Annie Christie's That Long Hot Summer
Episode Ten
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: The Long and Winding Road Home.
Swearwords: None.
Description: The Long and Winding Road Home.
‘He’s got a boat,’ Ammar told Daniel.
‘What? Mohammed? We told him to wait there.’
‘My brother,’ Ammar shrugged. ‘Always likes to be control. He said it’s okay. He’s on a good boat. He says they will get boat from Izmir to Lesvos then ferry from Lesvos to Athens. He says it’s no problem.’
‘But it is a problem, we know that,’ Daniel said.
‘He should have waited,’ she said.
‘Can we hire another van today?’ Daniel asked
‘We can,’ she said, ‘but you need to be back at work.’
‘No,’ said Daniel,’ I’m not letting you do this on your own.’
‘You have to,’ she said. ‘We have to not draw attention to ourselves. I’ll call Susie, she’ll come with me.’
Reluctantly, Daniel agreed.
‘But take this,’ he said, handing her his passport. ‘It may well come in handy.’
She kissed his picture and put it in her pocket.
‘And keep in touch,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ she replied. And off she went.
* * *
‘So how does it feel to be a people smuggler?’ Mike asked.
‘Better than working here, at any rate,’ Daniel replied.
‘Shame,’ Mike said, ‘Ammar really likes the job. And I have to say he’s a damned sight better at it than you are, buddy!’
‘It’s a shame that’s not a joke,’ Daniel said. ‘If it was up to me he could have the job permanently.’
As it was, they settled back into the old routine. Or almost. Mike’s jokes had a somewhat edgier feel to them these days.
‘She only wants you for your passport,’ Mike joked when Daniel told him what he’d done.
‘Don’t even joke about it,’ Daniel said.
‘You know you could be put in prison?’ Mike said.
‘I’ve been trying not to think about that,’ Daniel admitted. ‘But you know what, it has to be worth the risk. When you see what’s happening out there…’
‘I get it,’ Mike said. ‘I get that you’re engaged in humanitarian work… and I reckon it’s my job to keep you out of prison. Someone has to. You pair are playing with fire.’
‘What?’ Daniel said.
‘I’m in, buddy,’ Mike said. ‘I’ve got to know Ammar over this last couple of weeks and, like you, I can’t stand what’s happening. We’ve got to do something. All of us. We can’t just sit back and do nothing. But we’ve got to try and be smart into the bargain. Luckily, smart is my strong suit.’
* * *
The next day things went from bad to worse. The world saw a small boy washed up on the beach in Turkey. His family had been trying to reach Greece on a smugglers’ boat which had capsized. Daniel was sitting down to dinner with Ammar and his family when they saw it on the television. Everyone’s stomach turned. Was it Mohammed’s son, Sami? It might have been. They were paralysed with fear. Ammar got straight on the phone to Shelley.
There was a nail-biting couple of hours until they found out who the little boy was – or had been.
Riham couldn’t stop crying.
‘It’s okay,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s not Sami.’
‘She knows that,’ Ammar said. ‘But still she cries. Because it could have been. And it could still be us. They could still send us back.’
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Daniel said. ‘You are safe. I promise you. Whatever happens, you will be safe. Believe me.’
He wanted to believe it himself. The situation still looked desperate, though.
‘It should be easy. They get to the UK, they claim asylum, they are accepted,’ he said to Mike. ‘Why can no one see that we’re partly responsible for them being in this state in the first place. We have to help them. I don’t mean just us as individual people, but we, the country. We have to stop thinking about migrants taking our jobs and start thinking about people like us whose lives are being…’
‘It’s not me you have to convince,’ Mike said.
‘I know,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s just… I feel… so… so useless without her.’
Without Shelley there, it was hard to believe. Hard to keep it all together. Hard to see that this wasn’t going to turn bad. And closer to home Mr Zhi was facing deportation.
‘What is wrong with this country?’ Daniel said. It felt like they were fighting a battle on all fronts. He’d almost forgotten about Mr Zhi and he felt guilty when Shelley’s ex-boss turned up on the doorstep. He looked smaller, more beaten than he had before.
‘Come in,’ Daniel said. ‘Shelley’s not here but you are welcome to stay.’
Mr Zhi didn’t think it was a good idea. He didn’t want to threaten the ‘safe’ house.
So he moved in with Mike.
‘The last place anyone would think to look,’ Mike joked. ‘Plus, I really like a good Chinese meal.’
‘He’s a horticulturalist, not a chef,’ Daniel replied.
‘Yes, but they eat in China don’t they?’ Mike said. ‘So they cook… so…’
Mr Zhi was just grateful to find another place to stay one step ahead of the deportation squad. Daniel was discovering that there was a whole underclass of people, good people, whose lives were being disrupted this way. People who just wanted a safe life, where they could hold down a job, contribute to society and live in peace. And they were hounded from pillar to post, forced underground and had to rely on the kindness of strangers who themselves became drawn into the whole sorry affair.
‘Who is minding the business?’ Daniel asked Mr Zhi.
‘We are a co-operative,’ Mr Zhi said. ‘And many days I can go into work. We just need to be aware – tip off, you call it. They can’t look for all of us all the time. We are dancers. We skip each day before the law.’
Daniel found it infuriating, Britain in 2015. A civilised society? A society which claimed to look after the weak and vulnerable. A society in complete denial of the truth, absorbed with their own selfish, aspirational consumerism. Happy to rip off workers round the world to get cheap goods but not happy to take any responsibility for the lives they were ruining in the process.
* * *
Shelley never made it to Athens. She texted from Croatia.
‘Found them.’
It’s what she does, thought Daniel. She finds people and saves them.
‘Come home,’ he texted back, ‘I miss you.’
Of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.
Things were moving fast in the migrant crisis during the summer of 2015. The refugees weren’t moving that fast but they were moving in numbers and they were losing patience. The sheer volume of them meant that hastily erected barriers were torn down as fast as they were put up. And in many countries the police and military didn’t seem to be quite as committed to the task of holding back the perceived infidel as their governments. Though some were over-zealous. The result was chaos. It was impossible to follow through a plan. Luckily, Susie’s strong suit was improvisation and the girls were infinitely adaptable. That perhaps is the skill most needed in such a situation. Borders were closing all around them, the Hungarians and Austrians especially getting really anxious about the ‘problem’.
Daniel became increasingly concerned as he spoke to Shelley each day. The plan kept changing and changing. That made him very nervous. She kept reassuring him that they were okay.
But nothing could convince Daniel that a campervan with three women, a Syrian man and a small boy was going to make it through Europe – it had been scary enough once, their luck surely couldn’t hold out again. They needed more than the lucky charm of his passport.
Shelley and Susie decided to go off piste. It stood to reason that if they didn’t take the usual migrant routes they’d be less likely to be checked. So they drove from Croatia into Italy. Shelley, Susie and Mohammed sat up front leaving Nooda and Sami hiding in the back. The passports were given a cursory glance, Daniel’s picture worked again, and Susie’s acting antics kept the bored border guards amused enough that the back of the van was not checked, so Nooda and Sami were safe.
From Italy there was an open border to France. They went through the Mont Blanc tunnel. They were now firmly on the tourist routes. It seemed like relatively plain sailing. The plan was to drive up through France, into Belgium and Holland and do the Amsterdam to Newcastle crossing again. But when they got to France Mohammed refused to go any further. Sami was running a temperature. Nooda was worried. And Mohammed dug his heels in. No further.
‘French, no English,’ he pointed out.
Via the phone Ammar tried to reason with him. He told him about the Calais Jungle. Mohammed simply laughed. No Jungle for him. And no England. He was staying right here, in France. It didn’t matter what Ammar did to persuade Mohammed that his best chance was to let these good people help him, Mohammed was having none of it.
‘Okay,’ Shelley said. ‘If he won’t go any further, we have to help him right here.’
The question was – how?
‘What? Mohammed? We told him to wait there.’
‘My brother,’ Ammar shrugged. ‘Always likes to be control. He said it’s okay. He’s on a good boat. He says they will get boat from Izmir to Lesvos then ferry from Lesvos to Athens. He says it’s no problem.’
‘But it is a problem, we know that,’ Daniel said.
‘He should have waited,’ she said.
‘Can we hire another van today?’ Daniel asked
‘We can,’ she said, ‘but you need to be back at work.’
‘No,’ said Daniel,’ I’m not letting you do this on your own.’
‘You have to,’ she said. ‘We have to not draw attention to ourselves. I’ll call Susie, she’ll come with me.’
Reluctantly, Daniel agreed.
‘But take this,’ he said, handing her his passport. ‘It may well come in handy.’
She kissed his picture and put it in her pocket.
‘And keep in touch,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ she replied. And off she went.
* * *
‘So how does it feel to be a people smuggler?’ Mike asked.
‘Better than working here, at any rate,’ Daniel replied.
‘Shame,’ Mike said, ‘Ammar really likes the job. And I have to say he’s a damned sight better at it than you are, buddy!’
‘It’s a shame that’s not a joke,’ Daniel said. ‘If it was up to me he could have the job permanently.’
As it was, they settled back into the old routine. Or almost. Mike’s jokes had a somewhat edgier feel to them these days.
‘She only wants you for your passport,’ Mike joked when Daniel told him what he’d done.
‘Don’t even joke about it,’ Daniel said.
‘You know you could be put in prison?’ Mike said.
‘I’ve been trying not to think about that,’ Daniel admitted. ‘But you know what, it has to be worth the risk. When you see what’s happening out there…’
‘I get it,’ Mike said. ‘I get that you’re engaged in humanitarian work… and I reckon it’s my job to keep you out of prison. Someone has to. You pair are playing with fire.’
‘What?’ Daniel said.
‘I’m in, buddy,’ Mike said. ‘I’ve got to know Ammar over this last couple of weeks and, like you, I can’t stand what’s happening. We’ve got to do something. All of us. We can’t just sit back and do nothing. But we’ve got to try and be smart into the bargain. Luckily, smart is my strong suit.’
* * *
The next day things went from bad to worse. The world saw a small boy washed up on the beach in Turkey. His family had been trying to reach Greece on a smugglers’ boat which had capsized. Daniel was sitting down to dinner with Ammar and his family when they saw it on the television. Everyone’s stomach turned. Was it Mohammed’s son, Sami? It might have been. They were paralysed with fear. Ammar got straight on the phone to Shelley.
There was a nail-biting couple of hours until they found out who the little boy was – or had been.
Riham couldn’t stop crying.
‘It’s okay,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s not Sami.’
‘She knows that,’ Ammar said. ‘But still she cries. Because it could have been. And it could still be us. They could still send us back.’
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Daniel said. ‘You are safe. I promise you. Whatever happens, you will be safe. Believe me.’
He wanted to believe it himself. The situation still looked desperate, though.
‘It should be easy. They get to the UK, they claim asylum, they are accepted,’ he said to Mike. ‘Why can no one see that we’re partly responsible for them being in this state in the first place. We have to help them. I don’t mean just us as individual people, but we, the country. We have to stop thinking about migrants taking our jobs and start thinking about people like us whose lives are being…’
‘It’s not me you have to convince,’ Mike said.
‘I know,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s just… I feel… so… so useless without her.’
Without Shelley there, it was hard to believe. Hard to keep it all together. Hard to see that this wasn’t going to turn bad. And closer to home Mr Zhi was facing deportation.
‘What is wrong with this country?’ Daniel said. It felt like they were fighting a battle on all fronts. He’d almost forgotten about Mr Zhi and he felt guilty when Shelley’s ex-boss turned up on the doorstep. He looked smaller, more beaten than he had before.
‘Come in,’ Daniel said. ‘Shelley’s not here but you are welcome to stay.’
Mr Zhi didn’t think it was a good idea. He didn’t want to threaten the ‘safe’ house.
So he moved in with Mike.
‘The last place anyone would think to look,’ Mike joked. ‘Plus, I really like a good Chinese meal.’
‘He’s a horticulturalist, not a chef,’ Daniel replied.
‘Yes, but they eat in China don’t they?’ Mike said. ‘So they cook… so…’
Mr Zhi was just grateful to find another place to stay one step ahead of the deportation squad. Daniel was discovering that there was a whole underclass of people, good people, whose lives were being disrupted this way. People who just wanted a safe life, where they could hold down a job, contribute to society and live in peace. And they were hounded from pillar to post, forced underground and had to rely on the kindness of strangers who themselves became drawn into the whole sorry affair.
‘Who is minding the business?’ Daniel asked Mr Zhi.
‘We are a co-operative,’ Mr Zhi said. ‘And many days I can go into work. We just need to be aware – tip off, you call it. They can’t look for all of us all the time. We are dancers. We skip each day before the law.’
Daniel found it infuriating, Britain in 2015. A civilised society? A society which claimed to look after the weak and vulnerable. A society in complete denial of the truth, absorbed with their own selfish, aspirational consumerism. Happy to rip off workers round the world to get cheap goods but not happy to take any responsibility for the lives they were ruining in the process.
* * *
Shelley never made it to Athens. She texted from Croatia.
‘Found them.’
It’s what she does, thought Daniel. She finds people and saves them.
‘Come home,’ he texted back, ‘I miss you.’
Of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.
Things were moving fast in the migrant crisis during the summer of 2015. The refugees weren’t moving that fast but they were moving in numbers and they were losing patience. The sheer volume of them meant that hastily erected barriers were torn down as fast as they were put up. And in many countries the police and military didn’t seem to be quite as committed to the task of holding back the perceived infidel as their governments. Though some were over-zealous. The result was chaos. It was impossible to follow through a plan. Luckily, Susie’s strong suit was improvisation and the girls were infinitely adaptable. That perhaps is the skill most needed in such a situation. Borders were closing all around them, the Hungarians and Austrians especially getting really anxious about the ‘problem’.
Daniel became increasingly concerned as he spoke to Shelley each day. The plan kept changing and changing. That made him very nervous. She kept reassuring him that they were okay.
But nothing could convince Daniel that a campervan with three women, a Syrian man and a small boy was going to make it through Europe – it had been scary enough once, their luck surely couldn’t hold out again. They needed more than the lucky charm of his passport.
Shelley and Susie decided to go off piste. It stood to reason that if they didn’t take the usual migrant routes they’d be less likely to be checked. So they drove from Croatia into Italy. Shelley, Susie and Mohammed sat up front leaving Nooda and Sami hiding in the back. The passports were given a cursory glance, Daniel’s picture worked again, and Susie’s acting antics kept the bored border guards amused enough that the back of the van was not checked, so Nooda and Sami were safe.
From Italy there was an open border to France. They went through the Mont Blanc tunnel. They were now firmly on the tourist routes. It seemed like relatively plain sailing. The plan was to drive up through France, into Belgium and Holland and do the Amsterdam to Newcastle crossing again. But when they got to France Mohammed refused to go any further. Sami was running a temperature. Nooda was worried. And Mohammed dug his heels in. No further.
‘French, no English,’ he pointed out.
Via the phone Ammar tried to reason with him. He told him about the Calais Jungle. Mohammed simply laughed. No Jungle for him. And no England. He was staying right here, in France. It didn’t matter what Ammar did to persuade Mohammed that his best chance was to let these good people help him, Mohammed was having none of it.
‘Okay,’ Shelley said. ‘If he won’t go any further, we have to help him right here.’
The question was – how?
About the Author
Annie Christie is a pretty ordinary person, except that she was born Annie Christie and then married a man called Christie and so is still called Christie despite having taken on her husband’s name. She sometimes wonders if she should have called herself Christie-Christie: but who would believe that?
Born near Drum of Wartle in Aberdeenshire, Annie moved as swiftly as possible to a place with a less bizarre name – Edinburgh – but the bizarreness chased her and she now lives with her husband Rab in rural Galloway, with a Kirkcudbrightshire postcode. (That's Cur coo bree shire to the uninitiated.) She is an active member of the Infinite Jigsaw Project.
That Long Hot Summer is Annie's third McSerial written for McStorytellers.
Born near Drum of Wartle in Aberdeenshire, Annie moved as swiftly as possible to a place with a less bizarre name – Edinburgh – but the bizarreness chased her and she now lives with her husband Rab in rural Galloway, with a Kirkcudbrightshire postcode. (That's Cur coo bree shire to the uninitiated.) She is an active member of the Infinite Jigsaw Project.
That Long Hot Summer is Annie's third McSerial written for McStorytellers.