Jalis nodded and kept going.
When it was over, the interviewer closed the file and looked at Kaden. “I’m impressed you can speak Pashto and that Jalis’ English is so good. That will stand you in good stead. Don’t forget you can’t work, Jalis.”
“I can volunteer, though,” he said quickly.
“Yes. You can do that. I hope you find something worthwhile to do while you await a decision. I’m able to make an immediate assessment. There’s no point sending you to a detention centre, only for you to leave again in a day or so. You can return to Kaden’s place today.”
Kaden’s exhalation was louder than Jalis’. They turned to each other and smiled.
“An ARC, an Application Registration Card, will arrive at your address within a couple of days. It’s a credit card-sized plastic photo ID that confirms you’ve applied for asylum and are permitted to remain in the UK while your claim is pending.”
“In case you need to prove who you are,” Kaden said to Jalis.
“That’s right. You’re also entitled to £49.18 per week to help pay for things you need like food, clothing and toiletries, as Kaden isn’t fully able to support you. The payment will be loaded onto a debit card, called an ASPEN card, each week. You’ll be able to use it in a cash machine. If your circumstances change—if Kaden can no longer give you somewhere to stay, or if you change address—you must get back in touch with us. Okay?”
Jalis didn’t move for a heartbeat. He just sat there, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white, his eyes fixed on the desk as though the decision might change if he blinked. Then the tension left him all at once, but he straightened his shoulders, put his hand on his heart and looked at the interviewer. “Thank you.”
Outside, the air felt strangely different. Lighter. As if the world had quietly shifted while they were indoors and forgotten to tell them. Kaden was pretty sure he was as dazed as Jalis. Although he’d thought everything would be okay, it had been impossible to be sure. And not just because inside all that was said, there were so many lies. Where did Jalis come from? Why couldn’t he tell the truth?Why can’t I fucking remember?
“Do I know the truth about where you’re from?” Kaden asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“You should remember you were pleased about that. About knowing, I mean.”
Kaden frowned. Why did it matter so much where Jalis came from?
“Oh wow.” Jalis laughed suddenly, a startled, almost disbelieving sound. “I belong here. Nearly.” He turned to him, his eyes bright. “You wouldn’t have let them take me, would you?”
Kaden brushed his thumb over Jalis’ knuckles, but not moving to full-on hand holding. “No.”
Even as he said that, he wasn’t entirely sure how he could have altered the outcome. Begged, maybe. Made a fool of himself. Cried in front of strangers. Whatever it took. And it might not have been enough. None of that mattered now. Jalis was here legally, for the time being at least.
“We’re getting you some clothes on the way home. You have nothing to wear. Unless there’s stuff at my place. Is there?
“There isn’t. Thank you. I’ll pay you back when I can.”
“Not me. My dad transferred two hundred pounds into my account for you.”
Jalis stopped walking. “Oh.” He swallowed, then huffed out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. “That’s…really kind of him. Now my eyes are leaking.”
“You—” Kaden frowned. “You said that before. Leaking. About eyes.”
Jalis froze. “Yes.”
Kaden thought Jalis might push, but he didn’t. Well, remembering that was a start.
Kaden enjoyed shopping with him. He was intrigued by the way Jalis hovered near the racks at first, as if afraid someone would tell him he wasn’t allowed to touch anything. But once he started trying things on, he was unstoppable. He kept popping out of the changing room, grinning shyly, tugging at a sleeve or pulling at his collar.
“This one’s too big, right?”No.
“Too long?”No.
“This looks ridiculous.”Yes.
“Is pink okay?”Yes. God, yes.
