The Passengers(10)

Shabana had begun to allow herself to imagine where she might go now that she was free. A small council-owned flat would suffice, one with a radio and a television so she could watch films when the girls had gone to bed. Over the years, movies had become her only means of escape. Sometimes, when Vihaan was out and had forgotten to hide the television remote control, she’d watch an Indian channel and live vicariously through Bollywood’s greatest love stories. She’d become hypnotised by the beautiful girls with their flawless hair and bright, colourful clothing, dancing with a joy she had rarely known. It was as if they’d been blessed by a different God to the one she worshipped.

Shabana had looked at the map on the dashboard monitor as the car drove along roads she had only ever walked. She had grown used to the muscles in her arms burning as she made her way home laden down by the weight of heavy food bags.

Never again. Soon she could take a bus or a taxi or perhaps make a friend and go shopping with them. Thanks to Reyansh’s tenacity, a huge world of possibilities now lay ahead for her and her family. The four words that Vihaan had beaten out of her slowly began to creep back into her vocabulary.

I can do it, she told herself, I can do it.

Her inner voice was the last one Shabana heard before an English one appeared out of nowhere through the car’s speakers. It arrived so suddenly, it startled her. ‘What is happening?’ she asked aloud in her native tongue. Her eyes darted around the car’s interior. The voice continued to talk but there were only a few words here and there that she could understand. One of them sounded like ‘die’.

Suddenly the monitor switched on. The main screen was filled with much smaller screens and by other people in cars. None of them were smiling – they all looked afraid. She moved her head closer to it in the hope of seeing her son. But hers was the only familiar face.

Panic rose inside Shabana in the same way it did when she heard Vihaan slamming the front door after a night out. If he was drunk, he was angry. And if he was angry, he was going to release his aggression upon his wife by doing what he wanted to her while she laid still, eyes closed and fists balled, dreaming of a better life.

Other voices began to fill her car, more words and languages that she didn’t understand, along with haunting cries, shouting and people in distress.

‘What is happening?’ she pleaded aloud. ‘I don’t like this, please, can you make the car stop? I would like to get out.’

She pushed a button on the door hoping it would open, but nothing happened. She looked at the phone Reyansh had given her and pressed the green button, holding it to her ear. ‘Reyansh?’ she asked. ‘Reyansh, son, can you hear me? Are you there? Please?’

But there was no reply. Shabana had a feeling the new life she dared to dream of was already slipping from her grasp.





PART TWO





Chapter 6





Libby Dixon didn’t need to check her reflection in the bathroom mirror to know she was still scowling.

It was already fixed in place by the time her alarm clock sounded at 6.45 a.m. and she remembered where she would be spending her day. Her neck ached from sleeping at an awkward angle so she pressed her fingertips into muscles either side to try and loosen it up. Her scowl remained as she trudged across the landing, showered and then put minimal effort into applying her make-up. She scowled as she covered a spot on her chin, tied her naturally wavy brown hair into a ponytail and sifted through her wardrobe. She settled on a conservative outfit incorporating a simple cream blouse, navy A-line skirt and matching jacket. She had no one to impress.

And now, as she stood in the kitchen, even her house rabbits, Michael and Jackson, couldn’t bring a smile to her face as they chased each other around her feet. She poured herself a second cup of coffee in the hope an extra caffeine hit might lift her spirits. It didn’t, so still she scowled.

A sulky, grumpy mindset wasn’t a natural fit for Libby. She invariably found a positive in the bleakest of moments. But today was an exception. And if the next twelve hours were anything like yesterday, she wasn’t going to smile again until the end of the week when it was all over. And that meant four more days of scowling.

She fed the rabbits fresh hay and pellets, slipped on an old pair of scuffed mules, threw her handbag over her shoulder and made her way towards the front door. She paused to remove a mobile phone from her pocket and checked her emails, texts and social media. She let out a silent sigh when once again, there were no updates in her search for him.

Maybe it’s time to give up on you? she asked herself and dropped the phone into her bag.

Libby’s mood was at rock bottom and a stark contrast to twenty-four hours earlier when she’d awoken with nervous excitement. She had set her alarm for earlier than usual to allow time for a run along Birmingham’s canal towpaths that looped around regenerated factories before returning home for a breakfast of organic fruit and a low-fat yoghurt. Then once she’d washed and conditioned her hair, she had used her most expensive brand-name cosmetics and removed the plastic cover from one of five freshly dry-cleaned suits, one for each day of the week.

Libby had been keen to make a good first impression on the strangers she was to spend a week in close confines with. However, her fervour had sunk like a lead balloon within minutes of her arrival. By their unwelcoming looks, her presence was a formality they’d had no say in. Their disdain had quickly become mutual.