his holdall and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Come on. Quick. Let’s go.’

‘Are you coming then?’ asked Steffan.

Malik shook his head. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

Steffan stepped outside. ‘You too.’

Oskar shook Malik by the shoulder. ‘Shut the door behind us.’

The two boys took off across the street, holding their bags tightly as they ran, and Malik saw they had changed back into long trousers. He watched them till they had turned the first corner and disappeared from view and then he closed the door, feeling empty and scared at letting them leave without him, because now he had no one and he might never see them again. He swallowed hard – he had to trust he had made the right choice.

When he returned to the warehouse, Alex still had Booty on his lap. ‘Anything happened?’ Malik asked him, and Alex shook his head – he had a kind of frozen look on his face. ‘You’ll be fine,’ Malik reassured him. ‘I know you will.’

When Miss Price next came to the double doors, she called Malik’s name. He shook Alex by the hand, then took hold of his cat, picked up his rucksack and walked across to the double doors. ‘Malik,’ Miss Price smiled sweetly at him. ‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

Miss Price led Malik along the corridor, telling him what good fortune it had been. It was a slice of luck that the lady mentioned her love of cats … she had arrived late … she told them she didn’t wish to partake in a parade of children … Miss Price walked through a final set of doors and stopped abruptly.

An old lady stood in the centre of the waiting room. She had pale brown skin and narrow eyes. She wore a purple silk blouse with a short string of bright white pearls that nested on her clavicle. When she spoke, her voice was clear and sharp and her accent was unfamiliar to him. ‘I am used to cats and exotic birds,’ she told him. ‘But not young boys. If you choose to live with me, you must be patient whilst I learn.’ She had a smile as wide as the harbour, and when she used it, she didn’t seem old at all. ‘So what do you think, Malik? Will I do?’ She waited for his answer, watching him across the top of her spectacles.

Malik said, ‘Pardon me, Miss, but I don’t think it works like that.’

‘Of course it works like that. I can’t see any other way it would work. And if we’re going to get on, you must call me Lucy.’

L
ucy Kellaway lived an hour’s drive from the port.

Through the windscreen of her car, Malik glimpsed buildings that were impossibly tall and made from glass. The city was much bigger than the town he was used to and it was busy. There were people everywhere – people walking past their car or crossing in front of them at traffic lights, people cycling alongside on quick, light bikes. Malik wound the window down. He could smell cinnamon nuts from a cart at the side of a street and saw a beggar on the pavement rattle a tin for spare coins. He heard a whistle and turned to see a policeman waving at cars from the middle of the street.

Everything was different from home. Everything was new. And it was too big. Too busy. Malik couldn’t see how he could possibly live here. He wouldn’t even be able to find his way back to the port. He wound up the window and stared down at his knees.

Lucy interrupted his thoughts. ‘I go to the theatre once a week. You can come with me if you like. And we shall eat out in the evenings. I find cooking can be such an ordeal.’ She checked her mirror and indicated to turn right. ‘We shall have to talk about
money as well. What if I give you a small weekly allowance? Would that be all right with you? It would be easier for both of us, I think.’

Malik nodded. He didn’t think he could speak.

‘Never mind. These things will sort themselves out. Anyway, I always say the best things in life are free.’

Malik waited to see where Lucy lived. He expected to see a white, boarded house with a garden gate and a post box on a pole, but she parked the car in a busy street and pointed up to a third-floor apartment. Beneath it was a gentlemen’s outfitters, and across the street Malik saw a bar that had a line of small round tables along the pavement.

‘Is this it?’ he asked.

Lucy nodded. ‘It’s not much, but it’s home.’

She took him to a double wooden door which had a plate of brass buttons with names written beside them. Inside the door was a large hall. There was an old lift, which ran up through the centre of a wooden staircase; it had a brass grille that you slid across to get in or out.

‘I always use the stairs,’ Lucy told him. ‘It helps to keep me fit.’ She started up and Malik followed. ‘We’re on the third floor. Not too far up but high
enough to get some fresh air when we open the windows.’

When they reached the front door, Lucy hesitated. She had the key in her hand. ‘How shall we deal with the cats? Shall we just put them in together and see how they get on? I have two Siamese. I expect they’ll be fine, but they can be unpredictable.’

Malik hadn’t thought whether Booty might find it difficult. He held him close when they stepped inside and her cats came to meet him down the hall. Lucy led the Siamese into the kitchen and closed the door. ‘One step at a time might be wise.’ She smiled and looked around her. ‘Well? What do you think?’

Everywhere Malik looked there was something interesting. He noticed a set of small, carved figures that she kept on a shelf and she had a clock that didn’t tell you the time, but told you when the tide would be high or low. On the wall by the door was a framed photograph. Malik looked at it closely and saw a family outside a small house on a beach. There was a mother with a baby in her arms, and a father standing beside a boy who was the height of his waist. There were palm trees in the background. ‘That’s where I was born,’ Lucy told him. ‘I came here once on a ship, just like you have.’

‘Were you on your own?’ asked Malik.

Lucy nodded. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime. But not now.’

Malik left his Wellington boots at the front door and followed Lucy down the carpeted hall, past shelves full of books. She showed him into the sitting room. It had a sofa, two upholstered chairs and a harpsichord in the corner. There was also an old gramophone player and a stack of records.

She showed him the bathroom, which had a bath with a shower attached to the taps, so you could choose either one. Malik noted a toilet in the bathroom and another toilet down the hall, and both of them had locks on the door.

Lucy took him to his new bedroom. It was a large room with a big brass bed and maroon wallpaper. He had a writing desk with an anglepoise lamp and a wooden office chair positioned under a window, which looked out onto the bar opposite the apartment. Lucy had left a magazine for him to read.

Next to the brass bed was a chest of drawers and she pulled out the top one to show him it was empty. ‘I thought this might do for you.’ She looked at his rucksack. ‘I didn’t realize you would have so little luggage. That was thoughtless of me.’ But she smiled
her very wide smile. ‘We shall have to go shopping once you’ve settled in.’

Malik didn’t want to go shopping, but he said, ‘Thank you,’ and then he added, ‘This is all very nice.’

His stomach had twisted tight, just like it had been at the cottage in the docks, and he thought that it was probably because everything was new, and although it was nice and Lucy was being kind, it wasn’t home and this bedroom wasn’t his room, and being safe seemed to mean that everything would be painful all over again. He suddenly felt like crying but he held it in.

He put Booty on the bed. ‘I’m going to keep him in here with me and let them sniff each other under the door till they’re ready to meet.’

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Lucy.

Malik shuffled from one foot to the other.

‘Is there something else you need?’ asked Lucy.

‘Yes, please,’ said Malik. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.’

Malik ran his finger around the room. He touched along the top of the skirting board and up round the
frame of the door. He touched the empty shelf and ran his finger along the top of the chest of drawers. He pulled out each of the drawers in turn – they smelled of dust and mothballs. He touched behind the back of the drawers.

His desk had another drawer that was full of sheets of paper and a set of coloured pencils. He turned the anglepoise lamp on and off again, and fingered the catch on the window. The brass bed was hollow when he tapped at the metal frame, so he ran a finger up to one of the brass knobs at the corner of the bed and he tried to pull it off but it wouldn’t budge. He tried twisting and the brass knob turned till it fell into his hand. He looked inside the bedpost and saw a bolt that cut across the gap, about half the length of a finger from the top.

Malik reached into the back of his pants and pulled the strip of gaffer tape till he had Papa’s tooth in his fingers. This was his most precious possession – the thing that would make Mama smile. He dropped it into the gap and it rattled to a stop against the bolt. He screwed the brass knob back in place.

Booty was scratching at the bottom of the door. Malik went and picked him up and carried him back
to the bed. He settled him down on the pillow and tickled him behind his ears, but Booty didn’t want to sit still – he jumped off the bed and walked around the room, sniffing where Malik had traced with his finger.

Malik stared at the closed door. He had never felt more alone. He sat at the desk and looked out the window. In the bar opposite there were people talking at a table, leaning close together and laughing. A woman had a tall glass with a bright orange drink and a straw to sip from.

He took a piece of paper, opened the set of coloured pencils and started to sketch his mother’s face. He took his time, trying to think about her eyes and her nose, thinking about the shape of her face, but every mark he made was wrong. He had never been able to draw. His face didn’t look like Mama at all. It didn’t look like anyone. It was just a drawing by a little child, with a scar for a mouth and twigs coming out of her head instead of hair.

Malik used a bright red crayon to put a line through it.

When Lucy knocked at the bedroom door, Malik didn’t answer.

She said, ‘I thought we should have something to eat.’

Booty sniffed at her feet under the gap in the door.

She said, ‘Are you all right in there?’

Malik said, ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Perhaps it would be good to get some fresh air?’

Malik didn’t answer. After a short while he heard her move away from the door. He could hear her in the kitchen, opening a cupboard door. Running a tap. Scraping the inside of a tin with a fork.

Booty sat watching the bedroom door, waiting for it to open.

After a little while, Malik thought he heard the front door click shut.

He went to the window and waited till Lucy went out of the building. He watched her walk across to the bar and go inside. When she came out, fifteen minutes later, she carried a plate with a stainless steel lid over it. She came back inside the building and Malik heard the front door of the apartment open and then click shut.

Lucy said, ‘I’d like to come in. I have some food for you.’

Malik didn’t answer.

He heard Lucy put the plate down on the floor.

Booty did a wee on the carpet.

He was over by the door where he’d been scratching to get out. Malik heard it when it was too late and he saw Booty shiver with the shame and indignity as the wet patch spread out across the tufts of oatmeal brown. It went under the door and out into the hall.

When Booty finished, he pawed at the ground to try and cover what he’d done. Malik bent to pick him up but he skittered away under the bed and stayed there.

The room began to smell.

Malik stood a metre from the closed door. He knew he couldn’t go on like this – he wasn’t being fair either to the cat or to Lucy. He heard her feet on the carpet in the hall, heard her pause outside his room. He opened the door. The wet patch ran under the plate of food with the stainless steel
lid. He said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and he looked at his feet.

Lucy said, ‘I thought that cat needed something. Never mind, I’ll bring some water.’

She took the plate of food into the kitchen and Malik followed her. She filled a bright yellow plastic bowl with warm water and some soap that smelled of lemon and she handed Malik a sponge. They went back to the bedroom door and she put the bowl on the floor.

Malik saw her wince when she bent on one knee and he said, ‘Here, let me. I should do it.’ He wet the sponge and scrubbed at the carpet till it smelled better.

When he had finished he looked up. Lucy stood in the middle of the room looking at the pieces of paper on the desk. There were papers on the bed and covering the floor around the window, all of them with faces drawn in coloured pencil, then scrubbed out with red lines through them.

‘Who were you drawing?’ she asked.

‘It’s no one,’ said Malik.

Lucy walked back into the hall. ‘Here’s the deal,’ she said at the door. ‘You get to stay in your room as long as you want. I won’t bother you. But you must come across the road and eat with me in the evening.
At seven o’clock. You don’t have to talk to me, but you have to eat. We could try it out and see how it goes?’

Malik nodded. ‘Would that be all right?’

‘If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know.’

He offered her his hand and they shook on it.

In the hallway, Booty sat back to back with the Siamese, pretending they hadn’t met.