Family

10

Chapter One

Murat and Robert

Murat was trying to scream but however wide he opened his mouth, he couldn’t make a sound. It was dark and he was squashed in a corner. His leg hurt and something dripped down his forehead and onto his lips. Tentatively, he licked them, recoiling at the taste of blood.

He could hear someone saying something. Were they talking to him? Why did they expect him to talk? He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? Murat whimpered.

It was dark, completely dark. Where had the light gone? There was light before. Something had got his arm and it was pulling hard. He panicked and tried to pull away, but another something joined in. They were too strong; he couldn’t break free. Although he fought as hard as he could, they dragged him towards them. There were sirens howling and people shouting. Lots of voices shouting, but none of them were familiar. Then a bright light shone into his eyes. It dazzled him. Murat yelled, No, no, no, no…

It hurt. The pulling hurt and his head hurt. He must have banged it when –

Murat jumped as Robert pulled on his arm. Where was he? Blinking, he looked around in confusion. He must have fallen asleep.

Daddy, Daddy. What’s wrong?

What? Oh, Robert. He looked around him in the darkness and then it all came back to him.

They were in a coach and moving fast on a motorway.

You were talking in your sleep. You were upset.

It was just a nightmare. Don’t worry. Go back to sleep. Murat patted Robert’s arm.

Were you dreaming about Mummy?

Murat sighed. Go back to sleep.

Robert pursed his lips. I’m too hot to sleep. He waved his hands in front of his face, ineffectually trying to fan himself.

You could take your hoodie off, said Murat noticing that Robert had grown very red-faced.

Robert nodded and pulled his top off, fanning out his t-shirt. There’s a wind coming from somewhere.

That’s the air conditioning, said Murat. But it’s still too hot for your hoodie. Go on then, you choose the next song.

He put his half of the headphones back in his ear. Robert thought for a moment and then tapped on his iPhone. Suddenly, Murat’s left ear was filled with the sound of a man’s voice screeching that his car had treated him wrong. Or something. He wasn’t sure, but he fixed an approving smile on his face as Robert turned to look at him. Once the song had ended, he tapped Robert on the arm.

Why don’t we watch the scenery? You can choose another song in a minute.

Robert pouted but obediently stared out of the coach window. It’s boring, he said after a couple of seconds. Just lots of green and squashed houses. Its too dark outside anyway.

Look at the mountains in the moonlight, said Murat pointing. Wouldn’t you like to find out what it’s like up there?

No, said Robert firmly. I’m hungry.

Murat sighed and reached for his travel bag. You can have a packet of crisps. Don’t make a mess.

Robert grabbed the crisps and began to eat them, making loud crunching sounds. Murat pressed the button to summon the steward. Within seconds, a young man was hovering over him, a smile fixed firmly on his face.

Two bottles of orange juice, please. Said Murat.

The young man nodded and wandered off, returning a minute later with the juice. Robert looked at his drink suspiciously before opening it. What’s this?

It’s orange juice.

But it looks funny, said Robert, squinting at the label on the bottle.

Drink it, said Murat firmly.

Robert opened the bottle and downed it in a couple of gulps, handing the empty bottle back to Murat.

The flight from London hadn’t been too bad. The novelty of the experience had kept Robert entertained for much of the time and everything had gone smoothly until they landed. But on getting off the plane, Murat had started to wonder if he’d made the right decision. If it had been a good idea to bring Robert here.

Istanbul’s Ataturk airport is a huge but modern hub and one of the busiest in the world. The airport had been packed. Hordes of people moved like columns of sheep in all directions. Lucky for Murat, his basic childhood Turkish began to return as he stared at the signs and they soon found their way to passport control. As he stood in the foreigner’s long queue with a British passport, Murat had the niggling feeling that he was in the wrong line. This was the land of his birth, so surely his rightful place was at the end of the shorter line of locals?

Throughout the long wait, Robert sighed heavily, moaning that he was tired and bored. Every time they shuffled a few more inches forward, Robert’s sighs gained in volume. Finally, at long last, they were through and on their way to the baggage carousel. According to Robert, it was too far away and Murat had to half drag him along while cajoling him all the while. Fortunately, Robert perked up when his case appeared on the belt. Within a few minutes, they were outside.

And luck was on their side. After only the briefest search, Murat spotted the coach he’d booked which would take them to their destination – the village he’d been born in.

Come on, he said to Robert. I think it’s due to leave soon.

As soon as they were aboard the very modern coach, Murat began to relax.

On balance, Robert had been well-behaved for an eight year old, thought Murat. Sure, he’d whined here and there and had lost the ability to sit still, but it had been a very long day and Robert wasn’t used to travelling. It could have been much worse.

They hadn’t driven very far when the darkness began to fall. Despite his earlier protests, Robert had spent most of the time staring out of the window and had inundated Murat with questions. He pressed his nose against the window to take advantage of the last of the fading light.

How much longer is it?

Murat looked at his watch. A while yet. You might as well try to sleep.

Robert pulled a face. How can I sleep here?

Murat leaned over and pressed the button to make Robert’s seat recline. That’ll make you more comfortable. Would you like me to read to you for a while?

Robert nodded and closed his eyes as Murat pulled a book from his travel bag. He began to read in a low voice.

The Star Warriors didn’t have a chance. Zorkon ordered his death cruiser to fire its blast lasers right at them. But they didn’t see Lieutenant Morely, in stealth mode, slip past their defences. He fired his last rocket right at Zorkon.

He noticed that Robert was fast asleep. Turning off the light, Murat stared out of the window into the darkness. He shivered. Lucy was probably still furious with him. He’d call her once they’d arrived, just to say everything was OK, but he wasn’t looking forward to it; Although, maybe she’d calmed down by now. Maybe she’d already be missing them, maybe she’d suggest getting a flight and joining them, maybe…

Robert pulled a face and curled up more tightly. Was he waking up? Murat listened until Robert’s breathing grew softer and more regular and, once he was certain Robert was fast asleep, he wriggled into a more comfortable position. Try as he might, sleep wouldn’t come.

Looking around, Murat saw that most of the coach was dozing. He reached forward and pulled out a glossy magazine from the seat pocket in front of him. Absently flicking through it, he stopped on a page showing a photo of the inside of a smart office lobby. An extremely handsome man dressed in a smart suit was smiling and chatting to a glamorous woman as they stood waiting for a lift. The caption read: Are you going up or down? The choice is yours.

Up or down? Which way to go?

What should he choose?

Murat closed his eyes.

* * *

He started as Lucy tapped him on the shoulder. I said are you listening to me?

Murat was no longer wearing his new jeans and the shirt that had cost more than many people spent on a week’s rent, but was clothed instead in an immaculate Italian navy-blue suit. A suit that fitted him more perfectly than any had before. Lucy looked good too. She was wearing a black skirt suit with a severe white shirt, and incredibly high black spiky heels. They must have cost a fortune too, but hey, it’s not as if they couldn’t afford it.

They’re waiting upstairs, said Lucy. I wish the lift would come. It’s taking ages.

Murat looked up at the sign above the lift. It marked Floor 92. Then a moment later, Floor 91. Floor 90. Then it stopped.

Lucy sighed. It keeps doing that. You’d think no one wanted us to go up. How are we going to make things better if we can’t go up?"

We could always go the other way, said Murat pointing at the adjacent lift, which was showing Floor 49.

There’s no point in that, said Lucy. Why would we want to go backwards? We need more. We need to make more money. You can only do that if you go up.

Murat nodded. She was right. They needed more money. The lift now showed Floor 88.

It’s your fault, said Lucy. You’re holding me back. I’d go faster on my own.

But won’t we get further together?

Lucy gave Murat a withering look. What books have you been reading? I can go a long way with or without you.

But what about Robert? asked Murat.

Who’s Robert? said Lucy and she stepped inside the lift.

Murat looked at her in confusion, wondering whether he should follow. Before he could make a decision, Lucy’s arm grew longer and snaked around him. Once he was completely wrapped in her arm, there was a snapping sound and he was pulled inside the lift. He stared at Lucy. Her arm had gone back to normal.

Last chance, said Lucy as she reached towards the buttons.

I want to go down, said Murat.

It’s too late. We’re going up.

Lucy slammed her hand on the button pad and the lift juddered and started to ascend swiftly.

No! shouted Murat. As he pushed Lucy to one side, he hit the down button. The lift shook, wobbled from side to side and then with a screeching sound began to plummet.

You did that! yelled Lucy. You needn’t think I’m coming with you!

Lucy shrank into a wisp of smoke and disappeared through the crack in the lift doors. But she’d left her voice behind.

You’re on your own, Lucy’s voice hissed. You’ll crash soon.

Murat hammered on the button pad and lights flashed in the lift. A siren sounded and the emergency phone began to ring. He picked it up.

Hello?

A child’s voice answered. He didn’t recognise it. Daddy? Where are you Daddy?

Robert? Is that you?

And then Lucy’s voice came on the phone. Who’s Robert? Three, two one…

* * *

Murat woke up with a start, dropping the magazine on the floor. Panicked, he looked around. He was still on the coach surrounded by gently snoring people. Robert had snuggled up next to him.

It was only another nightmare. Murat picked up the magazine and looked again at the couple in the picture. Stuffing the magazine in the seat pocket, he closed his eyes and within a few minutes was deeply asleep. This time he didn’t dream.

Chapter Two

Murat – eleven years ago

We’re pleased with your work, Murat, said Mr Ainsworth. How long is it you’ve been with us now?"

He shuffled the papers on his desk vaguely and peered at Murat over the rim of his glasses.

Three years, said Murat, wriggling in his seat, which appeared to have been designed to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

Although he knew he’d been getting good results at Carter National, and he didn’t have anything to worry about, he hated appraisals. They always made him worry that he’d missed something, that he’d made a serious mistake and no one had bothered to tell him. Mr Ainsworth stayed in his office and rarely communicated with the lower staff, so Murat only met him during his appraisals. And he had the sort of face that was impossible to read. No matter how carefully Murat stared at him, he couldn’t work out if Mr Ainsworth was going to congratulate him or ask him to collect his property and leave quietly. He hadn’t sounded that pleased.

Mr Ainsworth nodded. And you’re planning to stay with us? You haven’t been looking around? Been approached? Got a few ideas about moving on?

Murat struggled to stop his mouth falling open. It hadn’t occurred to him to apply elsewhere.

No, of course not. I mean, I like it here.

Mr Ainsworth sniffed. Not that you’d tell me if you had. Though I wouldn’t blame you for considering your options.

But I haven’t, said Murat defensively.

I was thinking of moving you up a grade… began Mr Ainsworth and Murat’s heart fluttered only to plummet as he completed his sentence by saying, but after talking to Matthew Gerard…

He picked up a sheet of paper and squinted at it carefully. Murat held his breath. He’d long been under the impression that Mr Gerard didn’t like him. Murat didn’t take it personally. After all, Mr Gerard didn’t appear to like anyone much. Oh, well. The pay was more than reasonable at his current grade and he’d not done that badly, considering. Some of the staff below him had been there for years and weren’t likely to be moving up. Then he realised he hadn’t been listening and Mr Ainsworth had said something and was waiting for a response.

I’m sorry?

Mr Ainsworth tutted. I said that although it’s unusual, you’re wasted at your current grade. Makes sense to move you up. I hope you don’t let us down.

He peered sternly at Murat over his glasses again.

Of course not. I mean, thank you.

Mr Ainsworth passed a sheaf of papers to Murat. You’ll need to sign a new contract. Take it to Jane in HR when you’ve done it. She’ll process the paperwork.

Murat stood up, shook Mr Ainsworth’s hand and left the office. Thank God that was over. He took the lift back to the third floor, his mind already back on the deal he’d been working on earlier. Another couple of hours and it would be sorted. He could go to Human Resources department after lunch.

Murat shrugged his jacket off and hung it over that back of his chair. Within seconds he was completely engrossed in the figures spanning his monitor and he jumped with shock when someone slapped him across his shoulders.

Go on then. Don’t keep us in suspenders. How’d it go? We celebrating?

Murat span round in his chair. He’d been working alongside Pete since the first day. They’d both joined the bank straight from university, though while Murat already lived in London, Pete had moved from Manchester. He’d turned up that first day with a big grin on his face, ready to make friends with the whole world. Not that his attitude went down that well with everyone. Murat and Pete stuck out amongst the Hooray Henrys that made up the bulk of the staff right from the start, something about the way they dressed. And once they heard Pete’s thick accent, that stopped any chance of them getting along more than was strictly necessary. Murat liked Pete from the moment he met him. Open, honest and incapable of saying a bad word about anyone, Pete had become the friend he needed at work.

Good, good, he said, smiling. I’ve been promoted.

Well done, said Pete. Lunch on you is it?

Guess so. I’ll drop the paperwork off on the way out.

Pete reached over and picked up the papers on Murat’s desk. Then he gave a low whistle.

Well, you’re a dark horse. Weren’t you going to tell me?

About what? asked Murat, confused. I told you I’d been promoted.

That’s one way of putting it. Three grades! Bloody hell.

Murat snatched the contract back. Don’t be ridiculous.

Pete was right. Murat felt dizzy. He should have said something to Mr Ainsworth, acted more enthusiastic than he had. Too late now though.

C’mon, said Peter as he stood and put on his jacket. Doubt anyone’s going to fuss about you leaving a few minutes early now you’ve got real clout. And you’ll soon be working all the hours God sends at that grade, anyway. Let’s drop the contract off before they change their minds.

He reached over and handed Murat a pen. Sign it. And then we’re going for a pint.

* * *

It was a shame he’d no longer be working alongside Pete, but staring out of the window of his new office, Murat reckoned it would work out. It’d be useful having someone he could trust on the main floor. And he and Pete could still go for a drink from time to time. Maybe not lunch any more. Lunch would be for working from now on. His hard work was starting to pay off at last.

When he started university, Murat had instantly felt out of place. Most of the kids on his course were there to party and have a good time. Although he didn’t mind the odd drink and the odd date, Murat wasn’t the type to go out for long sessions. And he’d rather stick needles in his eyes than dabble in drugs. He’d got his eye on the bigger picture. He was tall slim looking, with an open honest face and dark inquisitive eyes, good looking enough to be noticed by the girls. But his head was totally in his books and he could not be diverted from his objective of attaining good grades all the time.

Though he was never part of the in crowd, Murat wasn’t the only one with his head in his books and who wanted to do well. He worked, if he was honest with himself, more than he needed to. And unlike many of the students, Murat lived at home throughout his course. If it hadn’t been for his adoptive father, Simon’s encouragement, he might never have been offered a place.

Simon had said that Murat deserved it and it was down to his hard work at school, but Murat always wondered if he’d pulled a few strings. Certainly, the fact that Simon lectured at the university couldn’t have done him any harm. Though perhaps he was right. Just knowing what was needed and making sure he did it was enough to get Murat a place.

What there was no doubt about was the pride that oozed out of every pore when Simon, and Murat’s adoptive mum, Marjorie, watched him graduate with a first class degree. Murat felt a slight stretch to his heartstrings when he saw other graduates surrounded by brothers, sisters, even aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents… Murat’s world contained him, Simon and Marjorie. All those years of hard work meant that he didn’t have many close friends. He had a few, of course, but only a few and they’d gone their separate ways after university. The people Murat spent his time with were the sort that were going places, often literally.

No point in missing what he’d never had. Simon and Marjorie had adopted Murat when he was seven. Unable to have a child of their own, they’d poured their love into Murat and he knew that’d have done anything for him. He couldn’t have been that easy to live with in the early years. Murat had only been living in London for a year when his parents were killed in a car crash. None of what had happened after that had made sense to him.

Murat had vague memories of a policeman speaking to him gently and lots of people running around and shouting. Lights were flashing, sirens sounding and the air smelled of fire and petrol. He’d been dragged out of the car by a middle-aged woman who held him tightly, crooning, Poor lamb. Poor little love again and again into his ear until a stern looking woman in a uniform dragged him away.

He was stuffed into a car and driven off to stay with a stern looking couple who avoided his eyes when he asked when his mum and dad would be coming to collect him. It was a week before he was told that they wouldn’t, that they couldn’t; that they’d died that night in the car crash. And Murat had no other family in this country to go to. He didn’t know whether anyone ever thought of sending him back to Turkey, of asking any aunts, uncles or cousins he had there if they’d take him in. Perhaps that wasn’t the way it was done. And he couldn’t have told them how to find them.

He was one of the lucky ones. Often, older kids could wait for years before getting a new home, that is, if they ever got one. Sometimes they went from foster home to foster home, never settling, feeling more unwanted with every passing year. He’d gone to stay with Simon and Marjorie for a couple of weeks, just to see how things went, and he’d never had to leave. He’d been so very lucky.

And now… Murat turned to look around his office, the smart new computer, the glistening desk, his own Personal Assistant outside. He’d become more successful than he could have imagined. And he loved working in the city. Just walking around the streets gave him a buzz. The place smelled of power.

If only Simon and Marjorie were still around. They hadn’t been young when they took Murat in, in fact they’d thought they were too old to adopt and it was only because Murat was classed as difficult that they pulled it off. He wasn’t boisterous or anything like that. On the contrary, he rarely spoke. It was a long time before anyone realised that he wasn’t that confident speaking English, especially as he didn’t have any problem understanding it. And that he was