Ayamin and I walked back to the camp with four hundred euros each sitting nicely in our pockets. Just as we arrived a charity food van appeared. The refugees around us ran towards it in a stamping of feet and cries in twelve different languages.

Ayamin threw me our bag as she went to claim a spot in the line for us. I pulled a large coat over my head before taking a place next to her. I kept my head down and hidden as we shuffled forwards, occasionally flicking a glance at the lines either side of me.

Seeing the people pressing each other towards the food truck made me think of a random late-night T.V documentary on pigs I’d watched at some point. Whenever the farmer’s truck showed up all of the pigs ran to it to receive the farm scraps. Some of the pigs even lined up.

The soup we were given tasted good though, chicken with vegetables, the sort that helps when winter is cold.

****

The next day three smugglers came by. They wore slightly raggedy suits, leather shoes, and one of them smoked as they walked through the camp. The refugees followed them with their eyes, kids peered out from beneath tarpaulins, and even the football stopped bouncing.

The three men went to the centre of the camp. Their eyes swept over it as if they were searching for someone. After two minutes of staring, they nodded to each other.

‘Who wants to go to England?’

A young man stepped forward, then another holding his wife with one hand and his kid with the other. All up ten people stepped forwards

‘You need five hundred euros each – children as well,’ the smuggler said.

Ayamin looked at me and raised her eyebrow, but I just nodded along with the rest of the refugees.

‘We have to try our luck,’ I whispered to her, ‘Maybe they’ll take four hundred?’

‘The truck will arrive at the end of the street in ten minutes,’ said one of the smugglers, ‘Hurry up and grab your stuff.’

Ayamin and I rushed to our bags, although we needn’t have hurried, months of travelling had left us well prepared. Our packs were buckled up and ready to go.

I hoisted the larger one onto my back and turned to Ayamin, taking her hand. I started to walk towards the truck but Ayamin stood still.

‘Part of me thinks we should stay,’ she said, ‘I don’t think the body snatchers will like being short-changed.’

I shook my head, ‘Our situation won’t improve sitting in another refugee camp. This is a chance Ayamin. We should take it.’

She glanced at the truck, the first refugees had paid, and one of the smugglers slid under the truck and opened a hatch, ‘You crawl under,’ he said to them.

Two young men made their way under the truck, they threw their packs through the hole in the middle, then disappeared into the belly of the machine.

‘Next,’ the man at the front of the line called.

‘Decision time,’ I said.

Ayamin’s face had gone white. I could see the hunger for England in her eyes. That truck represented a new life for her. She was shivering.

‘Do you think it’ll be safe Danny?’

‘I can’t tell Aya. But I know if we make it, we’ll have a shot at a better life.’

‘Okay.’

We were last in line. Ayamin and I presented our piles of cash and the man told us to hop inside.

‘Wait,’ he said as we reached underneath, ‘This is four hundred. Another of the smugglers pulled me out from under the truck, ‘You think this is charity?’ he said, kicking me, ‘We risk our lives to help you.’

‘Please,’ Ayamin begged, ‘We’ve been travelling for months.’

The man shook his head, ‘You a hundred short, each.’

‘We will pay when we’re in England,’ I said.

The man grinned, ‘Oh yes you will, you pay very much indeed,’ he gave me a shove, ‘Get under there.’

I took Ayamin’s hand, we clambered under the truck and pushed ourselves through a hole in the floor.

We felt hands helping us as we climbed into a small space that thudded with the sound of the engine.

I reached for Ayamin, when she felt my arm, she latched onto me. Below us the smugglers screwed a steel plate into the hole we’d crawled through. There was a harsh squeaking.

With the space fully enclosed I started to feel a little claustrophobic, it was so dark I could barely see the other refugees, and the only sound that reached our ears was the throbbing, then roaring of the truck’s engine as it drove off.

‘At least we’re not going to drown this time,’ Ayamin said.

‘Yeah,’ I said, holding her, ‘There’s that I guess.’

After half an hour of twisting and turning, diesel fumes started to enter the space. One of the refugees on the side opposite us vomited when we went over a large bump. His puke sat there, sloshing around. I clutched at my stomach, willing myself not to throw up.

A man who had two dirt-faced kids with him started banging on the walls of the truck.

‘We die in here,’ he yelled, ‘We die.’

‘The walls are too thick,’ one of the young men yelled, ‘They won’t hear you.’

‘We die,’ he screamed, ‘We die if we don’t get out.’

He flailed his arms, knocking a woman against the opposite wall and tripping over his sobbing snot-nosed kids.

‘We die,’ he screamed, ‘We die, we die, we die.’

Two young men pounced on him and held him on the floor as he threw his arms around. His hair dipped into the puke and he screamed like a dying cat. It took twenty minutes for him to calm down, and the whole time his kids were sobbing. The engine roared, and one of the walls began to heat up until we couldn’t touch it any longer.

We swung around a corner at full speed and I bent over. A brown liquid erupted from my mouth. My stomach kept heaving but there was nothing more to throw up. The small brown puddle I’d created swung with the truck. Ayamin’s hand was rubbing my back.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, ‘It’s okay.’

I shook my head, ‘We should’ve waited.’

She took my hand, ‘We’re here now Danny,’ The light in that space was dim, but I could hardly see her eyes, ‘Those men aren’t going to let us go.’

I shuddered, ‘I know, but I’m going to fight them.’

She was looking at me, I was looking at her. Blood dribbled down her cheek from a scratch. There was grease in her hair. She was almost calm.

‘People are scared of us Danny. They’re scared because we’re poor. Because they think we’re taking what they’ve been given.

They should be scared because no matter what desires are in their hearts, they can’t be stronger than that crying man over there and his desire to see his kids have a better life. That’s why we’re going to survive this. No matter what comes next.’

The refugees stared at her. They were dirty, starving, bloodied, and bruised, but their ears still worked.

Four words were spoken by those refugees. They were four words I’d never heard before, and four words that I can’t properly translate. But the Syrians, and the Afghans and the Somalians began to chant them. They bashed their fists and their feet against the sides of the truck as they spoke, creating a beat that resounded through the truck.

The truck stopped and the chanting died away. A metallic tapping sound started. One of the women screamed for help.

We all listened. A scraping sound came from underneath us. More of the refugees were shouting. The small space echoed the voices. A patch of the floor started to turn.

A searchlight appeared and so did a head, the light shone round and the head began cursing. For the first time in a long time, I heard the Yorkshire accent.

‘Bloody hell, I’ve found them.’