Read When I Was Joe for Free Online

surgery.
    At home our fridge was covered with photos and Capital Radio blared out and I could look out of the window and see people getting tattoos and manicures. Queuing for buses. Arguing, kissing, shouting at their kids. Buying plantain, coriander, kebabs, ice-cream, okra – you could buy anything on our street. I could smell meat and buses, curry and hairspray. Everything was interesting. Every day was different.
    Here it’s always quiet and all you see from thewindow are grey houses and the biggest excitement is when the bloke across the road washes his car, which he does every Sunday. No wonder she’s a bit down.
    As we eat – or rather as I eat and she twirls spaghetti on her fork and then drops it again – I ask, ‘Mum, do you know who the police are hiding us from? Has Doug told you anything?’
    I’m wondering whether Nathan is involved. Arron’s brother is big and tough, he knows how to fight and he has some dodgy-looking friends. Arron really looked up to Nathan, so we spent a lot of time trying to hang out with him and his mates, down the bowling alley mostly. Sometimes they let us join in and sometimes they told us to buzz off. Not in precisely those words, obviously.
    I can see that Nathan would be pretty scary if you didn’t know him and you were stupid enough to get into a fight with him. And he definitely wants me to keep quiet, because he told me so, but I don’t think he would actually want to kill me. Nathan always seemed to quite like me – at least, I thought he did. He sometimes told Arron to look out for me. And he used to do a paper round for Mr Patel. Surely he wouldn’t attack his shop?
    Mum’s looking worried. I don’t know whether that’s because she has information she’s not telling me or whether she’s as clueless as I am. ‘I don’t know much, Ty, and I don’t think they’re going to tell us. But it seemsto me that it’s something very big and very organised. Don’t you think?’
    I do think. But I don’t like to think any further.

CHAPTER 5
Intimidation
    Friday afternoon, walking home from school, the weekend stretches ahead. I suppose I could go down to the shopping centre tomorrow, meet up with some of the kids from school, but it seems a bit unfair to abandon my mum, even though we don’t do anything together except occasionally bicker.
    I suppose it’s good to get a chance to stop pretending all the time, but sometimes I think it’s only the pretending that keeps me going.
    I come through our front door and hear male voices in the living room. I freeze, trying to overhear what’s going on. I catch the phrase ‘only temporary,’ then Doug emerges, saying cheerily, ‘Hello young man. How’s life at your new school?’
    I ignore him and walk into the room. Mum is sitting there drinking tea with DI Morris and one of hissidekicks, youngish with red hair and freckles. I vaguely remember him as one of the less shouty ones at the police station. He introduces himself as Detective Constable Bettany.
    Mum says, ‘He’s just come in from school. Can I at least get him a snack?’ like they’re here to ship me off to prison, and rushes away. She brings me tea and some biscuits, then goes back to the kitchen with Doug. I hope she’s going to discuss her job prospects.
    â€˜So, Ty, how are you settling into your new life here?’ says DI Morris. Unlike Doug he seems genuinely interested. ‘It can’t be easy.’
    I shrug. ‘It’s OK.’
    â€˜Good. Making friends?’
    â€˜Suppose so.’
    â€˜How about your schoolwork? What’s your favourite subject?’
    â€˜I suppose French.’
    I find languages really easy. At home, as well as learning Urdu from Mr Patel, I’d picked up a lot of Turkish from the kebab shop guys and I’d just got a Saturday job cleaning up the tattoo parlour across the road