Home Chapter 7: Rescue

Six months had passed: still no date had been set for Abdul's appeal. Andy had been kind to him, but he had also had to put up with Susan's scepticism, if not outright hostility. Abdul also felt slightly resentful at being dependent on the charity of another. With no job, the days seemed to inch past. When Andy and Susan were at work, Abdul would spend his time either on the library computer, trying to track down his family, or walking by the side of the Thames, which is what he was doing now. He tightened his coat as a bitter gust of wind grabbed him. He glanced at the river: every so often the waters would rise almost to ground level, before falling back just as suddenly. Then he saw something else: a man in the water. He was not attempting to swim, nor struggling for help: instead, he was slowly and deliberately walking (or so it seemed) into the depths.

"Hey! Come back!", Abdul shouted instinctively.

He wondered if the stranger had heard him: certainly there was no response, and the other continued on his perilous journey.

"It's dangerous out there!", Abdul called out.

Still the stranger kept on: how stupid he must be, thought Abdul, unless . . .

Abdul lowered himself into the choppy waters and swam towards the man. This was far from easy: Abdul was not the strongest, and wind was still blowing hard, but in the end, through sheer determination, he reached the stranger, whose head was now the only part of the his body above the surface. Abdul grabbed the man's arm and began to pull him back towards the footpath. He was not sure quite how he managed it, but eventually he was able to grasp terra firma, and he hauled himself and the other up onto the path: he was soaked and shivering. Abdul laid the stranger on the ground and let out a gasp that had nothing to do with his aquatic exertions: the man was Fred!

Fred was panting very heavily, and his eyes were closed. Abdul took his phone out of his coat pocket and called the air ambulance: on finishing the call, he looked down and saw that Fred's eyes had opened: perhaps the sound of the phone had woken him up.

"Were you trying to kill yourself?", he asked, though he already knew what the answer must be.

"Yes", said Fred, breathing heavily.

"But why?", asked Abdul.

"The last six months", panted Fred. "No job . . . no income . . . when I apply . . . Opportunities tell me they won't . . . won't put me forward."

"And why won't they?", asked Abdul, though he had no idea what Fred was talking about..

"Because", said Fred, who now seemed to have got his breath back, "it seems just about every job they have is with the Home Office, and they keep telling me the Home Office won't employ me again. And all because of a LinkedIn page!". He sounded angry now.

"So the Home Office let you go, did they?", asked Abdul, desperately trying to make sense of everything.

"Yes", said Fred, sitting up now. "I had an argument with my line manager when she thought I was too kind to one of my interviewees, then got a call later that day from Opportunities, my agency, telling me the Home Office didn't want me any more."

"But why?", Abdul asked.

"Apparently because I mentioned them on my LinkedIn page", replied Fred.

"Really?". Abdul stared at Fred.

"Yes", said Fred, whose body was now shaking, and not because of the cold and wet. "While the Home Secretary deliberately leaks classified information, and yet on the news this morning we learn that she's been given her job back by the new Prime Minister. After just six days! And my whole life is ruined because of a LinkedIn page! It's outrageous! No one in the history of the world has ever been treated worse than me!" He was shouting now.

"That's not true, I've had things a lot worse in my life", said Abdul indignantly.

"Have you?" Fred looked at Abdul quizzically.

"Yes", insisted Abdul. Then something dawned on him. "Don't you remember me, I'm the one you interviewed, the one was was trafficked from Somalia."

Fred blinked.

"Now I think about it, I do remember you", he said sheepishly. "It was you I had that argument with my manager about. So what happened to you? Did you get your asylum claim?"

"No", said Abdul, speaking quickly now. "I had the second interview with a horrible woman . . .

"I think I know who you're referring to", said Fred grimly.

 ". . . and a letter from the Home Office, telling me I'd been rejected, so I was taken away and locked up in a detention centre, until I got a lawyer, she got bail for me, and I'm still waiting for my appeal."

Fred sighed. "I suppose you're right, you have had it worse . . . sorry I've forgotten you're name, Abu, is it?

"Abdul". He felt somewhat offended by this.

"I'm sorry", said Fred, his cheeks turning red. "Well", he added somewhat awkwardly, "obviously it's been awful for you, but good luck with your appeal."

Abdul heard a loud grinding noise just above his head. He looked up: the air ambulance had arrived. As both he and Fred were flown to the hospital, Abdul could not help feeling proud of what he had just done. Amina had once called him a "lazy good-for-nothing" after he overslept one morning after being forced to work late at night ironing Hassan's shirts and polishing his shoes for a work meeting, and the Home Office clearly regarded him as a freeloading illegal immigrant, but he knew differently, and couldn't help but smile.