say. My voice sounds chirpy and childish.
‘Hey, Archie,’ he growls.
‘How’s it going?’ says Danny.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he says. ‘They didn’t tell the whole staff, only those who need to know. They reckon it’s safer that way. Mr Jones, he didn’t
know.’
‘Who?’
‘In the papers.’ He presses his forehead with his fingers, like he’s trying to widen his skull. ‘The papers. About the race.’
‘What papers? What race?’
Ty just shrugs.
‘Tell me,’ says Danny, just the slightest edge of irritation in his voice.
Ty’s instantly furious. ‘I thought you knew! I thought that’s why you were here! I thought maybe . . . maybe. . .’
‘What?’
He shakes his head. ‘Never mind.’
‘Tell me,’ says Danny, through gritted teeth. ‘We haven’t got long.’
‘Mr Jones, he runs the gym here. And he organised for me to do training at a local club. And he put me into a sports competition at some place just outside Northampton.’
‘Oh!’ I say. ‘Zoe mentioned she was going to that. It’s really near where she lives, and loads of people go from her school, apparently.’
He’s glaring at me. ‘Yeah, and so I went and I won and some reporters wanted to interview me. . .’
‘You what?’ says Danny.
‘. . . because I broke the record for UK junior boys 1500 metres. And Mr Jones was telling them all about me being in here, and it turned out he never even knew that I wasn’t really
called Luke Smith or about witness protection or anything.’
‘What?’
‘They have a need-to-know policy, and the governor was at some conference when Mr Jones asked permission, it was the assistant governor and she didn’t remember who I was. .
.’
‘So are you in the papers?’
‘. . . and I thought maybe you’d worked something out with them and I could go. . .’
‘Have they shown you the reports?’
‘. . . they might let me out a bit early. . .’
‘Ty, what actually appeared in the paper?’
‘. . . I thought
you’d
know. But you don’t. They don’t actually give us papers in here. I don’t sit around with a sodding cappuccino and a copy of the
Independent
.’
They glower at each other.
‘Jesus, Ty,’ says Danny. ‘You should have known better.’
‘I broke a UK record,’ says Ty, clearly bragging and you can tell – well, I can – that he’s desperate for a fight.
‘Yeah, well, that wasn’t worth risking your life for,’ says Danny.
‘How many records have
you
broken?’
‘That is so not the point.’
‘It is to me.’
‘I’ll talk to the lawyer, see if we can use this to leverage an earlier release date,’
‘Well done,’ says Ty, his voice full of contempt and hate.
I’m really not looking forward to telling him that Claire wants a break. I’ll have to start off by saying something like, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’
‘Don’t shoot the messenger, but your girlfriend, who you adore, who makes your miserable life worth living – she wants to chuck you.’
OK, it’s not going to happen.
‘You’re probably wondering where your mum is . . . why she hasn’t been. . .’
Ty rolls his eyes.
‘Well . . . she’s not really up to it. She’s not great, Ty. She’s very sad about your gran, obviously and she’s having to cope with Alyssa on her own.’
Ty’s hands are balled into fists.
‘I’ve suggested that she goes and stays with Emma for a bit in Spain – to get some sunshine, moral support. What do you think?’
Ty shrugs again. It’s as though he doesn’t trust himself to speak.
Danny tries again. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’
‘My picture’s been in the paper,’ says Ty. ‘I think it’s slightly essential.’
‘Well . . . have you actually seen your picture in the paper? It was probably just someone from the local rag.’
‘They were taking pictures!’ He’s almost screaming.
‘Calm down,’ says the prison officer.
‘You know that money?’ says Ty.
‘What money?’
‘You
‘Hey, Archie,’ he growls.
‘How’s it going?’ says Danny.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he says. ‘They didn’t tell the whole staff, only those who need to know. They reckon it’s safer that way. Mr Jones, he didn’t
know.’
‘Who?’
‘In the papers.’ He presses his forehead with his fingers, like he’s trying to widen his skull. ‘The papers. About the race.’
‘What papers? What race?’
Ty just shrugs.
‘Tell me,’ says Danny, just the slightest edge of irritation in his voice.
Ty’s instantly furious. ‘I thought you knew! I thought that’s why you were here! I thought maybe . . . maybe. . .’
‘What?’
He shakes his head. ‘Never mind.’
‘Tell me,’ says Danny, through gritted teeth. ‘We haven’t got long.’
‘Mr Jones, he runs the gym here. And he organised for me to do training at a local club. And he put me into a sports competition at some place just outside Northampton.’
‘Oh!’ I say. ‘Zoe mentioned she was going to that. It’s really near where she lives, and loads of people go from her school, apparently.’
He’s glaring at me. ‘Yeah, and so I went and I won and some reporters wanted to interview me. . .’
‘You what?’ says Danny.
‘. . . because I broke the record for UK junior boys 1500 metres. And Mr Jones was telling them all about me being in here, and it turned out he never even knew that I wasn’t really
called Luke Smith or about witness protection or anything.’
‘What?’
‘They have a need-to-know policy, and the governor was at some conference when Mr Jones asked permission, it was the assistant governor and she didn’t remember who I was. .
.’
‘So are you in the papers?’
‘. . . and I thought maybe you’d worked something out with them and I could go. . .’
‘Have they shown you the reports?’
‘. . . they might let me out a bit early. . .’
‘Ty, what actually appeared in the paper?’
‘. . . I thought
you’d
know. But you don’t. They don’t actually give us papers in here. I don’t sit around with a sodding cappuccino and a copy of the
Independent
.’
They glower at each other.
‘Jesus, Ty,’ says Danny. ‘You should have known better.’
‘I broke a UK record,’ says Ty, clearly bragging and you can tell – well, I can – that he’s desperate for a fight.
‘Yeah, well, that wasn’t worth risking your life for,’ says Danny.
‘How many records have
you
broken?’
‘That is so not the point.’
‘It is to me.’
‘I’ll talk to the lawyer, see if we can use this to leverage an earlier release date,’
‘Well done,’ says Ty, his voice full of contempt and hate.
I’m really not looking forward to telling him that Claire wants a break. I’ll have to start off by saying something like, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’
‘Don’t shoot the messenger, but your girlfriend, who you adore, who makes your miserable life worth living – she wants to chuck you.’
OK, it’s not going to happen.
‘You’re probably wondering where your mum is . . . why she hasn’t been. . .’
Ty rolls his eyes.
‘Well . . . she’s not really up to it. She’s not great, Ty. She’s very sad about your gran, obviously and she’s having to cope with Alyssa on her own.’
Ty’s hands are balled into fists.
‘I’ve suggested that she goes and stays with Emma for a bit in Spain – to get some sunshine, moral support. What do you think?’
Ty shrugs again. It’s as though he doesn’t trust himself to speak.
Danny tries again. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’
‘My picture’s been in the paper,’ says Ty. ‘I think it’s slightly essential.’
‘Well . . . have you actually seen your picture in the paper? It was probably just someone from the local rag.’
‘They were taking pictures!’ He’s almost screaming.
‘Calm down,’ says the prison officer.
‘You know that money?’ says Ty.
‘What money?’
‘You
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