Another Life (18 page)

‘Oh, cool.’ I’m wondering who she’s planning to take.

‘Oh, I wish I’d seen Joe. I missed it all because we were having lunch. Athletics is really boring to watch if you don’t know the people.’

‘Even if you do, it’s a bit tedious.’

‘Did they cut off all his hair in prison? Does he look really different?’

‘He’d cut it all off before,’ I say, quickly readjusting my fringe. ‘He looks really different now – older, stronger, a bit thin, but lots of muscles.’

‘I can’t imagine that. Archie, when did you see him? Was he . . . was he OK?

‘He’s OK,’ I say. And then I just can’t lie to her big, blue eyes. ‘No, actually Claire, he’s not OK.’ And I describe the twitching, the fear, the
staring into space.

‘But he really liked the fairground rides. The faster and higher, the better.’

‘I like those,’ she says.

‘So do I,’ I lie.

She sighs. ‘Oh, poor Ty. I wish I could see him. I was stupid to talk about a break. I’ve tried ringing, emailing. He’s not been in touch.’

Probably best not to admit that I never actually broke the news to Ty that Claire wanted a break. ‘He seemed really worried about his safety. Maybe he’s trying to protect you, make
sure there’s no way anyone can connect the two of you?’

‘When’s he going to feel safe, though, Archie? And how come he’s OK to see you and not me?’

‘I don’t know. Claire, I don’t know anything about Ty any more. I feel like the more I find out about him, the more doubts I have.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well . . . I met this guy. I think he thought I was Ty. And he thought . . . he kind of suggested. . .’

‘What?’

‘That Ty was his dealer. He’s been supplying him with drugs.’

She’s very still. ‘I don’t believe that,’ she says. ‘Joe, wouldn’t do that.’

‘I don’t believe it either,’ I say, quickly. ‘It was probably a mistake, just a coincidence. It’s just. . .’

‘What?’

‘Well, I went to the park where the murder was, you know, the one Ty witnessed – where it happened. It’s more than a year now, but people are still leaving flowers. There are
all these dead flowers in cellophane, Claire, just sitting in the mud. And there was a girl – his sister, Rio’s sister. Rio was the boy—’

‘I know who Rio was,’ she says. ‘I read the court reports. His twin sister – Keysha?’

‘I don’t know her name. She was so sad, Claire. I mean, of course she was sad, but she was so angry as well. She was angry with Ty. At least, I think she was. She said she thought
he’d got away with murder. She thought he was the boss of them, the gang. . .’

Claire’s staring at me.

Don’t shoot the messenger
, I think.
Don’t shoot the messenger
.

‘She was angry and I’ve probably got it wrong and I probably shouldn’t have even told you about it.’

‘I’m not going to believe any of this,’ says Claire, ‘until I get a chance to talk to Ty. Have you talked to him about it? Have you asked him?’

I just cannot lie to her. She’s got this power in her eyes.

‘Sort of. But he wasn’t in a great state, Claire. It’s really not a good idea.’

‘What happened?’ Her voice is firm.

‘I . . . he. . .’

‘He hit you, didn’t he? That’s how you got your bruises?’

‘I . . . he was upset. . .’

‘He hit Carl once – at school, in the swimming pool. He broke his nose.’

‘Who’s Carl?’

‘Just a boy. He’d been kind of bullying Joe.’

‘I wasn’t bullying him.’ Not at first, anyway. Not in a physical way. You couldn’t really call it bullying at all. I was perfectly entitled to say whatever I wanted. And
so am I now.

‘I know, I can’t imagine you. . .’ Her voice trails off. She’s got her hand over her mouth. A tear trickles down her cheek.

‘Oh God, Claire, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

She doesn’t say anything, just shakes her head fiercely, pulls a tissue out of her pocket and blows her nose.

‘I’m fine!’ she says, but her voice isn’t fine at all.

I put my head in my hands. Never mind my fringe.

‘Claire, I’ve cocked this up. I never meant to tell you half of this. I don’t really know anything. I could have it all wrong. Ty – he’s not himself. He’s got
this thing, post-traumatic stress thingy. He’s had so much happen to him. I don’t think you should judge him. I’ll go on finding out more. I promise, it’ll work out
OK.’

Tears again. More tissues, more nose-blowing. Thank God this café’s so unpopular.

‘Archie, thank you so much,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. I feel so bad that you got hurt.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I say, horrified.

‘It was.’

‘It wasn’t.’

Somehow I’ve put my arm around her. Somehow she’s leaning against me. Somehow she’s crying into my Jack Wills hoodie.

And somehow I’m kissing the top of her silky hair. And then her forehead. And then her lips. And she’s kissing me back too.

And then – oh, Jesus – someone says, ‘Claire? What’s going on?’

M
y love life is in turmoil! Oh my God! There’s Paige – still giving me the eye at school after our one-off party snog, still posting on
my Facebook wall. There’s Lily, starting at my college this week, who’s mad, admittedly, but who seemed, well, not uninterested the other night.

I know she was stoned (and Paige was drunk) but that’s not the point. Either they felt such a strong passion for me that it overcame natural fears (of rejection) and inhibitions, and the
effect of vodka/weed, or their feelings were enhanced by artificial means and then they realised how incredibly desirable and attractive I am. Either way, I’m pretty certain that both of them
would be happy to carry on where we left off, in the right circumstances.

Yes, OK, I mean vodka/weed party circumstances.

There’s Shannon – Shannon, who’s bright and funny and knows so much more than me about the way the world is. Shannon with her tight ponytail, her pierced tongue, her shiny
lips. Every Sunday I see Shannon, walk with her in the park, eat chips with her, get to know her just a little bit better. Every Sunday night I imagine letting her hair fall loose around her
shoulders, letting that tongue-stud graze my lips. I can’t imagine Shannon being part of my life. That’s a huge part of the attraction.

And then there’s Claire. Oh God, Claire. Claire, who blushed and cringed when the girl in the wheelchair challenged us in the café.

‘Claire!’ she said. ‘Joe!’

‘It’s not . . . I didn’t. . .’ said Claire. And then, ‘Go away, Ellie. It’s none of your business.’

‘Oh God – it’s not even Joe, is it?’ said the girl, who was a bit older than us and looked like a blonder, sleeker, disabled version of Claire. ‘Who the hell are
you?’

‘I’m Archie,’ I said, and she frowned for a minute and said, ‘I’ve heard of you. Joe’s cousin. You’re meant to be going out with Zoe. Claire, what the
hell?’

‘Ellie, it wasn’t like that!’ said Claire. ‘Archie, I’m really sorry, you’d better go.’

‘Yes, you’d better go,’ ordered Ellie, ‘so Claire can explain why she’s snogging her best friend’s boyfriend, who also happens to be her boyfriend’s
cousin. Oh my God, Claire! What are you up to?’

I tightened my arm around Claire, just to give her moral support, but she turned to me and said, ‘I’m really, really sorry Archie, but I think you’d better go.’

So I did and now I’m home and in bed and thinking about all these girls and I’m a mixture of horrified and delighted and right off the end of the Bakerloo line (Harrow and Wealdstone
– I’ll never be able to go there in real life), not that I need it in the privacy of my own bedroom.

It’s all very well, though, but it’s just a distraction from my other problems – my Ty problem. What if I’m right about my suspicions? Should I tell someone? Can I find
out for sure?

What about my uncle Danny? Shouldn’t he know about his son? He got back from New York on Friday, he’s back in his studio. I could go and talk to him there. I might meet some
celebrities as a bonus. And he’d be the perfect person to ask about how to juggle women.

I wouldn’t tell him that I kissed Ty’s girlfriend, though, and she kissed me back. That might not go down well.

My head’s spinning with it all, and it’s a real relief to have a couple of hours on Sunday morning where I don’t have anything to think about except how to fight and defend
myself. I can see why people join the army (although I never would, because I don’t like getting up early, getting shouted at and wearing uniform).

Benny sets me to spar with someone about my own age and size – Lee, his name is, and his reactions are slower than mine. I begin to feel better about Ty smashing me. It was just the
surprise element, that was all. I’m sure I could fight him, take him on, with a bit more warning.

Shannon’s waiting for me as usual – no brother, sister or dog this time. We buy chips, we buy kebabs. We go into the park to eat them.

We’ve spent weeks circling round each other. A little bit of flirting, a little bit of banter. Today she leaves her food untouched on the bench next to her. She touches my face.

‘It’s getting better,’ she says. ‘What happened? You can tell me, you know.’

I can’t tell her about Claire. But I can tell her about Ty. Shannon will understand these things better than Oscar or Lily. I bet she’s seen some fights in her time.

So I lean against her and say, ‘Shannon, the guy who hit me, he’s my cousin.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘He’s . . . I thought he was my friend.’

‘Funny sort of friend, smashing you in the face.’

‘He’s just come out of prison and he’s a bit nervy, you know. Sort of paranoid.’

She nods. ‘My brother was the same. They get used to watching their backs all the time in there. There’s a lot of rumours flying around – this one’s gonna get you, that
one’s got a knife – that sort of thing.’

‘I didn’t know your brother was in prison. Isn’t he a bit young?’

She laughs. ‘My older brother – well, half-brother. You don’t know him. Don’t want to, neither.’

She’s so casual about it. It’s so normal to her.

‘What was he in for?’ I ask.

‘Oh, this and that. He was in with a bad crowd, you know. And he’s not clever enough about not getting caught. How about your cousin?’

‘Carrying a knife,’ I say.

‘Oh, well. That’s just stupid,’ she says. She nods at the flowers, the stinking dead flowers piled up in memory of someone who wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t met a
boy with a knife.

‘What are you thinking?’ asks Shannon. I can feel her arm against mine. Suddenly my whole body is on fire. Claire’s face flashes into my head and I’m confused and guilty
and full of desire, all at the same time.

Which is probably why I begin burbling.

‘It’s just . . . look, Shannon, you mustn’t tell anyone . . . but my cousin was one of those boys – one of those boys involved with that murder over there. He was here,
here in this park. He was here when Rio died.’

I’m expecting shock on her face. I’m expecting horror, revulsion, disgust. I don’t see it. Her lips part – I can see that little lump of gold – and her eyes widen.
But she’s not half as shocked as I expected.

‘Tell me,’ she says.

So it all falls out – how I never really knew him, how I’ve heard the story in bits and pieces, how the police charged him and he ended up in prison.

‘Jesus,’ she says. She puts her hand on my thigh. It’s like there’s a button there which instantly turns me on. It’s not really what I need right now, but even
so.

Shannon kisses me, very gently. The tongue-stud is hard and cold in my mouth. She tastes of ketchup and vinegar, she smells of Turkish delight.

I’m just getting comfortable, hand on her thigh, but I suddenly think of Claire’s face when the wheelchair girl challenged us. It’s like an instant cold shower. I disengage my
lips.

‘It’s good to talk about these things,’ says Shannon. ‘It was bothering you, wasn’t it? I knew it. I knew you were carrying around some secret.’

‘I shouldn’t really—’ I say, but she kisses me again, harder this time, and pushes her skinny body against mine. It’s no good, though. It only makes me think of
Claire.

‘It’s just that I’m not sure about what he’s told me,’ I say, partly to stop her kissing me. It’d be embarrassing if she found out that my train was back in
the depot, as it were. ‘I’ve talked to people, found out stuff. I think he might have been more involved than he lets on. I think he might have been up to other stuff.’

Shannon sighs. She gets out a cigarette, offers the box to me. We light up, inhale, sit and stare at the rotting bouquets.

‘You’re not really called Kyle, are you?’ she says.

‘No.’ What’s the point in pretending? I’ll probably never come back here again.

‘Did you just come here to spy on us, to find out stuff for your cousin?’

‘No!’ I say. And then, ‘Well yes, but not for him – for me, to find out if he was telling the truth or not.’

She looks away. There’s a suggestion of a tear in her eye.

‘It’s just that . . . I thought you liked me – really liked me, for myself. I kind of knew you weren’t really from round here, that you’re a posh boy, aren’t
you? But I never realised that you were just snooping around, trying to find out stuff from me.’

Eh? Hang on a minute.

‘What do you mean? Shannon, I do like you. I like you a lot, actually.’

‘I like you too,’ she says.

Oh Jesus. I’ve made two girls cry in two days.

I put my arm around her, pull her towards me. ‘Don’t cry, Shannon, please, don’t cry. I don’t understand. I just joined the boxing club to try and get to know more about
this area . . . this world . . . where my cousin comes from. My dad’s from round here too. It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Oh, really?’ she says. ‘Do you swear? Do you mean it?’

‘Of course,’ I say.

‘It’s just – I think I know who your cousin is.’

Oh my God. I quickly rewind what I’ve told her. Could I have given any details, put Ty in danger?

‘It’s Ty, isn’t it? Ty Lewis?’