“Hello. I wish I could remember you.”
“I wish you could too.”
Kaden took a deep breath. “You said we messed around.”
“A bit. I’ve never… You’re the first person I’ve ever done anything with. Including kissing.”
Oh my God.“Would another kiss wake me up like Sleeping Beauty?”
“Who’s Sleeping Beauty?”
Kaden huffed, but did Jalis really not know? “I wish I could kiss you now.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t think I’d be able to stop and we’d get arrested.”
“For kissing?” Jalis sat upright, looking horrified.
“Not for kissing, but for what it would lead to.”
“Oh.”
The announcement for the next station crackled over the speakers.
Kaden swallowed hard. “Nearly there. While you were sleeping, I did some research. You need to be interviewed at a place in Croydon to make a claim for asylum.”
“You told me to go to a police station.”
“Did I?” Kaden frowned. “I don’t think there’s any point. They’ll just send you to Croydon. I can make you anappointment. Maybe for today. I’ll stay with you. You said you weren’t from Afghanistan, but are you still going to claim that you are?”
“Yes.” Jalis took a deep breath. “What if they don’t let me go home with you?”
“They will,” Kaden said, trying to sound surer than he actually was. “We won’t give them a reason not to.”
Kaden made the call. They could see Jalis that afternoon.
While they ate lunch, Kaden laid it all out carefully, what Jalis should say, what not to volunteer, how to answer without panicking.
“You don’t need to remember everything,” Kaden said. “You just need to tell the truth youdohave. Afghanistan. Dead parents. Cruel relatives. Threat of murder. Afraid all the time. A friend who was killed.”
Jalis nodded. “You’ll be there?”
“Every second.” He’d insist, but whether he’d succeed was another matter.
The Intake Unit was quieter than Kaden had expected. Plastic chairs were lined up under bright fluorescent lights, and there was a faint smell of disinfectant and burnt coffee. Everyone waiting looked worried. No one was talking. Jalis sat close enough that their knees touched, and Kaden hooked his foot around Jalis’ ankle like an anchor.
When Jalis’ name was called, he was slow to get to his feet. But once Kaden was allowed to go with him, he perked up. The interviewer was calm, neutral and professional. The questions were asked slowly though there was no need.
Name. Jalis. Using just one name was common in Afghanistan.
Date of birth. They’d decided that together. Fourteenth of May. The same year as Kaden.
Country of origin. How he’d arrived in the UK. Where he’d travelled through. What happened on that journey. Why he had no papers. Why he couldn’t return. What education he’d received. What he did for a living. How he knew Kaden. What games they’d played. How long they’d been doing that.
Jalis stumbled, faltered on that question, mumbled, “About…” then looked to Kaden.
“Over a year,” Kaden said. What was another lie?
