When I Was Joe (9 page)

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?'

I don't know what to say. Arron said it was pretty normal to carry a knife. We used to pretend that it was for wood tech or food tech or we'd just bought it for our mum, but really it was because we were sure that one day we would be mugged or beaten up or something and we wanted to be prepared. You didn't go to school in London without knowing someone who'd been mugged or beaten up or something. Knives are cheap and easy to get, and it was so normal to have one that I don't know why they didn't just list it as part of our school uniform. That's what Arron said, anyway.

‘Everyone had knives,' I say. ‘It was just one from the kitchen, not a real flick knife or anything. I started carrying it a few weeks ago after Arron got mugged.
He needed a knife for protection. He told me to carry one too.'

‘You're talking complete crap,' she says. ‘You don't always do what your friend tells you. Look what happened to Arron.'

I'm scared of the way she's looking at me. I'm scared of what she could do. She wouldn't grass me up to the police, would she? Not my own mother.

‘Mum, I wasn't involved in the fight. I really did see what I said I saw. If you tell them I had a knife, they might not believe me about anything. I'd be in big trouble. And we really can't go home and be normal again. We could get killed.'

‘No. . . Yes. . . I don't know. . . Maybe we could go abroad for a bit. Let it all blow over.'

That's more attractive. We could go to Portugal maybe, or Spain . . . anywhere they don't speak English and they produce international footballers. I draw up a fantasy list of countries in my head to suggest to the cops. Then I re-enter the real world.

‘We haven't even got passports, have we?'

‘No. But if we told the police that you won't testify but we need to go abroad, then surely they have to arrange something for us.'

‘Why should they?'

She stops packing and looks at me. ‘Why are you
arguing with me, Ty? This is for you as much as me. You can't be enjoying living here, missing everyone, watching me turn into a depressed lump.'

‘I do like it here.' As you would know
if
you paid me any attention. ‘It's OK at school. I'm doing lots of sport.'

‘Sport?'

Maybe I can distract her by telling her about my amazing potential.

‘Mum, was my dad any good at athletics?' That's how I find stuff out about my dad. Little questions that I sneak in when she's thinking about something else. She's never actually bothered to sit down and tell me about him.

She laughs, but it's not a warm sort of laugh. Perhaps today wasn't the best day to try that trick.

‘Not really. Too lazy. He liked playing football but he couldn't cope with the chance that someone might beat him. Arrogant bastard, your dad, as I think I've mentioned before. No, it was me that was good at athletics.'

‘Really, you?' Why did I never know this? ‘How d'you mean, good?'

‘Ran for the borough, I did. Came second in the London girls' under-sixteen 1500 metres.'

‘Wow. . . Why did you stop?'

‘Think about the timing. What happened to me
when I was sixteen? Try running when you've got a baby growing under your gym skirt,' she says grimly. ‘Why are you asking, anyway?'

‘Because they think I'm good at running. They've given me extra training.'

I didn't tell her before because I wanted her response to be just right. But she just sniffs.

‘I'd prefer it if they gave you extra Maths.'

She's not interested. She changes the subject: ‘Ty, are you saying you'd rather be here than at home?'

I shrug. She doesn't understand. She's not interested in what I want.

‘I don't need to carry a knife here.' Maybe she'll care about my safety.

‘You don't
need
to carry a knife anywhere. I can't believe you were so stupid.'

‘It's safer here. And anyway, what would Gran say?'

‘What do you mean, what would Gran say? She'd be overjoyed to see us again, to have us back, to have things normal. . .'

‘No she wouldn't. She was the one who said go to the police. She was the one who said I have no choice, I have to do the right thing.'

‘She didn't realise what it would mean. She can't have known this would happen.'

‘Yes, but even so.' What was it Gran had said?
‘A precious child has been lost, and Tyler has to do everything he can to make things right for that poor family.' I know she meant it.

‘Ty, if we keep on like this, we're going to have a life based on lies.'

I'm feeling tired and angry and muddled and can't really express what I mean, but it seems to me that if I miss this one crucial chance to tell the truth when it matters, then my life will always be based on lies one way or the other.

‘We can't run away, the lies won't go away,' I say, and I know I've said it all wrong.

I can't talk any more. I don't know if I can make her change her mind. I do what she wanted me to do the other day. I put my arms around her – God, she's so skinny, and she smells of stale smoke instead of flowers – and hug her and say, ‘Please, please, Nic, let me stay here. Don't tell them about the knife, don't change anything. . .'

We sit there on the bed, heads together, not speaking, and then there's a knock on the front door. I jump, but she says, ‘It'll be Doug. I told him we were leaving and he went off to make some phone calls.'

She goes downstairs and opens the door and I hear her say, ‘I haven't changed my mind, you know.'

Then there's a mumble of voices and Doug calls out,
‘Tyler, can you come downstairs now?' He's always made a big point of calling me Joe, and now I don't want him to stop. I can feel my Joe-ness fading away.

I walk down the stairs, head down, and it's only when I reach the hallway that I realise that DI Morris is there too. He's got his mate DC Bettany with him. They're not looking as friendly as they did last time. ‘Hello, Ty,' says DI Morris, ‘I think we need to have a chat.'

‘I want to be there too,' says Mum. ‘You shouldn't be talking to a minor on his own.'

I want to talk to DI Morris without her. I want to tell them that this isn't my idea. I want to ask what would happen if we go home – not just to me but to everyone involved. But she comes along, turning back at the living room door to say, ‘Perhaps you can make us some tea, Doug.'

DI Morris sits himself down and pulls a file out of his briefcase. DC Bettany gets out his notebook. ‘I know that Tyler's made a decision to withdraw his statement,' DI Morris says to Mum, ‘but this is a fast-moving case, and new evidence is always emerging. We have some more questions to ask him, and this won't be the last time.'

I interrupt: ‘I never decided to withdraw my statement. She decided. It's my statement, isn't it?
It's my choice whether I testify or not?'

‘Yes, but of course your mother's co-operation and permission is vital if we are to maintain the witness protection programme.' He scratches his head.

‘I suppose if you insisted you wanted to stick by your statement and testify and she didn't want to co-operate, we would have to find another person who could be what is known as an appropriate adult to safeguard your interests. Your mother could go home and you could remain in witness protection.'

An appropriate adult? Wouldn't that have to be Gran?

‘Who. . . could that be?' I ask hopefully, not meeting Mum's eye.

‘We'd possibly have to bring in a social worker and put you in foster care,' he says, watching both Mum and me very carefully. He can see she's twitching when he mentions a social worker. Those have to be two of her least favourite words.

I lose interest in the appropriate adult.

‘Even if we did go home and I didn't testify, these people might still want to hurt us? Just in case?'

DI Morris sighs, ‘It's hard to predict. But I wouldn't necessarily trust them to leave you alone. It's also been a very high-profile case. You might attract some general hostility if you return home.'

‘What does that mean?' asks Mum. ‘For all we know, you might be making this up just to get Ty to testify. You're not allowed to influence him.'

‘Mum, it'd be easier for everyone if they hadn't had to take us into their protection. And how can they make up that petrol bomb?'

DI Morris sits and watches us. Then he says, ‘Tyler Lewis, I have to say something to you. I am going to ask you some questions now that may lead to you being charged with an offence. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

My mum gasps. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I know we're both thinking the same thing. Somehow he's found out about the knife.

‘OK,' he says, ‘I'm going to ask you about drugs at St Saviour's. Did you ever take money for drugs? We have reason to believe that you may know something about cannabis sales.'

All hell breaks out. Mum doesn't know which one of us to attack first. Luckily she decides on DI Morris. ‘Are you accusing my son of drug dealing?' she demands. ‘Because if you are, I think we need a lawyer here, right this minute.'

‘I am simply asking Tyler some additional questions,' says DI Morris, very smooth. ‘He knows he has the right to remain silent.'

‘So you can blackmail him into testifying, is that it?'

‘Not at all. You're making very serious allegations. If you're not happy with the way this investigation is being handled then I suggest you speak to the Independent Police Complaints Commission.'

‘So what's happened? Someone's accused him? A druggy teenager's been found out with some hash and he's latched on to Ty and Arron because he knows they were involved with the fight in the park?' My mum's so angry that little bits of spit are coming out with her words.

While this is going on – and it is amazing to see Nicki back in full supersonic action again – I've been thinking fast. I'm pretty sure I know what he's on about. I'm dizzy with relief that we're not talking about knives.

‘Was it Kenny Pritchard?' I ask.

‘Shut
up
, Ty,' says Mum, shooting me a vicious I'll-deal-with-you-later look.

DI Morris says, ‘What about Kenny Pritchard, Ty?' I can see from the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth that I've got the right name.

Mum says, ‘This is outrageous. Don't say anything, Ty.' Then she hisses at DI Morris, ‘How dare you.
Get him a lawyer.'

‘He gave me an envelope once,' I say, ‘and he said, “Give this to Mackenzie”. I didn't know what it was and Arron didn't tell me. That's it.'

‘See?' says Mum. ‘That scumbag Arron. Nothing to do with Ty.'

DI Morris doesn't look convinced. ‘Really, Tyler? Do you just want to think about that?'

Arron definitely never told me what was going on and I certainly never asked. So officially I know nothing. I had my suspicions, but they're just private thoughts, aren't they?

‘I didn't know nothing,' I say, which makes DI Morris look even more thoughtful and Nicki wince at my English.

‘Miss Lewis,' he says, ‘If I promise you that Tyler will not be charged with any offence to do with drugs at St Saviour's, will you let us please talk to him on his own?'

She looks unsure. ‘It's up to the Crown Prosecution Service to decide who gets prosecuted, isn't it?' she asks.

He looks a bit uncomfortable and she pounces and says, ‘So if you're making promises like that, you obviously realise you haven't got a case against my son. Hah! Well you can talk to him for five minutes, but I'll be asking him what you've said and if it's anything out
of order I'll be going to lawyers and the press and my MP and the European Court of Human Rights and you won't know what's hit you.' And she goes off to see what Doug's doing in the kitchen.

I'm left alone with DI Morris. I open my mouth to speak, but he puts his hand up to silence me. DC Bettany shuts his notebook. DI Morris says, ‘Tyler Lewis, you're going to listen to me. Or do you prefer me to call you Joe?'

I shrug, but I'm pleased that he realises how hard it is to shift between names all the time. ‘Whatever.'

‘I'm beginning to get an idea about you, Tyler. The idea I have is that, yes, you tell the truth, but maybe not the whole truth. Is that correct?'

I squirm a little. Sometimes it is and obviously sometimes it's not. It seems a bit unfair though, when I've just coughed up the name Kenny Pritchard.

‘Well, uh, it depends on what . . . and when . . . and what you mean by whole truth..'

He waits.

‘I always try and be true.'

‘But it's the bare minimum. And sometimes you're pretending to be careless about your answers when really you're being very careful indeed. Now I have no doubt at all that you knew very well what Arron was up to at school.'

‘Umm . . . he never told me. But I did think . . . maybe. . .'

‘And you knew he was getting into bad company.'

‘Well, sort of. . .' It's all very well, but if you grow up on the estate where Arron lived, you can't avoid knowing dodgy people. It's a matter of how much time you spend with them.

‘You need to tell the truth, Ty, because you're going to get cross-examined in court and believe me, three sets of defence lawyers aren't going to be gentle with you. Do you agree with your mother that you should go home and not testify?'

‘No. I think she's mad. I want to go on being Joe. And I think I should testify'

‘Why?'

‘Because it's the right thing to do . . . I think. . .'