Another Life (14 page)

‘See you,’ I say.

She chases off up the hill, and I stroll on down towards the flowers, towards the girl. I’m annoyed with myself for not doing my research. All I know is the name of Ty’s friend
Arron, the one who’s doing time for the murder. I can’t even remember the victim’s name.

I stand respectfully to the side of the girl, and look at the flowers. ‘To Rio,’ they say. ‘To our baby, our son, our darling.’ ‘To a souljah.’ ‘To our
brother.’

The girl looks up at me. ‘Did you know him?’ she asks, ‘Or are you one of them? I don’t want no trouble. Show some respect, eh? Let me have this time with my
brother.’

I hold my hands up. ‘I’m not here to make trouble,’ I say. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m not from round here. Can you tell me what happened?’

She shrugs. ‘What happened to Rio happens to a lot of lads around here. Wrong place, wrong time. Some idiot with a knife. You watch out, boy, it could happen to you.’

I have no idea what to say.

‘What was he like, Rio?’

She smiles. ‘He was my brother, my twin brother. We was together for our whole lives, until some white boy with a knife cut him down – took his life away. My mummy says it was meant
to be, that Rio’s in the arms of Jesus. I try and believe her, but – ’ she shakes her head, ‘I’m having trouble believing. You get that? They took away my Rio and they
took away my belief, all at the same time. That’s a lot to lose.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ I say.

‘Not your fault,’ she says. ‘Just promise me you won’t run around with a knife, attacking young innocent boys, you promise me that.’

‘Umm, OK, I promise,’ I say. I’m sweating. I feel like a fraud.

‘Who were they, the boys who did this?’ I ask. ‘The ones in prison – who were they?’

‘They were cowards. They attacked him, three or four on one. One of them got away with it, that’s all. My mummy thinks he was a hero, because he gave evidence against his friends,
but me, I think different. I think he ratted on his mates and he got away with it.’

She’s talking about Ty. I know it. She hates Ty, even after all he went through to bring justice for her brother. Can she be right? Is he a traitor, a liar, a murderer?

She must’ve seen something in my face. She says, ‘You know something, don’t you? You’re not just asking. You know something. What you bothering me for? You connected with
them?’

I say, ‘No, no, I don’t know anything. I’m really sorry about your brother. I wish it could be different.’

I can see from her face – from the suspicion and anger written all over her – that she doesn’t believe me. And she’s right. But I do wish it could be different. I wish
her brother could still be alive.

And I don’t like what I’m finding out about Ty one little bit.

N
o more trips out for training. No more visits to the gym, even.

When the governor gets me into his office to talk about the ‘regrettable incident – why on earth did you allow them to take your picture?’ – I say to him that I think I
know one of the kitchen trainees and I think I’m in danger all the time.

And he says, ‘Good God, boy, why did you not tell someone before?’

And I say, ‘Because I wasn’t 100 per cent sure and I thought someone would have checked.’

He asks which kitchen trainee and I tell him Mikey’s name and he checks his computer and then he says, ‘But there’s no one here called Michael Gregory.’

And I realise that he’s lying like all the rest of them.

Then I have a long sweaty journey to another Young Offender Institution, two days in a room, all on my own. And now I’m free. It’s six in the morning – dark and cold and
silence all around.

Patrick is here to pick me up. I’m pleased, but I wish he’d never seen me here in this place. I wish he wasn’t looking so carefully unconcerned. I wish I wasn’t wearing
my smart clothes for court.

‘Your mum would have come,’ he says, opening the door to his car. Immediately, I forget the prison, the clothes, the awkwardness. Meg is barking excitement at me, and I bury my face
in her fur. I can’t believe I used to be nervous around dogs. Meg’s one of my favourite people on earth – at least, she would be, if she was a person, and right now I think dogs
are a bit more evolved than most people, anyway.

‘What’s wrong with my mum?’ I ask, instantly tense, and he says, ‘Nothing at all. She’s absolutely fine. Staying with us for the moment. She would’ve come,
but the baby’s got a cold, and I thought it’d be a good idea if you had a chance to draw breath, as it were, before you see her.’

‘Is Alyssa OK?’

‘She’s fine. Babies get colds all the time. Don’t worry about them, Ty. They’re fine. Helen went to see them in Birmingham, and she invited them to come and stay for a
bit . . . and then there was the fuss over your photo in the paper. We’ve been thinking about what to do.’

I’m sitting in the back of the car, my hand resting on Meg’s back. She’s curled up, her chin on my thigh. All I can see of Patrick is the back of his head, his broad shoulders,
but already I feel safe and calm and really OK.

I can move and breathe and I’m a little bit chilly. It’s the opposite of being in a sweatbox.

‘Ty, you remember Alyssa’s christening?’

I remember little flashes of Alyssa’s christening, which feels like a hundred years ago, not three months. Gran, cradling Alyssa in her arms. Gran, watching the priest with a strange look
on her face – happy, yes, but also kind of disappointed. My mum and dad hugging each other, too long for just friends. Alyssa’s angry wail as the holy water splashed her head. Gran.
Gran. Gran.

‘Yeah.’

‘You remember Mr and Mrs Webster?’

Alistair’s parents. I’ve been very careful not to remember them. If I thought much about their old faces, the way Mrs Webster’s mouth twitched and her eyes shone, I’d
feel so guilty that I don’t think I could live any more.

Because it was my fault that Alistair was shot. Their only son, shot instead of me, killed because of me.

I’ll remember Mr and Mrs Webster all my life.

‘Yeah,’ I say warily. If he’s going to start going on about them, I’m actually better off back in my prison cell.

‘Helen’s kept in touch with them. Nice people. They’re very keen to play a role in Alyssa’s life. She’s all they’ve got now.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘They’ve been in touch with your mum too, encouraging her to carry on with her open university studies. As I say, nice people. She likes them.’

‘Oh. Good.’ I don’t know what he wants me to say. Am I going to have to apologise to them?

‘They have a business; they own holiday cottages in the Highlands, and some rental property in Aberdeen.’

‘Oh right.’

‘It’s top end, for the oil industry executives that come from abroad. Short lets, mostly.’

‘Oh, mmm, right.’

‘So, they’ve been talking to Nicki about letting her stay in one of their flats – so she’s got somewhere to live, and they can help her out with Alyssa as she grows
up.’

I freeze. What the hell?

‘She’s been saying no, she felt you needed to stay at the school in Birmingham. You’ve been doing well there.’

Meg nudges me with her nose. She doesn’t like it when I stop stroking.

‘But now, with the photo and everything – you can’t stay in England, Ty. Scotland might be just the place for a few years.’

I’m trying to find words.

‘What do you think?’

I find them. ‘I can’t. They’d blame me . . . for Alistair.’

‘How could they blame you? Was it your fault that these criminals sent men to execute you? No. Was it your fault that the police were employing someone who fed information about protected
witnesses to the people trying to hunt them down? You shouldn’t feel guilty—’

‘But I do! I do!’

Meg gives a little growl. She doesn’t like me shouting either.

Patrick sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Ty, but you’re just going to have to get over it.’

I stare out of the window, watch the world flying away.

‘You agree it’s best for Alyssa?’

There’s a very tiny little bit of me which wants to suggest that Mum should give Alyssa to these Webster people, to keep them happy. She’d be safe and we could go and stay in
Florida. But I love Alyssa. I miss her. I love her gummy smile, her sticky little hands, the way she does something new and different every day and it’s so funny seeing her finding out stuff
like looking in a mirror or clapping her hands.

I’d just like to be able to love her without feeling scared all the time that something terrible is going to happen.

‘We could go and live abroad and they could visit us,’ I say. My voice sounds lame and tinny and weak. ‘Maybe with Emma in Spain,’ I add. Perhaps Florida is
unrealistic.

‘I don’t think so,’ he says. ‘First, Emma and Carlos live in a one bedroom flat. Second, Carlos is not at all keen on anything which might threaten his life, Emma’s
life or his business – not necessarily in that order, but you get my drift.’

I do.

‘We could stay with Lou in Tashkent,’ I say. ‘No one would ever find us there.’

‘Louise has given in her notice,’ says Patrick. ‘She’s got a new boyfriend, the head of History. They’re going to go travelling for a year, then apply for jobs at
some other international school.’

Huh. Basically he’s saying that my aunts are completely selfish and they don’t care about me or my mum or Alyssa. It was just Gran who was holding us together and now we’re not
a family any more.

Patrick sighs and says, ‘Don’t take it too hard, Ty. They’ve been through a lot as well. Louise has been on her own for a long time. I think she carried a torch for Danny for
years, to be honest. They were good friends and she was shocked when he and Nicki . . . well, it’s all in the past now. . .’

I have no idea what carrying a torch is meant to mean and I have no intention of making myself look stupid by asking. If he’s suggesting that my aunt ever fancied my dad then he’s
completely mad and wrong.

‘We can go back to Birmingham,’ I say. ‘No one will know.’

‘Even the police think that’s too risky,’ he says. ‘We’ve been talking to Doug, and—’

‘Doug? He’s useless!’

It’s not that I mind Doug, our old witness protection officer. He used to annoy me, but in the end we got on OK. It’s just that he’s all tangled up in my mind with Alistair and
the blood and the splattered brains and the . . . and the. . .

‘I think I’m going to throw up.’

‘Didn’t know you got car sick,’ Patrick grumbles, but he indicates to pull in at a service station. ‘Don’t know about you, but I could do with some
coffee.’

BANG! The car behind us shunts into us, bashing and crashing, rocking and rolling us. Our car lurches forward, stops, engine revving like crazy. Meg’s barking, I’m shouting, Patrick
. . . Patrick’s quiet and still and. . .

CRASH! Again . . . again? He must have reversed, come back, smashed into us on purpose. . .

’Patrick! Patrick!’

There’s a squeal of tyres, an engine roaring. The other car – grey, long, fast – skids past us and away, past the Little Chef, past the petrol station. . .

I’m shaking all over. Meg is barking frantically, growling, trying to jump over the seat. . .

‘Patrick! Patrick!’ I’m shaking his arm, trying to wake him, using my sleeve to wipe the blood from his face. . .

But there’s no response.

T
y’s out! Free! But nothing ever goes simply for him. Apparently on the way back from prison he and Grandpa were in some minor car accident.
Some moron bumped into them as they came off the motorway and then drove off without leaving his insurance details.

Mum’s on the phone to Grandma for what seems like hours.

‘Awful for them,’ she says when she gets off the phone. ‘Just terrible. Poor Ty. Dad knocked his head and blacked out and Ty had to run to the café and get
help.’

‘Is Grandpa OK?’ I ask, while Dad takes a deep breath and says, ‘Nothing but trouble, I told you so.’

‘Oh, shush, David,’ she says and he says, ‘Don’t shush me, you know I’m right. I take it they’re both all right, or you’d be a lot more
upset.’

‘Dad’s fine, but he had concussion so they’re keeping him in overnight. Mum’s with him . . . and Ty. . . She doesn’t know what to do with Ty, he’s physically
OK, but quite traumatised by the whole thing. And there’s the car to sort out – and the dog – I think I’d better go over there. It’s just that I’ve got some
crucial meetings today – I’m already late—’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I offer, but Dad says, ‘I’m not paying a fortune in school fees to have you bunk off every day.’

‘It’s the holidays!’

‘What about your revision?’

‘I don’t need to revise, I’ve only just started there. . .’

‘What are you doing today, David?’ says Mum. ‘Didn’t you say you’d finished the Poseidon proposal?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘So things are quiet for you at the moment?’

‘Well, yes, but I’m working on another pitch and you know how it is. . .’

‘David?’

‘Oh all right,’ he says. ‘Don’t ask me to deal with Ty, though. He’s Danny’s responsibility.’

‘Danny’s in New York,’

‘Oh, typical.’

‘He’s got to earn a living,’ says Mum, and he says, ‘Why? He made a fortune with his so-called band. Archie, you’d better come with me after all. I can’t cope
on my own with a dog and a delinquent as well as your grandparents and a smashed-up car.’

I’m still not really speaking to my dad after the whole Lily blow-up, and I’m not that keen on spending any time at all with him, but at the same time I do want to see Ty and Meg and
check if Grandpa’s OK. So I suppose I’ll have to put up with his company.

It’s awkward in the car, though, especially as he acts like nothing’s wrong.

‘Archie,’ he says, as we hit the M25, ‘I know you like Ty, but I’m not all that happy about you two being close friends.’

‘Why not?’ Damn. I forgot I’m not talking to him.

‘He attracts trouble. Bad people are after him. I don’t expect him to stick around in our lives.’