Ash waited in airport arrivals, hoping his cardboard sign was big enough. It was his third attempt, and he told himself he really didn’t need it: she’d see his face and recognise him. It had only been three years after all. Well thirty-seven months, three weeks and ten days.

His left leg ached as it always did when he stood for any length of time. He pushed thoughts of the pain to the back of his mind, where the bad memories lurked. They came out uninvited at night. Maybe he would be lucky and the nightmares would end when he was reunited with Talia.

He put more of his weight on the other leg for a while, and it brought him some relief. That one had been broken too, but they hadn’t damaged it quite as much. His other bones had healed quite well. The minutes dragged by as he stood there, legs hurting but the feeling dulled by his excitement. He edged himself forward in the crowd, being more forceful than he normally was. He’d realised early on that not everyone wanted him around. He’d done his best to learn English and that had helped, but he still found it hard to understand.

No one had welcomed him when he’d arrived. The officials had listened to his story, but he’d had to tell it in such detail, to so many people. Reliving it had been an ordeal in itself. Then the months of waiting, the worry he’d be sent back. To certain death. In his country, they’d said they were making an example of him, for spreading lies. They all knew they weren’t lies, but those with power don’t like their corruption exposed. He’d known the risks and thought he’d managed to stay anonymous, but he hadn’t covered his tracks well enough.

They’d come for him in the middle of the night, scaring him and Talia half to death. In the hours that followed, he’d longed for death. Days later, they pushed him out of their van, in front of his house. When he could walk again, Talia told him she had arranged for them to leave the country. He was no longer safe, and her brother knew people. He was carried onto the truck, his legs not strong enough to push himself up that high. He reached out for Talia, but she stood there in tears, admitting there was only ever one place. She promised she’d find a way to join him later. He’d screamed no and tried to scramble out, but the truck was already moving too fast.

Now he saw her, looking around.

‘Talia, I’m here,’ he called, waving madly.

She ran to him and flung her arms around him so tightly. He had never felt so happy.

‘Where are we?’ she asked, when they got out of the taxi by his flat.

‘On the map, it says Milton Keynes. But now you are here, it is called home.’