ABSTRACT
It was a cold spring day. I had been called and asked whether I could accompany Annette to the Home Office Reporting Centre in Solihull. 1 Sure, I said. No problem. We drove from Birmingham city centre, parked in the multi-storey and took the short walk across the road to the centre. Annette seemed nervous but I didn’t think any more of it. It was to be expected. She went through security and into the room where asylum seekers queued to be seen by an official. Nearly an hour must have gone by. I was outside and beginning to get twitchy now too. It shouldn’t have taken anything like this long and the waiting area was hardly designed to make you feel welcome and relaxed. Annette suddenly appeared behind some glass; she was waving at me and clearly anxious. The case official accompanying her came out and explained that they were holding onto her as there was a problem – they wouldn’t tell me what – and that she seemed to be having an asthma attack. She wanted me to fetch her medication from a drawer in her house. Not having a clue where she lived – she had moved into a new place only three days before – I rummaged in the handbag she had left with me and found some keys and an address on a scrap of paper. I rushed to the car and got hopelessly lost trying to find her room, somewhere in a cul-de-sac in Chelmsley Wood. I felt like a criminal trying the key in every door in the house before entering her tiny room and rifling through the drawers to find an inhaler. No luck. All I could find was a huge bag of medications. I just grabbed it and dashed back to the car. Using one hand to reverse out of the drive, I used the other to phone Shari at Restore. I explained what had happened and she promised to get straight onto Annette’s solicitor. I eventually arrived back at the centre, handed over the bag of medications and went through security myself. Annette still seemed distressed, sitting opposite her case official in a cubbyhole. My phone vibrated. I got outside just in time to answer and it was Shari saying that Annette would probably be released if her solicitor could fax a document through immediately. Was there a fax number? Nobody seemed to know. The case official appeared and then disappeared again. All I can assume is that the relevant documentation arrived satisfactorily. Annette appeared at the doorway to the waiting area a few minutes later, looking exhausted and relieved.
