Another Life (23 page)

‘Hi Zoe,’ I say.

‘What do you want?’

‘Well . . . I’m really sorry about the other day. . .’

‘The other day was weeks ago.’

‘I know, but a lot’s been happening. That night, my house caught on fire. Three fire engines it took, to put it out, and they sprayed water on my laptop, so I couldn’t
communicate with the outside world. And then just before Christmas I fell off a roof and nearly got killed. I’ve been in a full body cast ever since. I’m speaking into a
headset.’

‘You are so full of it. Do you think I don’t see all the pictures on Facebook – the ones with you tagged at parties with loads of different girls? Not to mention all your
puerile comments when Chelsea are playing.’

Zoe supports Liverpool. Naturally she’s a bit sensitive about really top clubs.

‘I was scared you’d shout at me,’ I say in my most winning voice.

‘Luckily I know what you’re like,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I have a new boyfriend, so you are off the hook. His name’s Will and he’s a hurdler.’

‘Oh, well, that’ll come in useful if you’ve got any gates you need someone to jump over.’

‘He’s got very long legs,’ she says, ‘and a spaniel called Bilbo.’

‘No one could possibly compete with that, Zo. I hope you’ll be very happy.’

‘I will be,’ she says. ‘How about you, Archie? How’s it going?’

‘Oh well, it’s a bit confusing, really.’

‘You’re not all loved up with that girl who was in your bedroom?’

‘Who? Oh, her, no. She was just a friend who’d had a bit . . . got a bit. . . Anyway, she’s shacked up with my friend’s brother now.’

‘Oh, nice one.’

It’s clear to me that Zoe has no idea about my little encounter with Claire. She’d be about a million times more angry. What a relief.

‘Zoe, I’m ringing to ask you something.’

‘Oh yeah? Hurry up, then, because I’m meeting Will. We’re going to go for a run.’

‘It’s just, I was wondering if you’d seen Joe at all – my cousin. Maybe with Claire.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve seen him.’

‘You have?’

‘He was running at the last athletics event that I went to. I won the girls’ under sixteen 1500 metres and he won the boys’ under eighteen. He broke the UK record, great run.
But he wasn’t calling himself Joe. They said he was Luke someone, but I recognised him immediately.’

‘Have you seen him since? Maybe with Claire?’

‘Oh no, not since then.’

‘Oh right. Oh well—’

‘Mind you, I’ve hardly seen Claire at all recently. She’s doing some drama thing with the Youth Theatre in Milton Keynes – goes there every weekend. Loads of
rehearsals.’

‘Oh right.’

‘And I think there’s a new boyfriend too. Can’t get many details out of her, but she seems quite keen. She met him there.’

‘Oh, right.’

Great. Zoe’s replaced me with a spaniel-owning hurdler. Now Claire’s met some youth actor from nowhere.

‘He’s Polish, I think. Marek, or something like that. I don’t know much about him.’

‘Oh, OK. Thanks Zoe. Look – I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. I like you a lot. It’s just . . . distance and all that.’

‘No hard feelings,’ she says, not precisely accurately.

I lie on my bed and I think about Zoe and Will and Lily and Marcus and Claire and Marek. Claire and Marek. Marek the Pole.

I remember when Ty and I ran away, ran away to see Claire. And Ty’s idea was that he’d pretend to be Polish and get a job as a cleaner, and he could do it because he knew a little
bit of Polish.

I don’t think Marek is a youth actor at all, at least, not with a theatre group. He’s acting, all right, but not on stage.

There’s no point calling Claire back. Which is why, three days later, I’m spending my Saturday sitting opposite the Youth Theatre in Milton Keynes, in a café, drinking coke
and keeping the building under constant surveillance.

God, it’s boring, plus awkward. I really need to pee. But I can’t risk missing Claire.

Three long hours pass, and obviously I do have to go and pee (coke is not the drink for surveillance, be warned). So I’m not sure if I’m on a pointless mission. I’m about to
give up when I see her. She’s got a beret thing on her head and a pink scarf wrapped round her neck and she’s standing right outside the café, putting on lipstick and looking
into a mirror.

I dive under the table.

‘Are you all right down there?’ says the waitress, and I hastily shove a tenner at her (‘Keep the change’) and make off after Claire, who’s striding along the
street.

I dodge in and out of shops – I nearly fall over a toddler coming out of the pound store – and then I see her knock at a door next to a kebab place. And the door opens, I can’t
see who’s there, and she’s gone. Just like that.

I sprint across the road to do some more surveillance, but all I can see is a curtain being pulled closed.

I decide to buy a kebab and engage the owner in casual conversation.

‘I’ll have a chicken shashlik,’ I say. ‘I don’t suppose you know a guy called Marek, do you? I think he’s Polish. Lives round here.’

The guy behind the counter stares at me, suspiciously.

‘Lots of Poles round here,’ he says. ‘Is all Poles. All called Marek or Tomek or Josef or whatever.’

‘Oh, err, right.’

‘All taking our jobs.’

‘Err . . . OK. . .’

‘All eating my kebabs. So I don’t ask no questions, OK?’

‘Oh, right, OK. It’s just that I heard he lived upstairs here.’

He shakes his head. ‘No Pole called Marek here.’

My heart sinks. All this way. . .

‘Albanian called Adam. Young boy. Never talks. Has girlfriend, though.’

‘Oh right.’

‘Sometimes she stays whole weekend.’ He laughs, spit coming out of his mouth, just missing the sizzling, revolving doner kebab. ‘Looks very young! Too young! Good luck to
him!’

I really don’t like this guy.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘No problem!’

Outside, chewing the kebab – surprisingly tasty – I consider my options. I could wait until Claire comes out, I suppose, but that might be some time.

Or I could write a note asking Ty to call me and put it though the post box – except there isn’t one, so I’d have to leave it with kebab man.

Or I could knock at the door.

That’s what I do.

Nothing happens. I knock again. Nothing. Then the door opens, just a crack.

‘Who’s there?’ I’m thrown for a moment, because the voice is deep and hoarse and definitely foreign.

‘Ty? Is that you?’

The door slams shut.

I thump again. I’m shouting. ‘It’s me, it’s Archie. . .’

Open again. This time it’s Ty’s normal voice. ‘Shut up, you tosser. Can’t you just go away?’

‘No I can’t! I’ve got something important to tell you.’

He lets me in. He grabs me by the shoulders. ‘What’s happened? What’s happened? Are they – is it Mum? Alyssa?’

‘No, they’re fine as far as I know.’

‘Who then? Patrick?’

‘Look, can’t I come upstairs? I can tell you properly. Everyone’s OK, though, just worrying about you.’

There’s a dark flight of stairs, and then another door. He knocks gently, three distinct knocks.

‘That means it’s OK,’ he says. ‘She knows not to open the door otherwise.’

The door opens. Claire’s not happy at all.

‘What are you doing here? Did you follow me? You should keep your nose out!’

‘I needed to see Ty! And you lied to me!’

‘Of course I lied to you. What’s more important, telling the truth or keeping him safe?’

I’m a bit hurt, to be honest. How come Claire gets to know where Ty is, and no one else does? They’re meant to be on a break, not sharing nights of passion above a kebab shop.

‘Claire, it’s OK,’ he says. ‘I’m actually really glad. Archie, I kept on thinking about you on that roof. What if you’d tried to jump? I made it, but I know
you’re really scared of heights and you’re not so good at running, are you? I thought you’d fallen.’

‘I told him you hadn’t,’ said Claire. ‘I said, “If Archie’s dead then his ghost is on Facebook, bragging about Chelsea beating Arsenal.”’

‘Six-nil,’ I say, and Ty says, ‘Wait until Man United play them. I bet we can score eight, at least.’

He’s really normal, I realise. No twitching. No staring into space. No shaking.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah.’ He sounds surprised. ‘It’s OK here. But I ought to move on, really. It’s just . . . I didn’t know what had happened, whether you were all OK. I
thought maybe there’d been a news blackout or something. And I was . . . I couldn’t stand it. . . So I got in contact with Claire. She saved me, basically. I found this room and she can
come here sometimes, and I’ve got a job cleaning offices.’

‘Oh, OK.’ It’s my idea of hell.

‘I can’t stay, though. I’m going to move around a bit, leave Ty behind. It’s the only way I can feel safe.’

I look around the room. There’s the battered brown sofa, with Ty sitting at one end and Claire lying against him. There’s a black leather-look bean bag, which I’m finding less
comfortable than it promised. There’s a pine cupboard, a little formica-topped table, a dusty lampshade, a sink, a mini fridge, a microwave.

‘It’s a bit basic,’ I say.

‘It’s very cheap.’

‘Where do you sleep?’

‘The sofa converts to a bed.’

‘Where do you wash?’

‘There’s a shower upstairs.’

‘What about a telly?’

He shrugs. ‘There is life without telly.’

‘Do you get free kebabs?’

‘Wouldn’t want them. There’s rats in the bins.’

‘We don’t need food. We don’t need a telly. We only need each other,’ says Claire, ‘and when I’ve finished with school at the end of next year, we will be
together and then we’ll go abroad or something.’

‘So you’re going to hide out for another year and a half?’

Ty nods.

‘Do you really think you can do that?’

‘Of course he can,’ says Claire fiercely.

‘It’s a long time. Have you got a passport?’

‘I did, but I don’t know where it is now. My mum might have it.’

‘I could find out. I could get it for you. Then you’ve got options.’

‘He doesn’t want options,’ says Claire. ‘Go away, Archie. He’s fine as he is.’

Ty kisses the top of her head. His eyes are closed. It’s as though he’s breathing her in, trying to absorb her fight, her love, her soul before he has to say goodbye. For a moment,
telly or no telly, I envy him.

‘You’ll come here one day, Claire, and he’ll be gone. He’ll have seen something or heard something and he’ll have to stop being Marek—’

‘Adam.’

‘OK, Adam, then. Adam will disappear. And you might hear from him again, or you might not. And then you’ll be in the same position as the rest of us.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You will. Just by being here, you’re putting him in danger.’

‘I’m not.’

‘If I can find him by following you, so can other people.’

‘No one knows about me and him.’

‘Want to bet?’

‘The thing is,’ says Ty, ‘that I’m putting her in danger.’

‘I went to see Arron.’

Ty’s mouth falls open.

‘You what?’

‘I went to see Arron – in prison.’

He doesn’t ask me how. He’s too shocked . . . scared . . . fascinated. . .

‘How was he? Does he blame me . . . for everything?’ His voice is little more than a whisper.

‘He said you were his friend, and you always would be. And he’s loyal to his friends.’

Ty’s shoulders sag. ‘But I wasn’t loyal to him.’

‘You did the right thing,’ says Claire. ‘He’s a murderer. You owe him nothing.’

‘He said you told the truth.’

‘I did tell the truth.’

‘He wants to see you.’

‘He wants to see me?’

‘He says if you see him, he’ll call them off. He’ll call the gangsters off. You’ll be free.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Claire’s voice is loud and angry and scared.

‘He might,’ says Ty, slowly. ‘He might. Arron always looked out for me. If he’d told me . . . told me what he was into, then I’d have kept away. Maybe he feels bad
for getting me involved.’

‘He said that. He said, “I should’ve explained how these things work.”’

Ty looks exhausted.

‘Can he really call them off?’

‘Of course he can’t,’ says Claire. ‘How can he?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘And you can arrange for me to see him?’

‘I think so.’

Claire’s shaking. Her voice is all wobbly. ‘You’re safe. Joe, you’re safe. Why spoil it? Why take the risk?’

‘Arron was my friend. I had Arron when I didn’t have anyone else. I’m out here while he’s locked up . . . I owe him. . .’

‘You owe him nothing. Don’t trust him. You need to stay here.’ She hugs him tight.

He looks at me over her head.

‘Archie, I’ll do it. Just tell me where and when.’

I
 can hardly concentrate at college. I write essays, solve equations, sit mock exams. All the time I’m thinking about our meeting with
Arron.

Shannon says it’ll take a month before she can get us in to see him.

‘Obviously he can only have so many visitors at a time,’ she tells me. ‘I have to wait until there’s a week when his mum won’t be going. Are you sure Ty’s
going to show?’

‘I’m not certain,’ I tell her, ‘but I think so. Don’t tell anyone, Shannon. This could be really dangerous.’

‘Who’d I tell?’ she says. ‘Now, when are you taking me clubbing in Fulham?’

I can’t take her clubbing. They’ve got really strict door rules. But when Lily says she’s having a party, I invite Shannon along. I want to keep her sweet, so she won’t
forget to sort out the visit that could set Ty free. I’m so proud of myself.

I’ve spoken to Ty a few times – he won’t use a mobile, but he’s called me from a payphone. He asked me how come I’d been to see Arron, how come I’d found out
where he was being held.

‘Research,’ I told him. ‘It’s a little-known fact that I’m an undercover investigative reporter. I went underground and I tapped my criminal contacts and I found
out exactly where he was.’

‘Archie, stop talking bollocks and just tell me—’