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  He was a rounded man and wore a long and straggling black beard and unkempt hair. “I’m with myself. I write a blog that has a few thousand readers. I am trying to give an honest view from the people.”

  “Great!” replied Tariq. “Have you seen anything going on yet worth blogging about?”

  “Not so much more than the general feel of the event. I have tried to stick near to the police lines so far. Those areas can get more aggressive and tends to be where we can catch the motherfuckers out when they think they can’t be seen in all the ruckus. I want to make sure they don’t get away with brutality without it being shared with the world,” the man said. “So, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Tariq Al-Noor. The world we are now in allows us to make sure that everything is seen. The leaders shouldn’t be allowed the same privacy that they are trying to remove from their people. What’s your name, then? And what’s your blog called?”

  The man tried to answer, purposefully quietly and was drowned out by the calls of “police brutality” and “shame on you.”

  “Don’t worry, something is kicking off right there.” Tariq had to yell to be heard above the commotion and rising noise, pointing towards the far end of the gates. “If you want to join me for a closer look, come on!” Tariq gently tugged at the man’s shoulder in the direction of the steps and jumped down into a gap between a large single group of people sitting on them.

  The two pushed themselves forward, slowly winding and ducking between shoulders and bodies blocking their route. By the time they could see the front of the crowds again, the line of police had returned to a calm alertness. Tense muscles and darting eyes peered back at them from beneath the body armour and slightly tinted visors. A younger officer on the second line smirked along with some of the funnier shouts from the crowd that opposed him. The crowd itself seemed much more animated with people jostling for a better position. They seemingly fought each other for a chance to shout something as they looked straight into the eyes of one of the men or women in black and blue uniforms. Over to Tariq’s right, a man shook each section of the metal barrier as he shadowed two policemen roughly ushering a young woman onwards. The man shouted, “police brutality” and “shame on you” over and over, occasionally joined by a few of those around him. Tariq pushed to catch up with the man, but the force of the crowd surging against the barrier stemmed his path and he quickly gave up.

  The angry man along the barrier fell forward as three police officers took two of the barriers apart in front of him. They used the man’s momentum to take him to the ground and they quickly snapped plastic cuffs on his arms behind his back. The man screamed and kicked as he was pulled up and shouted for help from his fellow protestors. Before the man was out of sight around a corner, Tariq heard a few additional cries of “shame on you”, joined in with by a good collective of the nearby crowd.

  Tariq turned back towards the gate to see his new companion rapidly taking as many photos of the disappearing man as possible. He let the camera drop around his neck and fumbled in his pocket to produce a card which he placed roughly into Tariq’s hand. The man’s explanation was lost – as was Tariq’s “thanks” – to the rumble of chants and noise, but he placed the card deep into his trouser pocket. He then tried to lip read an additional response from the man, but fell short of deciphering. He simply pointed to himself and then in the direction away from the gates. The man responded by pointing at himself and down at the ground. Tariq nodded and shook the man’s hand before starting to push his way against the tide of human traffic.

  Tariq realised after a short time that the resistance was lessening and more and more people were starting to disperse down the various streets around him. He turned away from the steps opposite as it became apparent that the main show was over and those in the fringe had had enough for the time being.

  Chapter 4

  After Mina had loaded the panniers and basket to her mountain bike she sat back on the saddle and let it coast easily down the gentle slope leading her to town. If she had thought about it earlier, and had been more flexible after seeing the cottage, she would have decided on living downhill from the village. She was fine now, but pedalling back up the long incline with all her groceries would certainly leave her with burning muscles as always.

  The wind buffeted her ears as she cruised down towards town. Following the path of the stream that ran almost straight alongside the left edge of the rocky, dirt path, she made quick progress. To Mina’s right, the northern wall of her valley rose high above her, grew trees that bent from the ground at an impossible angle to gain their height. It was steep enough to seem a wall and made her house feel protected from intrusion and any cold north winds. The other side of the valley was a steep, but far more manageable rise, covered in a deep, yellowing grass and holding sporadic thorny bushes that mottled its surface. This was her valley. She was the only one that lived in it and its sense of security stayed with her on her regular journey into the nearby village

  As she came into town, a rough stone bridge that crossed a few feet of rushing water marked the end of her dirt track and placed her on the concrete of a more civilised walkway alongside the road. Behind her, the walls of her valley seemed low, blending in with the rest of the rolling hills that covered the area. She knew it was waiting for her, like the dog that she could see outside the grocers, its head in its paws, patiently awaiting its owner. She pulled her bike up alongside the grocer’s window and kicked the bike stand down. She picked her purse out of the basket and turned around to see the dog’s owner leave the shop.

  “Hey, Mina,” said the aging man. He had thinning wiry hair that seemed to cling desperately to his scalp and chin and a hoarse voice that had problems of its own. “It’s been a while since I have seen you. How are you? Is the old cottage still on one piece?”

  Mina answered shyly, “The house is holding itself together, Bruce. And I suppose I am too. At least all the problems with the house seemed to be cosmetic.”

  “I can’t believe it stayed standing with no-one to tend for it all those years. I would love to come up and see the grounds up there sometime. I doubt I would fare that long old walk, though. How come you still haven’t cleared the driveway going up there yet?” He asked.

  “I don’t see too much point in all that, seeing as I haven’t got myself a car again yet. I’ve got crops growing up there now to be ready for summer. I may have made the plot a little big as I spend nearly all my days tending to it.”

  “You still in that city lifestyle, aren’t you? Shooting big. A phrase I will tell you is ‘eyes bigger than your mouth’. Living in the country, here, you’ll learn that a single wheelbarrow of good crops will far outweigh a field of spindly leaves,” Bruce said adamantly. “You’ll eventually want that road clear anyhow, ready for when your daughter visits, right?”

  “Yeah, I fear I may be a fair while away from that now. Something to keep working towards.” Mina sounded a little sullen and petted Bruce’s dog on the head tentatively. She couldn’t remember its name, if she had ever known it. She noted to herself not to share any of her more personal information with anyone. That news about her daughter shouldn’t have spread as far as Bruce.

  “You keep working on it, love, I am sure you’ll do right by her. From what I’ve heard that arsehole you got back in the city is not worth owt at all.”

  Mina shuddered slightly. “I haven’t got him anymore, thank the lord. I had better get moving, my mother will expect to me to answer her call in an hour. Keep well, Bruce,” she said a little more dryly than she had meant to. She was annoyed that telling one person about her divorce and ongoing custody battle had spread so far around the village. She had hoped to escape people asking her about that saga so regularly.

  She stepped into the cool, dark interior of the grocers. “Hello, Mina!” a warm, female voice called from behind the little cash register at the back of shop. “I have your order out the back, all ready for you.” Mina thanked her as the slender lad
y darted swiftly into the back room. “I kept it on a pallet for you this time,” she called, her voice now muffled by the intervening walls. “I couldn’t remember how you would load it onto your bike. Is it better this way?”

  “Thank you, Grace. I will just load it straight from there,” Mina replied. A broad smile opened up her face. Grace’s arms were stretched out wide carrying the green pallet in front of her. It made her look small. Mina reached and took the heavy load. She sidled uneasily through the door and Grace made a motion to try and help in a way that would have been futile anyway.

  “When should I expect not to see you any more then?” Grace asked with a smile.

  Mina thought for a moment. “Oh,” she said. “Well that depends on whether farming is my bag, I suppose. I will be coming for some things anyway. I haven’t the plans to grow all the fruit I need yet.”

  “It will be less though, right?” Grace asked concernedly.

  “Yes, likely,” Mina replied. “We shall see, Grace, if I manage to make any surplus good enough to sell, then perhaps we can come to some cheap arrangement for you to buy from me instead.”

  “That London attitude still hasn’t worn off you completely. Give it another nine months and perhaps you will have slowed down that little bit more. I am being rude prying, I’m sorry. How is the divorce going?”

  Mina wondered how that was less rude or prying, though Grace always meant well enough and had been there for her since she moved. “Gone and done. Signed, sealed and delivered, Friday past. Custody continues, I suppose. Though once I have worked on my place here and can show that I am stable then I can appeal how things are now. I am in a better secondary school catchment than him in this area and that will certainly work in my favour when she’s a little older.”

  “I would have expected to see you at the pub then,” Grace said. “You should have come down; I’m sure plenty of the bachelors would have brought you a glass of wine or two! You know, Mina, I often worry about you up there in that house all alone. It’s been a long while since anyone took that place on and it’s so far out from anyone else.”

  “I appreciate it, Grace. For me, it’s perfect. The opposite of everything that lead to– well, you know. I feel freer. I feel like I will live a lot longer too. It’s also a piece of the world that’s mine, to tend to as I wish. He gradually took everything from me, I gave up so much to be with him, thinking I was making the right choices. This is more the real me and that valley looks after me.”

  “That valley makes for a lovely walk, I must say.”

  “Well you need come up there more often. You will always be welcome for tea. If I don’t see you from the field first, my door will always be open.”

  “And you remember that you need to get out more too. There are plenty of us down here that won’t turn you away. Especially on a Friday night, at the pub, at eight o’clock. If you come down to the village only once a week, then should be it. You don’t have to be all alone.” Grace looked each way down the empty street. “I am making a cup of tea now, I’ll put one on for you. It’ll give you a bit of energy for your ride back.”

  “I’m okay, thanks,” Mina said. “My mother is calling shortly. I sometimes wish I hadn’t given up my mobile phone. Not all that often though. I had better get back now. Thank you, Grace. It is good to know that you guys down here have my back.”

  “Always. Ride safe,” Grace said, lingering in the doorway of her shop to see Mina ride back down the pavement.

  Mina unbuttoned her blouse as she climbed the steps from the basement pantry that held two chest freezers and a full-size fridge. She didn’t want to have to repeat her trips to the village too often and so she overpopulated all three as much as possible to save her from that uphill ride becoming so frequent. The evaporation of her sweat from her torso felt good, but she soon felt clammy as it dried. She contemplated a quick bath, though the ringing phone foiled any action towards that plan before it started.

  She took a deep breath as she removed the handset from the kitchen phone dock. “Mother,” she said assertively.

  “Mina,” came the reply. A short pause stretched out over static filled line. “How are you getting on?” Her mother sounded dry and worried even in her first words.

  “I am alright, I just got back from the village.” Mina waited a moment. “Yourself?”

  “Not bad, Mina. I spoke with your sister today.”

  Mina let the statement hang. “-And?”

  “She is getting her divorce too,” her mother said finally.

  “She got caught, huh?” Mina pulled her blouse closed with one arm across her middle.

  “She didn’t go into much detail. She said that she has got a good lawyer, so she will probably get custody of her two little ones. That’s good.”

  “Everything goes her way. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I know you two have your problems, Mina. I think it would be good for you to meet up, you know. You have a lot that you can help each other with. Words that would benefit the both of you.” The static built up in both their ears. “Come on, Mina, it has been so long since you spoke. You were so close when you were kids. When you were young adults, you were always there for each other. Always had each other’s backs. She put herself out so many times to help you with Rebecca, while you supported Drew with his job.” Her mother sighed and Mina drew a tight line with her lips. “You both shared so many precious moments together. Please just-”

  “It’s funny how you use the word ‘share’, Mum,” Mina interrupted.

  “Mina, don’t be like that. She is your sister, your blood. It was a mistake that she made and is sorry for. She has tried to contact you so many times in the last year.”

  “Are you really surprised that I don’t answer her calls, block her emails and never want to see her again? Would you go befriend that woman that tore you and Dad apart?”

  The static filled the silence. “Mina.” Disappointment filled her tone.

  Mina’s, “Yes,” was all that she replied with.

  Again, the static floated across the line. “How is your house?” her mother asked, her voice audibly trembling.

  “It’s great. I love it!” Mina spoke over-ecstatically with a fake smile that she tried to force down the line.

  “Do you want me to call you later?” her mother asked, sensing Mina’s mood.

  “When you do, mum, I don’t want this. This thing that you do. I need you as simply my mother, not just my sister’s.” Mina hung up before her mother’s response could come.

  She was infuriated. She spent ten minutes trying to meditate on the front porch before she stomped back into the kitchen, rolled a cigarette and resumed her position on the porch, even angrier that her mother had made her light another for that day. Her blouse and hair whipped wildly in the breeze that blew suddenly and forcefully around her.

  Chapter 5

  Tariq rented a bedsit above a corner shop on a side street in London, south of the river. He shared a bathroom, but the room that Tariq resided in was a bedroom, living room and kitchen all within the same four small walls. He was sat on the edge of the bed with his knees resting under a desk just big enough for his laptop, notepad and a bottle of water. The increase in protests in the last weeks had meant his usual evening pastime of reading news articles and forums online had been disrupted, but tonight it was quiet and he was due to catch up on the latest news from a more distant perspective.

  The time whittled away as Tariq trawled through websites, clicking straight from his favourites at first, but quickly being distracted by other articles, links and other – both necessary and unnecessary – research. For some pieces, he read deeply into conflicting reports on the same event, jotting down discrepancies to consider further as he read on. As the evening wore away he became more interested in the user comments under each article than the journalist’s words themselves.

  Tariq rummaged through his bag to find a new notepad when he came across a crumpled piece of card at the bottom.
He straightened it against the wobbling desk. It bore only a code in the top left corner, ‘AH6015’ and a website printed in the lower right, TruthSeeksVoice.com. The rest of the card was plain white with no embellishments of any kind. It was the first time Tariq had properly looked at the card – crowded as the situation was when it was received – but it was enough of a random chance meeting that it piqued his curiosity.

  He eventually followed a trail of links, through articles the man had allegedly written and social media outlets until he came to a site he had never come across before. It was simply laid out, mostly white with black text. He signed up to the site with the handle he typically put down on unfamiliar sites, T3LM. After only a few minutes of waiting he had a message from a user ‘AH6015’.

  AH6015: Hello, Tariq.

  T3LM: Hi AH, nice trail to find you through. Great blogs. Are you well?

  AH6015: I am indeed and I hope you are the same. You seemed conscious and aware, I am glad you found me here. So, Tariq Al-Noor is not a very English name. Where are you from?

  T3LM: I grew up in Port Said, Egypt. Though my mum’s dad was British. I think one of my dad’s grandparents was British too, but not sure. My mum taught me to read English from a very early age and hence why I wanted to study over here. It is always good to find new like-minded people. Are you allowed to tell me your name, or is that secret?

  AH6015: Ah, it is a secret here. Maybe in real life, we shall see. What was it about journalism that caught your attention?

  T3LM: When I was growing up I saw the effects of corruption and learnt that it was rife across the world, people are enslaved and downtrodden. These people need a voice of truth, perhaps that which your website seeks.