They had said goodbye to Neda, Ash clinging to her and sobbing like his heart would break, which made nobody feel at ease, and Ibrahim shrugging as if he didn’t care, which was equally bad. They both balked at the boat, even though they’d been flown to Britain originally. They were fearful of the way it bucked and rolled; a swell had risen up and the crossing was difficult. Ash was sick sporadically and Saif ended up spending half the night with him bent over the toilet; Ibrahim refused to glance up from his iPad, which Saif made a promise to himself to get rid of as soon as was humanly and psychologically possible, and by the time they finally got in sight of Mure, Saif was incredibly anxious about the days and weeks and months ahead.
Would they be accepted? How on earth would they learn English? How would he peel Ash off him every day? How would he manage to work too? – and there was absolutely no way he couldn’t work; that was the condition of his visa. How could he mother two motherless boys?
Saif had felt powerless before: in the war; on his long journey. But he had never felt quite so low as this, and the weather mimicked his mood, black clouds glowering down over the top of Mure. There was a crack of thunder and Ash screamed and hid his face up his father’s jumper. Even Ibrahim notably tightened his grip on the video game.
‘It’s just thunder,’ said Saif. ‘Come on, let’s go up on deck and take a look at your new home.’
Up on deck it was freezing, incredible for April, with winds blowing straight down from the Arctic, screaming across the sea. Bouncing raindrops mixed with the high spray from the huge arching waves; vast seagulls screeched round the port. Ash immediately burst into tears. Ibrahim stared at his feet, sulkily refusing to look at the view.
‘So, this is going to be your new home,’ said Saif, trying to put on a cheerful face although he hadn’t slept properly now for weeks. ‘See the jolly houses on the front? All different colours? And round the harbour there’s a beach that goes on for so long people call it the Endless Beach! And in the summer there’s a festival down on the beach! And all the children come and celebrate the Vikings and …’
But neither were listening. As the CalMac made monstrous noises going into reverse, Ash was sobbing his heart out and Ibrahim simply turned round and re-entered the body of the ship, and Saif had to run and get him back before he got lost, even though the boy shook him off as soon as he got there.
The amount of luggage that both the lads had was pitiful, even with the new clothes he’d bought in Glasgow. They were two lost souls, washed up here, and Saif was as scared as he’d ever been in his life as the little, terrified, broken family disembarked the large boat into the freezing grey morning of Mure.
Saif was busy trying to carry all the bags and Ash at the same time, and he didn’t look up until they’d fought the wind to the end of the jetty, past the terminal building and towards the car park. Then he did look up and saw them.
Lined up, frozen and wriggling, along with a large number of townspeople – particularly the older ones, who always liked to see anything that was going on – was Lorna, wearing a huge anorak, with a group of her schoolchildren. As soon as they saw them, the little ones waved wildly and she ordered them to lift up the sign she’d had made, painstakingly and probably, she thought, only being able to get what she could from the internet, entirely wrong.
WELCOME, ASH AND IBRAHIM.
Saif prodded the boys to look. Ash blinked, and Saif remembered that although he was six, he hadn’t yet been to school or learned to read. It was perfect that there were only two classes in the school here: he could be in with the little ones, starting from the very beginning, even though he would be eighteen months older than many of them. He was, though, about the same height.
Ibrahim, on the other hand, looked up, and Saif saw the first glint of hope in his eyes since he’d arrived.
‘They speak Arabic?’ he asked, his expression desperate. Saif winced.
‘No,’ he said. ‘We speak English now.’ He repeated it, as gently as he was able, in English, just as Lorna raised her arms, and the children started to sing the Arabic alphabet song, quite dreadfully.
At this, Ash lifted his head from his father’s jacket and turned to watch in amazement as they sang a song even he knew.
Saif tried to smile. He knew – and could see from Lorna’s anxious face – that they were trying the best they possibly could. And when they came to an end, he and the other adults who’d gathered round to watch clapped as hard as they could.
Lorna looked up at him with a hopeful expression on her face, and Saif immediately forgot their row, or any disagreement they had had. How on earth could he not have realised that it would be far better to tell the people here about this, the hardest challenge of his life? Why did he think they would stand and point? His own people would have welcomed him and helped look after him and his family when things had gone badly wrong. What made him think the people here would be any different?
‘Thank you,’ he said.
said Lorna.
Saif looked up, surprised. ‘You speak Arabic now?’
she replied. ‘I’m trying to learn.’
Then she blushed, and did not want to betray how she had done little with her evenings since she’d heard the boys were coming other than swotting up and being addicted to Babbel, which was better than being addicted to watching Netflix, although it still, she did not like to reflect, left her sitting alone in her late father’s house night after night as her youth slipped away.
Flora came running down to the jetty as the friendly policeman, Clark, came up and seriously shook Ibrahim’s hand (Ash wouldn’t turn round) and beamed kindly in the absence of having anything to say. Flora had a large care box of food, including as much baklava as she’d been able to put together. And Saif took it and wondered, standing there in the howling gale, overwhelmingly grateful, whether this could possibly, possibly be enough.
Chapter Thirty-three
The storm had passed in a flash, as weather so often did in the high islands, and a glorious afternoon had arrived from nowhere. Fintan was rushing to the airport. He knew Colton didn’t need picking up – one of his staff could drive him – but he didn’t care.
He hadn’t seen the same thing at Charlie and Jan’s wedding as Flora had at all. He’d seen happiness and the amazing sight of the entire community there, celebrating together. Since his mother had died, he’d felt so frustrated living on the island, doing the same thing day in and day out. Meeting Colton had changed all that so much; he saw things now through Colton’s eyes. He appreciated more and more the beauty of the landscape, the peace and tranquillity they found there, the privacy and peace and quiet of mind. He saw what Colton saw. And he loved his clever, mercurial boyfriend more than ever.
Colton beamed as he got down from the plane. He looked thin and a bit overtanned. The US always did that to him. ‘Oh God, I wanna kiss the ground,’ he said. ‘You know, if you ever don’t come and meet me, like one tiny time, I’m going to reckon we’re in real trouble.’
Fintan kissed him. ‘Then it’ll never happen,’ he promised. ‘How was New York?’
Colton frowned. ‘I think I have a very depressed lawyer. On the other hand, that makes him a highly overworked and busy lawyer, so in that sense it’s not going so badly.’
‘Ugh,’ said Fintan. ‘Flora is doing nothing but mope around too.’
‘Honestly,’ said Colton, with the happy confidence of someone who thinks other people’s emotional problems will never happen to them, ‘I don’t know why they just don’t figure it out.’
Fintan smiled happily.
‘Seriously. My sister is a pain in the arse, but she’s not that bad really.’