Chapter 4

Adam emerged onto the high street. After finishing the meeting with the Chief Superintendent he’d walked straight out of the station. He didn’t care if he was missed, everyone knew what today was and he’d been treated with kid gloves all morning. He hated it; he didn’t need sympathy or understanding – he just needed space. He felt trapped in the station, claustrophobic; he couldn’t make sense of the conflicting thoughts and emotions that were all screaming for his attention – it was like white noise and it drowned out everything.

Now as he trudged through the driving rain, he began to calm down. It felt like he’d stepped out of a disco. The white noise was still there, it was always there, but he’d closed a door on it. He could still feel it pounding in the background, but it was muted, and he could once again hear himself think.

He stopped, raising his face to meet the rain and exhaled. What a fucking mess!

Adam had left the station with no clear idea what he was going to do, but now as the rain massaged his scalp, he decided to walk home, have a bath and surprise Jo by meeting her when she went to collect the kids from school. He pulled up his collar, pushed his hands into his pockets and set off.

The high street was busy with office works rushing to get their lunches. They weaved erratically as they tried to avoid the pubbles, which were fast becoming lakes as the drains failed to cope with the downpour. He pushed roughly through and made his way, against the tide, out of the town centre, across the ring road, and towards a street, optimistically called, The Mall!

The Mall had been the main road into the town centre, and up until the mid seventies, had been a thriving thoroughfare lined with small shops. Then some bright spark with a degree in ‘theoretical town planning’ had decided Houghton needed a ring road. The new ring road ran straight across The Mall, cutting it off from the high street, turning it into a dead end. This stroke of genius successfully initiated the death of The Mall as a shopping area and precipitated the slow ugly decline of the town; by ensuring no one ever need pass through it again.

The Shops inevitably closed and where boarded up and like all neglected urban spaces the people moved out, and crime moved in. For years if you wanted a fix or a fuck, and had the money to pay for it, The Mall was the place to go.

However, as well as the pimps and pushers, immigrants began to move in because of the low house prices. Firstly it was Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Indian’s; then Nigerian and Somalis and more recently Kurdish and Turkish immigrants had all made it home.

Slowly over the ensuing years they had reclaimed the area from the criminals and now The Mall was once again a thriving community; full of restaurants, takeaways, sari shops, jewellers, taxi firms and most notably a magnificent Turkish bakery. It had initially been dubbed ‘The Paki Mall,’ but eventually even the most hardened bigots had had to admit that The Mall was one of Houghton’s few success stories, and it was now affectionately known, with a nod to Rushholme in Manchester, as ‘The Curry Mall’

Since his separation Adam lived in a flat above a newsagents run by the Rahmin family. When the shop was closed, which was rarely, he had to use the back door but when open Mr Rahmin let him duck under the counter and use the stairs in the stockroom.

He shook himself down at the door, suddenly aware of just how wet he was, picked up a pint of milk from the chiller and walked to the counter, “I think I saw an Arc parked on the corner.” He quipped.

“Good Gracious, Adam,” Mr Rahmin looked genuinely shocked, “What a state you are in, come through, come through at once.” He ushered Adam through to the back and shouted up the stairs, “Mira, Mira, bring towels for Adam!”

“No, No, Mr Rahmin, I’m going straight up for a bath so you mustn’t worry,” Adam protested, but it was no use Mr Rahmin was already tugging at his jacket and moment’s later his head was smothered in a towel which was being vigorously rubbed by Mira Rahmin.

Adam liked the Rahmins. He’d known them for years, because as one of the first Asian families to move into The Mall they had been the victims of numerous race hate crimes – most notably an arson attempt – and, as a then uniformed PC, he’d been first on scene and helped Mr Rahmin put the, thankfully small, fire out. Since then he’d kept an eye on them and would pop in for a brew if he was ever passing.

So when he’d mentioned that Jo and he were having problems coming to terms with what had happened to Claire and were going to try a trial separation, Mr Rahmin had been horrified at the prospect of a grown man having to look after himself and had offered to let him the flat above the shop so that Mira, his wife, could keep an eye on him. Since then the Rahmins had treated him like a member of the family.

Mira was finally satisfied that Adam’s hair no longer posed an immediate threat to his health, “Adam, this is not the weather to be walking without an umbrella, this was a very silly thing to do,” Mira clucked, “you are soaked to the skin. Get up stairs at once and remove these cloths.”

“Don’t scold the boy Mira, he is not responsible for the rain coming down like a Delhi monsoon,” interjected Mr Rahmin.

Mrs Rahmin furrowed her brow and addressed her husband as if she was talking to an idiot “Monsoon! What do you talk about monsoons for, you foolish old man, this is Britain not India!”

To his knowledge Adam had never heard Mira use her husbands first name, which was Karim, instead she always calling him ‘old man’ to which she would add various descriptors ranging from an exasperated ‘silly’ to a furious ‘useless’ depending on the nature and severity of the transgression.

‘Foolish – Foolish! It is you who is foolish woman. Who is the fool; he who knows what day today is or she who scolds a man on such a day?” Mr Rahmin looked at Adam, and Adam saw tears instantly well in his deep dark eyes.

Mr Rahmin had been deeply affected when he had heard of Claire’s disappearance, and Adam had been tempted on numerous occasions, as they’d sat in the stockroom sipping tea together, to confide in him the events of that day and the subsequent weeks. He hadn’t, it was his burden and he had too much respect for Mr Rahmin to force him to carry it too.

“Of course I know the day, old man, but chilling himself and getting a fever will not improve It.” Retaliated Mira.

“Now, now, you two,” interjected Adam playfully trying to halt the inevitable escalation of the exchange, “I’m going straight up. I’ll be out of these wet clothes and into a hot bath a lot faster if you two would stop arguing about my health and let me get on!”

“Yes, go, go,” Mira shooed him onto the stairs, “don’t let this foolish old man hold you up.”

Adam made his way up to the third floor as the couples bickering escalated towards it’s usual finale and, as he opened the door to his flat, caught one final ‘stupid old man’ before he closed it.