Chapters (21)
‘They might. They might send me down for twenty-five years just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s what happened to my friend who was sent to Guantanamo. He was picked up in Afghanistan where he was doing charity work.’
Sarah assumed this was the man the MI5 desk officer, Shelley, had mentioned as being involved in terrorist financing. But she couldn’t say anything about that. ‘All the more reason for you to hand yourself in now, clear your name, get it over with.’
They drank tea and repeated themselves for the next twenty minutes or so. Afterwards, as Daniel rinsed their mugs in the sink, he said, ‘I’ll think about it. There’s something to be said for getting it over with. You’re right about that. Also, the owners of this place will be back next week and I won’t be able to go on camping here.’
‘Will they expect all the work to be finished?’
‘No but it’s supposed to be farther forward than it is now. Maybe I’ll think about handing myself in when I’ve caught up. Otherwise I’ll be sitting in a police cell worrying about it.’
‘I wouldn’t wait if I were you,’ said Sarah. ‘Sooner the better.’ They debated whether he should walk into a police station or simply return home. ‘Where will you say you’ve been?’
‘Staying with friends.’
‘And when they ask which friends, where?’
‘I won’t say because I don’t want to get them into trouble.’
‘You could say you stayed in another mosque, which you won’t identify for the same reason. You went there because you were frightened and didn’t know what to do and wanted time to pray and contemplate and it was the imam who advised you to hand yourself in.’
Daniel smiled. ‘Sounds as if you have some experience of this sort of thing. It could be true, too, if I’d thought of it.’
‘Why not do it now, hand yourself in?’
He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Okay. If you give me a lift.’
They dropped him before the corner of his road, out of sight of his house and the police. His decision seemed not only to have cleared his mind but to have lightened it. He talked cheerfully on the way about building up his business, about going on the haj – the pilgrimage to Mecca that all Muslims were supposed to do once in their lifetimes – and about the difficulty of deciding when to start a family.
‘That may be decided for you,’ said Anya.
‘If Allah wills.’
They left him hitching his tool-bag onto his shoulder and waving until they were out of sight.
‘Well, that’s a good job done,’ said Anya. ‘I can’t thank you enough. Nor will Akela when she hears.’
‘It took two of us. So long as he actually does it.’
‘I think he will.’