Kololo Hill Page 29

  ‘That was different!’ Pran shouted.

  Asha rushed over to Pran to pull him back, but he moved his arm away. ‘Please, Pran, sit down.’ She tried to get him to meet her gaze.

  Vijay knew he should stop needling, it was making things worse, but why should Pran always take control?

  ‘He has to stay here with you until it’s safe enough for you to join me, Ba,’ said Pran.

  Jaya put her hand to his cheek. ‘Please, stop talking about Uganda.’

  Pran turned from Jaya to his wife. ‘And Asha, too.’

  Asha met Pran’s gaze. ‘I told you before, I’m never going back to Uganda.’

  Pran threw his hands up in the air. ‘Everything we’ve ever had is back there.’

  ‘No, not everything,’ said Jaya, placing her arm on his shoulder. ‘We are here. What about us?’

  ‘But what kind of life do you have?’ Pran shook his head.

  ‘A secure one,’ said Asha.

  Pran stared at each of them in turn, waiting for another answer, one that suited him better. But there was no answer for him, only silence.

  *

  ‘Well, at least I’ll keep fit while I’m travelling, lifting this thing,’ said Vijay, as he and Jaya did their best to fasten his backpack. He couldn’t believe he was finally leaving; the past few weeks getting everything in order had dragged on and on.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got everything, beta?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Ba, I told you. It hadn’t changed on the fifth time of asking and it won’t have changed on the tenth either.’ Vijay smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘And do you have space for the vara? That airline food is awful.’

  Asha walked in, her light cobalt blouse rustling as she moved. ‘Are you sure you don’t want us to come to the airport with you?’ she said.

  ‘You’re starting to sound like Ba now,’ said Vijay.

  ‘Sorry,’ Asha said, looking sheepish.

  ‘Right, I think I’ve got everything now.’ He stood up, hoisting the backpack onto his shoulders. ‘If I don’t topple over before I get to the Tube station.’

  ‘Take care.’ Asha smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. Her goodbye was still many times warmer than Pran’s had been that morning. All he’d done before leaving for work was tell him to be careful in a low, grave voice.

  Jaya’s tears were already falling. ‘You’ll write as soon as you get there, won’t you?’ She hugged him tightly while he did his best not to fall on her with the weight of the bag behind him. He needed to remember her, all of her, her coconut scent, the softness of her arms.

  He made his way to the Tube station and said goodbye to his new home. The city would wait for him.

  When he got to the terminal at Heathrow, he walked over to the check-in desk and smiled.

  ‘What took you so long?’ Marie gave him a long kiss. ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we?’

  36

  Asha

  The buildings along the water turned from pink to bronze in the late-afternoon light, as Asha and Pran walked through Victoria Embankment.

  Asha pulled the collar of her wool coat around her neck. After so many months, the silence between them should have been comfortable by now, but in Asha’s head, it was as obtrusive as the shrieks of the nearby children and the rumble of the cars. They followed the path, guided by the street lamps flicking on along the way.

  ‘I meant to tell you, I’ve got an interview for that job at the council.’ For the first time in ages, she felt the buzz of working towards something she’d chosen for herself.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Pran said, trying to sound interested. From the way he looked at her, she knew what he was thinking. In his head, it was all temporary, their whole life in England. ‘And you’re sure about changing jobs?’

  ‘I want to help people here. I can’t do that in my current role.’ She suddenly felt shy explaining herself to Pran, who was always so focused on saving money and being practical. All roads led back to Uganda.

  He nodded.

  They stopped at a bench near a stretch of grass and she took out a thermos of chai from her handbag. She unwrapped the sandwiches that Jaya had given them earlier: white bread, a little butter, a little green chilli chutney and some slices of cucumber, the fresh smell reminding her of Jinja’s red earth after the rain.

  ‘Actually, I forgot to tell you.’ His voice was cool, casual. ‘I bought my ticket to go back.’ He looked out across the water as if it was nothing.

  Asha turned towards him. ‘And you forgot to tell me?’

  ‘I’ve talked about it for a while.’

  ‘But you’ve gone and booked it. Another thing you’ve kept from me?’

  ‘It’s not like that. Anyway, it’s not a surprise, is it?’

  ‘You said you were thinking about it. I didn’t know you’d just go ahead without telling me.’ The truth was, Asha had thought that she’d somehow still be able to talk him out of it. Too late now. ‘So when are you leaving?’

  ‘A few weeks’ time. The quicker I get out there,’ said Pran, ‘the quicker I can get things settled.’

  Settled for the rest of them to join him, he meant, though Pran knew by now not to bring that up. She was sick of talking about his plans for her. This was her time now.

  ‘Talking of Uganda,’ her voice was taut, ‘I was thinking about December the other day.’

  ‘Again? You and Ba, always talking about him. I might start getting jealous.’ A thread of frustration ran through his voice.

  She searched for clues in his eyes, dusk casting shadows across his face. ‘That night he disappeared.’

  ‘It’s getting cold. Shall we go back?’ He rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘It’s not that. I just worry about you, always focusing on the past.’

  ‘Me? Isn’t that what you’re doing?’ she said. ‘We never talked about that night, not properly.’

  He sighed. ‘Do you enjoy reliving it all, Asha?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘The soldiers took him. We never saw him again. Shall I get it printed on a card, so I don’t have to keep repeating myself?’

  ‘Vijay said he didn’t hear a struggle.’

  He laughed, openly bitter now. ‘Vijay had been knocked against a wall, not sure he heard much of anything.’

  ‘But he’d come around by then. When they left, all he heard was footsteps. He told me.’

  He turned towards her. ‘Talking behind my back now?’

  ‘Vijay told me that there was no noise, no struggling, nothing.’

  ‘The soldiers had guns. They’d already hit him, why make things worse?’

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense.’ Asha tried to catch her breath. Always so hard to get the truth from him. ‘Wouldn’t December have made some noise? He must have been frightened.’

  ‘I don’t remember. Maybe he did and you just didn’t hear. You were across the other side of the yard.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the soldiers have shouted when they found him, shouted at you for hiding him?’ The breeze had picked up. She pushed a lock of hair from her face.

  ‘They were drunk, Asha.’

  ‘You’re not telling me everything. I know it.’

  ‘There is no “everything”.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Asha stood up from the bench and loomed over him.

  ‘Stop, Asha. People are staring.’

  ‘Muneh ke! There’s something else, I know it!’ Asha’s voice faded to a whisper as she took Pran’s face in her hands, his stubble rough against her skin. ‘I just need to know what really happened, please tell me.’

  Pran looked down at the ground. ‘I had no choice.’

  ‘Choice about what?’

  ‘It all happened so fast. I had to do something.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense.’ She stepped back from him.

  ‘December was in danger whatever happened. I had to do something.’ Pan
ic in his eyes. ‘After the soldiers left, I went to check on December.’

  ‘He was still there?’ she said. Pran tried to take hold of Asha’s hands but she pulled away.

  ‘The soldiers were so drunk, they didn’t bother to search properly. They’d opened the storeroom door, barely looked around and came out again. He’d been hiding in the far corner.’ Pran’s voice was so quiet that Asha had to step closer to hear him above the people around them and the screech of the trains on the bridge nearby. ‘It was December who first suggested it, I swear.’

  ‘The soldiers didn’t take him?’ She needed to say the words out loud.

  Pran sighed. ‘ “I’ll leave in a moment,” December said, “it’s not safe for you all if I stay.” ’

  ‘And you didn’t try and stop him?’ Her cheeks flushed. He made it sound so simple, as though December was heading off to the market for the day, not leaving forever, disappearing into the darkness.

  ‘I should’ve tried. But the family was in danger. We were risking all our lives for his.’ Pran looked down at his hands, rubbing one thumb across the other, over and over again. He waited for Asha to speak, but the words had piled up on her tongue.

  Pran continued, ‘I gave him some money and we waited until we were sure the soldiers had definitely gone.’

  ‘You knew he was leaving and you didn’t at least let your Ba say goodbye to him?’

  ‘It was easier that way.’

  ‘Easier for who, Pran? For you?’

  ‘I was trying to keep you all safe.’

  Asha looked at him. A tiny part of her understood why he’d done it, feeling that same grip of fear she’d felt that night when she’d seen the soldiers in the house, worrying what they’d do to Pran, to all of them. But why had he lied to her for so long?

  ‘You never told me the truth.’

  ‘What good would have it done?’ His head still bowed. ‘I feel guilty every day. Every time any of you mention his name.’

  ‘But after everything I said, you promised you wouldn’t lie to me again. We’d lost so much, I thought I could at least trust you, I could hold onto that if nothing else.’ Sickness swelled in her stomach. He’d let her think she was foolish for doubting him. Lying to her face for months. Lying to everyone he loved.

  He looked up at her. No words left.

  She began to walk away from him, gathering pace.

  Pran followed. ‘Asha, wait.’

  She couldn’t look at him any longer. Couldn’t bear to hear his voice. She carried on towards Embankment station, weaving through the people, past a flower seller who was packing up his things, the pavement dotted with withering petals.

  Pran caught up with her. She shrugged his hand away and carried on walking. ‘You dragged Vijay to the police station when he was hurt, you let your mother wait, holding out hope that you would bring him back.’

  ‘But I gave December money, so he could get away. As much cash as I could.’

  She stopped and turned sharply towards him. ‘Money. Paper and ink. Your answer to everything. How would that have protected him? They would have found him and taken that too. Well done. You helped him live, what, an extra minute, maybe two?’ Asha tried her best to control her voice. At least their speaking in Gujarati meant that passers-by couldn’t understand what Pran had done. The shame of it.

  Pran took her by the shoulders; she felt his breath on her. ‘What do you think would have happened to us, Asha, if he’d stayed?’ An elderly man paused to watch them, concern on his face.

  She summoned a small smile to show there was nothing to worry about and turned back to her husband. ‘But the soldiers had gone.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Some homes had been looted by the army two, three times, with the families still in the house. And you know what they do to the young women.’ Asha looked away from him. ‘Anyway I hadn’t worked it all out, there was no guarantee we’d get him out.’

  ‘It was all settled, that’s what you said?’

  ‘It was still risky. They might have stopped him before he got to the border. Every minute he stayed, we were in danger too.’

  ‘You’re making it sound like it was December’s fault.’ Asha threw her hands in the air. ‘Their fault, not his. They wanted to kill him because of who he was. Don’t you see?’

  Pran’s face was filled with confusion.

  ‘He was just like you. Acholi or Indian, it’s all the same. They hated us all because of who we were.’

  Asha walked away from him. Pran knew better than to follow this time. She listened to children shrieking in delight, the laughter of young couples holding hands and embracing near the water’s edge. She wanted to scream at them all to shut up.

  Would it have been better not to know the truth, to bury his lies? He kept throwing it back in her face, how he’d only done it for the people he loved. She’d felt that terror, creeping beneath her skin, the danger. She’d felt that desire to protect, no matter what. But what he’d done. To lie to his own family. That was something else.

  She carried on walking and found herself near the Royal Courts of Justice, ghostly in the dark, winding her way through ancient streets, the old buildings dripping with shadows. She hurried on, trying to flee her anger, her thoughts. On into the night she walked for hours, through the city.

  She thought back to the day after the soldiers came, things that seemed so small, so insignificant at the time. That morning, she’d gone into the storeroom while Pran and Vijay had gone to speak to the army and find out what had happened to December. The folding bed was tucked away behind the large gunny sacks, the chalky smell of rice and flour still filled the air. More sacks were slumped in the far corner where December must have hidden away. But it was only now she remembered that his few belongings, his bag, were all gone. She’d not thought about it at the time, lost in confusion, about how odd it was that the soldiers would let him take his bag with him when they cared so little for human life.

  And later, when she’d climbed into bed with Pran that evening, his sadness reflected in his eyes.

  ‘What a day,’ he’d said, stroking her hair.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ said Asha, sheets hot beneath her. ‘I know we agreed you wouldn’t go and speak to the army again, but perhaps it’s worth one last try?’ She knew the answer but asked the question anyway, clinging on to hope.

  ‘I don’t think so. They were adamant today.’ Pran looked up at the ceiling. ‘I’m sorry, Asha.’

  ‘I can’t wait to get out of this place,’ she said. ‘I’m so sick of this danger hanging over us.’

  ‘Those salas won’t be able to control us much longer.’ Pran turned back towards her and trailed his thumb across her cheek. ‘And perhaps . . .’

  ‘Perhaps what?’

  ‘Maybe it’s for the best. One less thing threatening us.’

  She lifted her head. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘But you said it yourself, the danger hanging over us.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘What happened to December’s awful.’ He sighed. ‘No one deserves that. But one good thing came out of this. We’re safer now.’

  Asha put her head back on the pillow. ‘I can’t think about that right now. All I can think about is the look on your Ba’s face this morning.’

  Pran hadn’t responded, she recalled now, as she carried on through the streets of London. They’d both fallen silent.

  By the time she got home, the house was dark. In their room, Pran was sitting on the bed with the lights off, completely still.

  ‘I was worried about you,’ he said quietly. He didn’t look up.

  Though he sat right there in front of her, she grieved for him, thinking of the man he used to be – or the man she thought he was.

  ‘I needed to think and work it all out in my head.’ She closed the door behind her.

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘There are more questions than answers.’

  ‘So ask,’
he said, voice flat.

  ‘How were you going to get December out? If the soldiers hadn’t come?’

  ‘We talked about this,’ he said. ‘That wealthy family Vijay and I worked with.’

  ‘And how were they going to help?’

  Pran was silent.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I asked them if they knew a way to help people get out.’ He paused. ‘But they said they couldn’t help with things like that, not with the expulsion going on. Things were too dangerous.’

  ‘So what were you going to do?’

  Pran stared at her, shook his head in response.

  ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ She knew the answer before he looked at her. Perhaps she’d even known back in Uganda, somewhere deep down.

  ‘He didn’t really have a chance at all,’ Pran said.

  ‘So you let him leave, like prey to be hunted.’ She paused, then said, ‘Wait. Did you tell that family about December?’

  ‘I didn’t tell them his name.’

  ‘No, I mean did you tell them that you were hiding someone in the house?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Pran gave an empty laugh. ‘I just said someone I knew needed help and they wanted to get a friend out of the country.’

  ‘But they might have guessed that it was you, it was your house?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Asha.’

  ‘Even if they weren’t sure, with the army hassling everyone they might have tipped off the soldiers. To keep them off their own backs.’ She thought of all the people they knew who’d left silently in the night, worried about being betrayed.

  ‘No, that’s not possible.’ He shook his head.

  ‘How do you know, Pran?’

  ‘They were just two drunk soldiers trying their luck.’

  ‘The world was upside down. You can’t be sure that the family weren’t to blame.’

  ‘If they’d been tipped off, the soldiers would have kept looking.’ He looked up at her for the first time, his face in darkness except for the outline of his cheek, etched in weak light.

  Anger twisted in her chest. She sat down on the other corner of the bed, her legs weak beneath her.

  ‘I couldn’t let anything happen to you,’ said Pran.