Another Life (26 page)

‘I never thought he’d do that,’ she says. ‘Your dad! He lived for his job!’

‘He said he was fed up spending his life in meetings and pitching for deals to clients he despised, and he’d made enough money for anyone and now he’s going to get to know me
better, be a proper dad. Blah, blah.’

He’s said a load more than that – all about how he’s been neglecting his family, and letting the stress of the job get to him, and how Mum and I are the most precious things in
his life, and how, when I was missing, he couldn’t sleep or eat and he realised that if he lost me, he’d hardly known me. It was all a bit cringey, like he’d suddenly woken up in
some crappy American movie.

Lily’s dad has only been to see her once since what everyone calls ‘the accident’, even though it wasn’t. He flew in from Dubai, where he’s living now, with a load
of electronics for her – a cool camera, a new laptop, an iPad. And then he flew away again.

She shakes her head at me. ‘You’re lucky. Don’t blow it.’

So when Dad suggests that we go for a bike ride, I agree. It’s actually good to get out of that hospital for a while, although not fair on Lily, who can’t escape.

We cycle for miles – out into Surrey – and then we get to a hill that’s too steep for the bikes, so we chain them together at the bottom and climb up to the top, where
there’s a little café that serves fruit cake and orange squash. We sit and eat and I say, ‘Dad, there’s something I need to ask you.’

‘What’s that?’ he mumbles, mouth full of cake.

‘When we, Ty and me, when we were, you know,
there
. . .’

Dad knows where
there
is. He nods.

‘They wouldn’t kill me because they were scared of something called the Stone family. What did they mean?’

‘All my adult life,’ says Dad, ‘I’ve been trying to get away from them, all
your
life trying to make sure you never got involved. I’m not quite sure how I
failed, but I did. Maybe you can never really escape who you are, where you come from.’

‘You what?’

‘My father, my uncles, my brothers were all criminals. The market stall was just a cover. They fenced stolen goods, ran a protection racket. My brothers, they’ve stayed in the
business. They’re not as big as Tommy White but still, you don’t cross the Stone family. It’s a lifetime away.’

‘Was that why you didn’t want me to be friends with Ty?’

‘Poor Ty,’ he says, ‘not his fault, but I just saw trouble. I tried, you know. I went to see my brother Gary. I hadn’t seen him for fifteen years, but I went and asked
him to see if he could get the Whites to leave Ty alone. I did it early on, when Ty first re-emerged, when he was staying with your grandparents. Gary said he didn’t have any influence. But
then I went to see him again – after that incident on the roof. He took it more seriously once he knew you were involved.’

‘Oh right, yeah.’ I think I’d rather not get to know my uncle Gary any better.

‘Mind you, if I’d known you were stupid enough to be going to that boxing club, I’d have done something a lot earlier.’

It’s kind of reassuring that my dad hasn’t totally changed his entire personality.

‘What did he say?’

‘Said he’d do his best. Obviously his best wasn’t good enough.’

I swallow. I can’t talk about Ty. The memories are too horrible. I found out that day how easy it is to kill someone, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

‘Oh well, he’s out of it now,’ he says. ‘Archie, your mum’s going to her yoga retreat on Lesbos again. I know we’re all going off to Barbados at Christmas,
but before that, why don’t we have a holiday together? Somewhere interesting? Get to know each other better. Make up for wasted time.’

‘Yeah, we could, I suppose.’

He takes a gulp of orange squash. ‘You know, Archie, I don’t think London’s right for us. How about we look at houses round here? Surrey. Nice small towns, good state schools.
You can have a new start, and you’re still near enough to see Lily and Oscar.’

‘Oh, right,’ I say, wondering what a small-town version of myself would be like. Different from London Archie, that’s for sure. I suppose that’s not all bad.

Then we eat some more fruit cake and we don’t talk any more.

W
e went to an amazing place yesterday – a temple, right in the jungle, the one where they filmed
Lara Croft
. The buildings are all
tangled up with the tree roots. You can’t tell which one came first. If you took away the roots, the buildings would fall down. Everything is connected to everything else. It was
awesome.

We had a tour guide, he told us about when things were really bad in Cambodia, when everyone was being killed and they all had to go into work camps and they didn’t have enough to eat.
They used to pee on the ground and then sieve the dried mud to get salt. They used to make a hole in their soup dishes, so they’d get more meat and rice and less liquid. If you didn’t
do that you’d starve to death.

When you hear about stuff like that, it helps you realise that we didn’t have it so bad. You can get over things. If our guide can build a new life after everything that’s
happened to him, then anyone can.

Anything’s possible.

It’s a bit weird travelling just me and my dad, but so far it’s going OK. He’s all right, really. We’ve had some good laughs.

I get bad nightmares, but it’s getting better – being somewhere like this, where everything’s different, everything’s strange, it makes things easier. He said it
would, and he’s right.

I’m learning how to feel safe.

Today we’re sailing on a lake called Tonlé Sap. There’s water as far as I can see. It’s silver and still and there are huge green leaves floating on the surface. It
reminds me of a book I liked, that the teacher read to us in primary school, about a mouse who wanted to find the end of the world.

This feels like the end of the world.

There’s a boy near our boat, a boy using a tin tray as a little circle of a boat. He’s got a paddle, but only one arm. There were lots of landmines in Cambodia until really
recently. You couldn’t walk anywhere without the fear that the ground would explode. Can you imagine that?

I can.

These days, most of the mines have gone. There are loads of people without an arm or a leg. They’re getting on with their lives. They’re finding boats and paddles and moving
through the water.

Now that I can use my arm again, I’ve sent emails to Mum, and to Patrick and Helen as well. I’ve told them that I’m OK, that I’m feeling better.

I’ve been in touch with Claire. And she says that when she’s eighteen, she’s going to come and find me. Wherever in the world I end up, she’s saving her money for a
ticket. She might meet someone else, I know that, but right now just the promise, just the hope, it’s enough for me.

So, there’s just you left. Thank you for calling the police and the ambulance. Thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t stopped the bleeding, I wouldn’t have survived.
You did everything right.

Dad says you blame yourself. I know that technically you shot me. But it was an accident, and accidents do happen and you never meant to. I know that. Do you?

I actually miss you and your stupid jokes a lot – more than I’d have thought. I started off hating you, but you’re OK, really – immature, but OK.

After we’ve travelled for a bit, we’re going to start again somewhere. I don’t know where. I don’t know how. I couldn’t tell you even if I did know.

I’d just like you to be part of it.

What do you think?

My lovely husband read the first five chapters of this book and told me exactly what was wrong with it. It took me another 40,000 words (and much anguish) to see that he was
correct. Thank you Laurence, for everything as always, and thanks too to our long-suffering (but never uncomplaining) children, Phoebe and Judah.

Thanks to all the readers who let me know that they enjoy my books. Your encouragement and emails are essential to my well-being. Special thanks to Matt Hearn, Joe Lucy, Claire Zamirski and
Jacob Scarrow.

For help with research, many thanks to Catherine Johnson (prisons), Tony Metzer (law) and Emma Cravitz (corporate lawyers).

For lending me their home to help me finish this book, many thanks to the Rutnam/Longman family, and to Bilbo the spaniel, the perfect writing companion. Thanks also to Valerie Peake, an equally
charming but slightly less ideal writing companion, because much more chatty.

Thanks to readers Tiger Bloggs, Jimmy Rice and Avital Nathan.

Thanks to writing friends Amanda Swift, Anna Longman, Becky Jones, Lydia Syson, Jennifer Grey, Fenella Fairburn, Keris Stainton, Luisa Plaja, Gillian Philip, Tamsyn Murray, Sophia Bennett, Kay
Woodward, Susie Day, Candy Gourlay and Inbali Iserles. And especially the very wonderful Fiona Dunbar.

I am privileged to work with the fantastic team at Frances Lincoln Children’s Books, in particular Emily Sharratt and Maurice Lyon. Many thanks as well to my agent, Jenny Savill, whose
advice is invaluable, her assistant Ella Kahn and their colleagues at Andrew Nurnberg Associates.

Thanks to all my family, most of all Mum, who spoke up for Ty’s legs.

Growing up in a small town in Hertfordshire,
Keren David
had two ambitions: to write a book and to live in London. Several decades on, she has finally achieved both. She was
distracted by journalism, starting out at eighteen as a messenger girl, then working as a reporter, news editor, features editor and feature writer for many and various newspapers and magazines.
She has lived in Glasgow and Amsterdam, where, in eight years, she learnt enough Dutch to order coffee and buy vegetables. She is now back in London, and lives with her husband, two children and
their insatiably hungry guinea pigs. Keren’s other novels for Frances Lincoln are the acclaimed
When I Was Joe, Almost True
and
Lia’s Guide to Winning the Lottery
.

Keren blogs about her life and books at
www.wheniwasjoe.blogspot.com

You can also follow her on Twitter

@kerensd

or find out more about
When I Was Joe
,
Almost True
and
Another Life
on Facebook on the
When I Was Joe
page

For Phoebe, absolutely my favourite daughter

First published in Great Britain in
2012 by Francis Lincoln
7 Greenland Street
London NW1 0ND
www.aurumpress.co.uk

This eBook edition first published in 2012

Copyright © Keren David 2012

Keren David has asserted her moral right to be identified as the Author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Aurum Press Ltd.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

eBook ISBN 9781781010952