Peoples Choice 2010: Victor

By Emma Martin

‘Listen to me,’ he said. He put his hand on Soraya’s; she shrunk slightly from his touch. ‘You have to tell your parents. You just have to. Ask them to forgive you.  You’re their flesh and blood, they have a right to know.’

‘Maybe,’ said Soraya quietly, so quietly Victor could hardly hear her, ‘maybe if I could get up there, could actually see them, maybe it would be okay. Maybe I could stay with them until the baby’s born. Till I give it up. And then make a fresh start.’ She fixed her eyes on Victor’s. 'Do you think that’s what I should do?’

Her question hung in the air like a bubble. Victor sat very still, as if too sudden a movement might burst it.

‘Yes, he said slowly. 'I think that’s exactly what you should do.’

Outside it was finally raining, and pedestrians were hurrying head down for shelter, some with umbrellas, others clutching newspapers and supermarket bags to their heads.
Soraya studied a slop of coffee on the table, swooshing it in circles with her finger till it dispersed.

‘There’s only one problem,’ she said.

She didn’t actually ask Victor for the money. At least, when he thought about it afterwards, he didn’t think she had. He asked how much it was she would need and she wasn’t sure – two maybe three hundred dollars for the flight. He didn’t carry that kind of money. But there was a card for their Building Society account, his and Maureen’s, and there was a cash machine across the road. Soraya thanked him when he returned.

‘I’ll never forget this,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you.’

But Victor couldn’t help noticing her eyes sliding to his wallet, as if she were a compass, and it were her north.