Leaving

By James Bonney

Leaving is the story of Ahmad and Donna, and their unlikely and doomed friendship that develops and then disintegrates. Ahmad arrives in the United Kingdom a lonely man searching for a new home and a new life, he encounters Donna, a disconnected teenager searching for something beyond her routine existence. Their lives are intertwined against a modern backdrop of social dysfunction, fear and ultimately terror that strikes the heart of London. A dramatic turn of events befall the pair, altering their lives forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Bonney
• Release date: Aug 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310383694

James Bonney

I'm 35 years old and live in Norfolk, England. I have had various different jobs including warehouseman, animal sanctuary worker, barman and shop assistant, these jobs have been interspersed with periods of travelling in Asia, Africa, the Middle East and Europe. I am a keen, but mediocre, surfer. I also love music, books (obviously!) and wrestling animals, domestic and wild!.

Book preview

LEAVING

By James Bonney

Published by James Bonney at Smashwords.

Copyright 2014 James Bonney

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About the author

Connect with the author

Chapter 1.

From the darkness suddenly came light, a door was opened, fresh air, sounds and smells came flooding into the tiny compartment. The man shifted uncomfortably and gazed out into the promised land. The noise of traffic, the scent of damp trees and a hint of bitterness in the wind greeted the exhausted traveler. An unsmiling face appeared and a hand gestured briskly, suggesting that it was time to leave the mind-numbing cramped security of the truck. The man complied, stepping gingerly out onto the tarmac, a finger pointed, then a door slammed and an engine started. He turned and walked towards the city.

The man's gait was steady, his muscles loosening as his functional, monotonous rhythm propelled him onwards. Tired eyes steadily scanned the agricultural plain which the road intersected. A constant stream of unfamiliar shapes hurtle past at unfamiliar speeds, no horns sound, no human or animal voice interrupts the repetitive drone. First, a scantily-clad woman tries to sell him a car, then furniture is peddled at low, low prices. Five miles further on he could stop and stock up on DIY materials before pausing to drink a popular soft drink. It is repeatedly suggested that he should invest in a property at an upscale new development, before having a three-course meal for £19.95 next left. As the billboards blended into a collage of consumerism houses appear, the traffic slows, the houses are identical and orange, with closed doors and blank windows. A small woman appears, she is led by a small dog on a lead its nose hugging the ground. The man raises his eyebrows, parts his lips, a hesitant attempt at a smile. From underneath a woollen hat the woman's eyes glance furtively in his direction before returning to a middle-distance gaze. A pause at a petrol station, he watches the forecourt shuttle-runs of drivers from cars to shop and back. A sign tells him to buy a sandwich, crisps AND a drink, his stomach agrees but uncertainty carries him onwards.

The man's left hand is in his jacket pocket, the thick envelope offers subconscious reassurance. A quick mental checklist confirms his memorization of his documents. He knows who he is, why he is here and what he will do, but he has no idea where he is going. Bus shelters and litter bins provide stationary obstacles in his path. As pedestrian traffic increases, the vehicular traffic slows its speed dramatically. He briefly keeps pace with a small car overcrowded with baseball hats and jewelry, a thudded beat emanates from open windows. The smell of cannabis reaches his nostrils, he looks away sensing scrutiny would not be appreciated. An African family walk past, laughter, smiles, bright colours and huge earrings. The smallest boy of the family gazes up at the man with undiluted curiosity, impeccably turned-out in shirt, trousers and shoes, he provokes a pang of embarrassment in the man as he remembers his torn jeans, scruffy jacket and battered trainers. A faint beam of sunlight breaks the cloud cover as the man negotiates a roundabout, unwilling to deviate from his chosen direction.

He passes a group of the palest teenagers with the darkest clothes, and two with the brightest hair. Their faces and attire are adorned with pieces of metal and bizarre symbols, they smell of tobacco and boredom. As the buildings become taller the people become crowds, the city becomes overwhelming, exacerbated by his hunger and tiredness. He reaches a large square where pigeons and discarded food packaging fill the brief gaps vacated by the swirling throng of humanity. He must eat. The vast array of shops, cafes and restaurants offering sustainance confuse the man briefly. But a large yellow M seen previously on billboards draws his attention, the smell of salty, greasy food and the sight of giant plastic cups entice him through the door. Nervously fingering the money in his pocket he takes his place behind an elderly couple in the line. He views the menu through aching eyes, desperately searching for the familiar, anxiously he silently practices what he will say to the oriental boy in the red polo shirt. The 'number 4', 'eat in', 'coke', read the till, don’t drop any coins, easy he told himself. His hunger sated, his sugar-levels raised, relaxing on an uncomfortable chair brought a new sense of confidence to his thoughts. He saw beautiful brown eyes sparkle from within a burqa-clad face, he tried Arabic As-salaam alaikum, an awkward smile hidden by the veil was projected through brief eye-contact, no verbal response was forthcoming. The woman muttered a phrase to the child accompanying her which the man didn’t understand, they left, emptying their trays on the way.

The man exited the large yellow M, passed a W, a U, a HMV and an S. The day was turning toward dusk, the grey was sporadically illuminated by red, yellow and orange. The breezes bitterness was becoming more noticeable, raising his shoulders and lowering his chin the man strolled onwards, thoughts of sleep entering his mind. An old, faded building similar to deserted ones he had passed earlier had sprung into life. Men in jeans and pale-coloured shirts gathered around the doorway, holding cigarettes and drinks, and talking noisily, they were accompanied by women dressed as prostitutes. A sense of expectation and jubilation filled the air. The man smiled to himself then felt a hand on his shoulder, the smile vanished and he turned fearfully, ready to let the flight instinct take over. The hand belonged to a fat man with close-cropped hair, an armful of tattoos and a dopey grin on his face. He had glassy eyes, a single gold tooth and smelt of beer and onions. The drunk said the word 'Dave' three times, the man hesitantly nodded. 'Dave' proceeded to cheerfully slur some nonsensical gibberish towards the man's face whilst using his right shoulder as support. Listening cautiously his urge to flee was replaced with faint amusement. The unintelligible speech was ended with an abrupt, exaggerated handshake, the man watched 'Dave' stumble unsteadily back towards the pale-shirted men and their hookers.

The man carried on through the city, as the streets darkened and the crowds thinned, the untidy murals daubed on the walls of buildings became more commonplace. He felt the atmosphere change, and concentrated not on the unlit shadows, but on the comforting beacons of neon and the cheerful glow of shop windows. His path was suddenly blocked by a skinny, sweaty tracksuit-clad man. With empty eyes, an empty mouth, holding out an empty hand which suggested an empty stomach. The man's nerve broke and he quickly detoured around the outstretched hand, his departure was accompanied by empty threats. Shaken by his previous encounter, the man realized simple fear was replacing the more convoluted feelings of anxiety and nervousness. The city was taking its toll, easily crushing the fragile spirit of the naïve and the hopeful. The next time he saw the five neon-lit letters that spelt comfort and safety, the man would give in and rest. After a stilted conversation with a bored Chinese woman and the handing over of what seemed like a lot of money, the man had a thick, lumpy mattress and a soft pillow to rest on. The man slept.

The man's sleep was one of exhaustion and relief, but riddled with brief dreams of uncertainty and regret. Mehry appeared in his subconscious with comforting regularity, she seemed smaller, older but with those sharp brown eyes still seeing through him. She hovered in the background of the