Ibrahim & Reenie by David Llewellyn

feel like an apology, and he climbed into his van. The engine started with a splutter and cough, and he drove away, leaving Emma on the driveway, watching him until he’d gone.

6
    â€˜Must be nothing else happening in the world,’ said Reenie. ‘I mean, why’d they want to talk to me? Don’t make any sense.’
    Ibrahim shrugged. Despite his sleeping bag and the cushions Reenie loaned him, he’d woken up cold and tired. The pain in his right leg had subsided, but he knew this couldn’t last. It would return as soon as they were walking again, but perhaps the pain might give the day some focus. He had decided that today he would make it over the border and into England.
    â€˜And why didn’t they talk to you?’ asked Reenie, as if he’d said something in reply. ‘I thought that was odd.’
    â€˜Must be because you’re old.’
    She responded with a scowl.
    â€˜What?’ he asked, unsure what he’d said to offend her.
    â€˜Who’re you calling old?’
    â€˜Well you are, ’ said Ibrahim.
    â€˜I know that, but no need to be so blooming blunt about it.’
    He had been here before; said something, and watched somebody’s expression change. Said the wrong thing. Not a lie, not an insult. Just wrong. Used the wrong words. It hadn’t always been like this.
    â€˜What I mean,’ he said, ‘is that they took one look at us, and thought you’d look better on TV.’
    â€˜Well,’ said Reenie. ‘I don’t mind you saying that . Even if you don’t mean it in a nice way.’
    He knew he was right. The minute the reporter and camera crew arrived, they seemed perplexed, almost put out, by his being there, as if he damaged the story somehow. First, the researcher, Kirsty, had spoken to them both, taking their names – which they gave reluctantly – and making notes. She told them that they – ‘they’ being the BBC – were interested in the story, about their reasons for walking to London, but as the conversation went on, more and more of her questions were aimed at Reenie. By the time the reporter joined them, with the cameraman and sound technician in tow, it was clear they had no more interest in him.
    He found it funny they would never see themselves – or Reenie, at least – on screen. The next leg of their journey would take them further away from the towns and cities, and they were unlikely, even if they wanted to, to find a television before nightfall.
    When they’d finished packing the trolley, he took the folded maps from his bag, and showed them to Reenie.
    â€˜This is the way we should go,’ he said, dragging his finger across the page. ‘Up through Chepstow, over the border. We should make it as far as Lydney.’
    â€˜And how far’s that?’
    He paused, gauging the distance between his forefinger and thumb.
    â€˜I don’t know. Twenty, twenty-five miles?’
    â€˜Twenty-five miles?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜How long’s that gonna take us?’
    â€˜Seven or eight hours?’
    â€˜Are you having a laugh? With this?’ She gripped the trolley’s handlebar, shaking it for emphasis. ‘And with me? I’m seventy-flippin-five.’
    â€˜Yeah, alright. No need to go on about it.’
    â€˜And you’ve got a gammy leg.’
    â€˜What does gammy mean?’
    â€˜It means you’re almost a cripple, love.’
    â€˜A crip–? Look… we’ll be fine . We’ll take breaks. If we set off now we can get to Lydney before it’s time to set up camp again.’
    â€˜Ibrahim. Listen. Love. I’m seventy-five years old. I can’t go as fast as you, even with that leg of yours. Yesterday left me knackered. I can’t walk twenty-five… I mean, that’s a bloody marathon, that is… I can’t walk twenty-five miles in a day.’
    â€˜Well, let’s just try,