told me he left that particular poster up on the wall because he recognised the way the man looked out of the window at the world, poised in anxious expectation. 'He looks truthful to me in every way. Whenever I look out of our window at home, at the mosque and the church towers that block my view of the world, whenever I look squarely at my surroundings, at my small futon sandwiched at an awkward angle between the living room door and our dining table, I know exactly how the man in the poster feels.'
FIVE
MEINA
I T WAS 2.30 P.M. The afternoon I had identified my brother. I walked along the main thoroughfare of our estate, past all the small East Asian businesses. The only shop out of the ordinary was a sauna, an odd building which had just opened. Sauna? Everybody knew it was a brothel. Cars roared by, the green on the grassy park was stirred by the wind. To the left was the road that curved passed Lea Valley all the way to Hackney. To the right the long winding street went uphill onto the new road where the houses fell away and returned with a clamber of damaged cars in the slope and rubble of Bow. A silver-coloured Jaguar pulled over close to the kerb. Mr Bloom leaned out of the open window.
'Where are you going?' he asked. His voice had an African lilt.
I shrugged my shoulders.
'Get in,' he said and he opened the passenger door.
The car shut off all the noise outside. From inside the wind sounded like a soft moan. The air in the car was slightly stale; there was a whiff of tobacco smoke and the leather seats were soft and smelled new. It took less than a second for me to recognise the slow, buttery voice of Sarah Vaughan. The half-full ashtray under the blue light of the radio reminded me that old Mr Bloom smoked Marlboro cigarettes.
'You look different.'
'It's the suit. I'm back in an office unfortunately. The flash car isn't my idea either. Nice though.' He shrugged.
An awkward silence.
'I'm sorry.'
I said nothing because if I had I would have started to cry.
'How are you doing, Meina?' he asked, squinting his wide eyes.
'I don't know,' I said finally.
The first time I met him Mr Bloom had come to our house to pick up my father. Ash and I followed them to the Alibi, an illegal bar. I must have been about ten then. I remember he wore cowboys boots. I would stare at his shoes with admiration and delight. That first night he sat in our living room and didn't smile once. After that he would visit our home and sit for hours, drinking Johnnie Walker Blue Label with my father and his friends, arguing about Thatcher and Reagan and reminiscing about the sixties. He said he worked for the UN, as an emergency aid official. But I knew better. I knew he worked for a British government intelligence agency, just like 007. Only I didn't know which one. I wondered what it would be like having a job where no one knew exactly what it was that you did. I always liked the idea of Mr Bloom constantly trying to justify his movements to girlfriends, his boss, to anyone he met.
'I don't have too long. I just need to know if you want to stay.'
'Stay where?'
He put his hand on my bare thigh but quickly removed it when he saw my frightened expression. 'Here in London,' he said.
I couldn't tell whether he touched me because he cared or because he was taking advantage of me. I wanted to be sure I could tell the difference.
'I've lost my balance. I can't think just now,' I said.
'It will take a few weeks. Try not to do anything extreme.'
'Extreme? Like what?'
'I don't know. You will feel very vulnerable. Take it from an old man. I know. I thought you might want to leave the area?'
I shook my head. 'Where would I go? Don't worry, none of this is your fault. No matter where we went we wouldn't have got away from ourselves.' I closed my eyes and listened to the calm singing voice and the slow deliberate sound of my own breathing. A truck roared by and my side of the car rattled. For a moment we did not speak.
'You didn't come in
FIVE
MEINA
I T WAS 2.30 P.M. The afternoon I had identified my brother. I walked along the main thoroughfare of our estate, past all the small East Asian businesses. The only shop out of the ordinary was a sauna, an odd building which had just opened. Sauna? Everybody knew it was a brothel. Cars roared by, the green on the grassy park was stirred by the wind. To the left was the road that curved passed Lea Valley all the way to Hackney. To the right the long winding street went uphill onto the new road where the houses fell away and returned with a clamber of damaged cars in the slope and rubble of Bow. A silver-coloured Jaguar pulled over close to the kerb. Mr Bloom leaned out of the open window.
'Where are you going?' he asked. His voice had an African lilt.
I shrugged my shoulders.
'Get in,' he said and he opened the passenger door.
The car shut off all the noise outside. From inside the wind sounded like a soft moan. The air in the car was slightly stale; there was a whiff of tobacco smoke and the leather seats were soft and smelled new. It took less than a second for me to recognise the slow, buttery voice of Sarah Vaughan. The half-full ashtray under the blue light of the radio reminded me that old Mr Bloom smoked Marlboro cigarettes.
'You look different.'
'It's the suit. I'm back in an office unfortunately. The flash car isn't my idea either. Nice though.' He shrugged.
An awkward silence.
'I'm sorry.'
I said nothing because if I had I would have started to cry.
'How are you doing, Meina?' he asked, squinting his wide eyes.
'I don't know,' I said finally.
The first time I met him Mr Bloom had come to our house to pick up my father. Ash and I followed them to the Alibi, an illegal bar. I must have been about ten then. I remember he wore cowboys boots. I would stare at his shoes with admiration and delight. That first night he sat in our living room and didn't smile once. After that he would visit our home and sit for hours, drinking Johnnie Walker Blue Label with my father and his friends, arguing about Thatcher and Reagan and reminiscing about the sixties. He said he worked for the UN, as an emergency aid official. But I knew better. I knew he worked for a British government intelligence agency, just like 007. Only I didn't know which one. I wondered what it would be like having a job where no one knew exactly what it was that you did. I always liked the idea of Mr Bloom constantly trying to justify his movements to girlfriends, his boss, to anyone he met.
'I don't have too long. I just need to know if you want to stay.'
'Stay where?'
He put his hand on my bare thigh but quickly removed it when he saw my frightened expression. 'Here in London,' he said.
I couldn't tell whether he touched me because he cared or because he was taking advantage of me. I wanted to be sure I could tell the difference.
'I've lost my balance. I can't think just now,' I said.
'It will take a few weeks. Try not to do anything extreme.'
'Extreme? Like what?'
'I don't know. You will feel very vulnerable. Take it from an old man. I know. I thought you might want to leave the area?'
I shook my head. 'Where would I go? Don't worry, none of this is your fault. No matter where we went we wouldn't have got away from ourselves.' I closed my eyes and listened to the calm singing voice and the slow deliberate sound of my own breathing. A truck roared by and my side of the car rattled. For a moment we did not speak.
'You didn't come in
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