At the community centre the graffiti was back. RAPEFUGEES in foot high letters along the south side of the building. The front door was locked and I had to ring the bell and speak into the little intercom before the old woman behind the reception desk would get up and come across to open it. There was a sticker on the glass at head height that had been half scratched off. I had started spotting them here and there on lampposts around the city centre. England Expects written is some kind of pseudo medieval font and then a crude, cartoon-y picture of what I took to be Saint George standing on the back of a generic, bearded Muslim in a long robe with his sword piercing down through the man’s chest, pool of blood leaking out from underneath him. Some members of the local Labour party branch had spotted them too and reported them to the police as a Hate Crime.
The woman who opened the door to me was in her sixties , a lovely old lady, her name escapes me now and looked anxious.
Everyone here for the lesson? I asked though the place was evidently empty. You here on your own.
Didn’t you get the message? she said. We have had to cancel it. We’ll need to find a different venue. The phone on the reception desk started ringing as she stood in the entrance, unsure what to do, just go back home, I supposed. She shuffled back to pick up the phone and before she had even got it to her ear the stream of abuse coming out was audible and she quickly replaced it.
The police have been called she said. It started this morning. Same with the graffiti, must have done it last night. Haven’t they got anything better to do? She asked. Of all the good that needs doing in the world. Why are they wasting their time with this?
The phone rang again. Again she picked it up, raised it half way to her ear and the replaced it on the receiver.
I don’t know how they have got the energy, she said.
Fanatics! I said, then, the Police must be able to trace the call or something surely, I said. Should you be in here on your own?
Well they don’t seem to be paying that much attention to it. Charlie’s out the front she said. He'll see me back home.
Apparently, I said, most crimes and d disturbance s in any area are committed by one or two people. Burglaries or whatever and when that individual goes to jail for a certain length of time the incidence rate sort of drops to zero. It'll be the same here I guess. I am sure the police have tabs on whoever it is, there's all kinds of anti-radicalisation laws now, so. They’ll pick up this one person whose doing it and then it’ll stop. I was trying to be reassuring.
The phone rang again and she pressed a button that muted it.
As I left and set off back someone, presumably Charlie, had started painting over the graffiti in white and I stopped to exchange a word or two. He had been spending the day painting over similar slogans around the city, on buildings where some of the Syrians were being housed. He said he had a good idea who it was who would be making a bloody nuisance for themselves and I said again, yes, it’s always one or two individuals and I am sure the police e know who it is. Perhaps, really, I was trying to reassure myself.
I thought I would ring Amar just to check he was OK. He was likely to be upset, understandably by this. The other students were fairly all fairly robust, they had seen enough trouble both at home and in their various treks to the UK to be able to deal with a bit of graffiti a bit of aggro on the street or shouted comments from passing cars, water off a ducks back I supposed, but Amar was more easily shaken and upset. While the others could talk more openly sometimes about their experience of the war Amar would never touch on the subject and we were all careful to avoid it as a topic.
Jay answered with a tentative. Yeah, Hello.
Everything OK today?
Yeah.
With Amar?
Yeah.
He was in work? No problems?
As I was talking I could see them up ahead of me, standing on the quayside at the bottom of the bridge looking across the Lune Jay with his phone up to his ear Amar with his arm up around Jay’s shoulders.
He’s here, do you want to talk to him?
I delayed answering until I was up close behind them then, Alright! I said and they jumped, looked around a bit startled and I regretted sneaking up on them. Two kids who had experienced god knew what, both of whose pasts were hidden away, never discussed and I wondered suddenly whether es shouldn't talk about it lay it all out so we could have a better understanding of who we were what had brought us here.
You alright. Everything alright? They nodded. Yeah, yeah. Lesson cancelled today.
That's right, I said.
Our lesson cancel too?
No, our lesson’s still happening, same time, same place, I said. Sorry!
No, no teacher he said. Sorry, why? Very enjoy. Gave me his half-sad grin, adjusted his baseball cap.
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