The Sheikh's Son by Katheryn Lane Page A

12
     
    “Tickets, please,” the woman asked. She was sitting behind the airline check-in desk at Heathrow and looked surprisingly perky for six in the morning.
    Akbar passed a paper printout over the counter and waited while the woman entered the details into the system.
    “Sheikh Akbar, I’m pleased to inform you that you’ve been upgraded to first class.” The woman beamed at him. She had two rows of perfect white teeth and looked pleased to have the chance to show them off.
    Akbar merely nodded in return.
    “Wow! That’s great, Dad!” Ali was clearly impressed. He knew that his father was an important man, but as far as he knew the only people that travelled first class were Prince Charles, David Beckham, and Madonna.
    “It’ll be a comfortable flight,” Sarah said. The upgrade would make the six-hour trip a lot more relaxing. “At least you’ll be able to get some sleep.” She looked at the dark circles under Akbar’s eyes. They had been up all night and both of them desperately needed some rest.
    “What do I care?” Akbar replied. “What does it matter how I travel if I’m going back without either of you?” His application for an extension of his visitor’s visa had been declined and he either left that morning or became an illegal immigrant.
    Sarah and Akbar had spent hours at the Home Office in Croydon fighting Akbar’s case, but everyone they spoke to said the same thing. Akbar had been issued a visitor visa for two months. Those two months were up now and his visit had come to an end. If he stayed in the UK, he would be doing so illegally. If he was caught, he would be deported and prohibited from ever entering the UK again.
    Sarah and Akbar told the officials that they were married, but they had no paperwork to prove it—no marriage certificates or documents. Akbar said that it wasn’t Bedouin custom. In Yazan, a man and a woman were married by the local religious man, the imam, in front of both families, all their kin and all the surrounding tribes, which is why Arab weddings were such huge—and often costly—events. Everyone had witnessed it, so why did they need a piece of paper to prove it? However, the UK immigration officials had not witnessed it and it made them especially wary of Akbar’s application. If he really was married to Sarah, he was more than just a visitor; he was a potential immigrant with plans to stay in the UK long-term.
    They also argued that they had a son and were willing to have DNA tests to prove it. However, the officials wanted to know why it had taken the father almost ten years to come and see the boy.
    In the end, Sarah told Akbar that his case was hopeless. He refused to believe it and every day for the last week he had taken the bus down to Croydon in the hope that he would see someone who would help him with his visa application. However, it was no use and finally they agreed that Akbar had run out of time and that staying illegally was too great a risk. If he was deported, that would be it, whereas if he returned to Yazan this time, he would at least be able to come back in the future to see Sarah and Ali. And, of course, Sarah and Ali could always go out and visit him. They’d already booked tickets to travel to Yazan in December for a fortnight. Ali would be off school and Sarah had asked for a couple of weeks’ leave from work.
    “Excuse me, sir.” It was the air steward with the bright smile. “I’m sorry but you need to proceed to passport control, as your flight will be boarding soon.”
    “Please don’t go, Dad!” Ali gave his dad a huge hug and pressed his head against his father’s chest.
    “Be good, Ali. Practise your football and keep horse riding.” Akbar had pre-paid for all of Ali’s lessons at the stables. “When you come out to Yazan in December, we’ll ride out into the desert together and go camping, just the two of us, like I used to do with my father. I’ll give you your own horse, Hawa’a, and you’ll ride like