Mr Moretti headed towards a large brick building with the single word ALIENS chiselled in stone above the door.
When they entered, they were greeted by two signs: BRITISH and NON UK CITIZENS. Elena crossed her fingers as they joined the longer queue, and couldn’t help wondering if they would be back on the ship bound for Leningrad long before the sun set on what was left of the British Empire.
Sasha watched as those holding British passports received a cursory inspection, followed by a smile. Even tourists were not kept waiting more than a few moments. The Karpenkos were about to find out how the British treated those people who didn’t have a passport.
‘Next!’ said a voice.
Mr Moretti stepped forward and gave his passport to the immigration officer, who checked it carefully before passing it back. Moretti then handed over several sheets of paper along with two photographs, before turning to acknowledge his wards. The official didn’t smile as he slowly turned each page, and finally checked that the photographs matched the two applicants standing in front of him. Moretti felt confident that everything was in, to quote the purser, ‘apple pie’ order, but couldn’t help wondering if that would be enough.
Elena became more nervous by the minute, while Sasha just seemed impatient to find out what lay beyond the barrier. Eventually the officer looked up and beckoned the two would-be immigrants to step forward. Elena was only thankful that they weren’t dressed in their old clothes.
‘Do you speak English?’ the officer asked Elena.
‘A little, sir,’ she replied nervously.
‘And are you in possession of a passport, Mrs Karpenko?’
‘No, sir. The communists don’t allow anyone to travel outside the country, even to visit relatives, so my son and I escaped without any papers.’
‘I’m sorry to say,’ began the officer — Elena’s heart sank — ‘that given the circumstances I can only authorize a temporary visa, while you apply to the Home Office for refugee status, and I can’t guarantee that will be granted.’ Elena bowed her head. ‘And,’ the officer continued, ‘you will be subject to several conditions while your application for citizenship is being processed. Should you fail to comply with any of them, you will be deported back to —’ he looked down at the form — ‘Leningrad.’
‘Where they would be locked up for the rest of their lives,’ said Moretti. ‘Or worse.’
‘Be assured,’ said the officer, ‘that will be taken into consideration when their applications come before the Home Office.’ He smiled at Elena and Sasha for the first time, and said, ‘Welcome to Britain.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mr Moretti before Elena could respond. ‘But may we know what those conditions are?’
‘Mrs Karpenko and her son will have to report to the nearest police station once a week for the next six months. Should they fail to do so, an arrest warrant will be issued, and when they are apprehended they will be placed in a detention centre. They can then expect their applications for citizenship to be refused. I should add, Mr Moretti, that as their sponsor, you will be responsible for them at all times, and if either of them should attempt to abscond you would not only have to pay a heavy fine, but would also face the possibility of a term of imprisonment of not less than six months.’
‘I fully understand,’ said Moretti.
‘And if anything claimed on their application form should prove to be bogus...’
‘Bogus?’ said Elena.
‘Inaccurate. If that should be the case, your application will automatically be declined.’
‘But I have only told the truth,’ protested Elena.
‘Then you have nothing to fear, Mrs Karpenko.’ He handed Moretti a small booklet. ‘You’ll find everything you need to know in there.’
Elena shuddered, and couldn’t help wondering if they had climbed into the right crate.
‘I can assure you, officer,’ said Moretti, ‘Mrs Karpenko and her son will be model citizens.’
‘Will the young man also be working in your restaurant, Mr Moretti?’ asked the officer, not even looking at Sasha.
‘No, sir,’ said Elena firmly. ‘I want him to continue with his education.’
‘Then you will have to register the boy at the nearest local authority school.’ Elena nodded, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. The officer turned his attention to Sasha for the first time, looking down at his ankles. ‘I see you’re growing fast,’ he said. Sasha remembered Mr Moretti’s advice, and remained silent. ‘You’ll have to work hard when you go to your new school if you hope to succeed in this country,’ said the officer, giving the young immigrant a warm smile.
Sasha returned the smile and said, ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.’
7
Alex
En route to New York
Alex stared out at endless miles of flat, uninterrupted sea, and could only wonder if he’d ever see land again, while his mother just continued to get on with her job. The menu didn’t vary from one day to the next, so Elena quickly mastered the simple routine, and began to take on more and more responsibility while Strelnikov’s siestas became longer and longer.
She and Alex looked forward to being released each evening, when Dimitri would join them on deck and tell them more about life in ‘the Big Apple’, and his small flat in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.
Elena told Dimitri about her husband and her brother Kolya, and why Major Polyakov had been the reason they’d had to escape. Alex watched Dimitri carefully, and couldn’t help feeling that the friendly Russian knew exactly who Polyakov was, and even wondered if they’d put his uncle in danger. But the subject that continued to occupy them was how Elena and Alex would get off the ship once they’d docked in New York. Alex reluctantly accepted that without Dimitri’s help they were never going to make it.
‘What will we do if Strelnikov locks us in the galley while the ship’s cargo is being unloaded?’ asked Elena.
‘There are still a couple of bottles of vodka left over that he doesn’t know about,’ said Dimitri, ‘and they might just mysteriously appear in the galley the day before we’re due to arrive in New York. With a bit of luck, by the time he wakes up you’ll be on your way to Brooklyn.’
For the next week, Elena and Alex worked endless hours, never once complaining, even though the chef rarely left his chair.
With only a couple of days to go, Strelnikov ran out of vodka, which meant he didn’t fall asleep quite as easily, and they both had to suffer his wrath.
As Dimitri had promised, another couple of bottles appeared while Strelnikov was taking his siesta on the afternoon before they were due to arrive in New York. Elena had to take over cooking lunch, because the moment Strelnikov woke and saw the bottles by his side, he opened one of them immediately and had taken several gulps before he demanded, ‘Where did these come from?’
Mr Ling shrugged his shoulders and continued to slice the potatoes, while Elena checked the soup. Strelnikov showed more interest in finishing off the first bottle than in preparing lunch. Elena could only marvel at how much the man could consume without collapsing, and it wasn’t until after dinner that he finally slumped in his chair and fell into a deep sleep.
Elena and Alex crept out of the galley and made their way up onto the deck, but couldn’t sleep as they gazed out across the open sea, willing Manhattan to appear on the skyline, becoming more confident by the minute that Dimitri’s plan would work. But just as the sun peeped over the horizon, a voice behind them bellowed, ‘Thought you’d get away with it, did you?’