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Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Luan Goldie
  3. About the Author
  4. Also by Luan Goldie
  5. Note to Readers
  6. Dedication
  7. Chapter One
  8. Chapter Two
  9. Chapter Three
  10. Chapter Four
  11. Chapter Five
  12. Chapter Six
  13. Chapter Seven
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-One
  28. Chapter Twenty-Two
  29. Chapter Twenty-Three
  30. Chapter Twenty-Four
  31. Chapter Twenty-Five
  32. Chapter Twenty-Six
  33. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  36. Acknowledgements
  37. Extract
  38. Saturday, 4 May 1996
  39. Chapter One
  40. Chapter Two
  41. Chapter Three
  42. About the Publisher

‘I’m not,’ she says, but the effort to keep her face straight makes her cheeks wobble. ‘It’s another one of those things everyone is talking about and I don’t really get it.’

‘Toxic masculinity?’

‘No, podcasts. They’re just badly produced radio shows.’

‘No, this one is really good. I’m going to send you a link. Even Dad listened to it.’

‘And what was his reaction? Did he beat his chest and run back to his cave?’

Kiama laughs, ‘What is it with you and him?’

‘Nothing,’ Yvonne says quickly, embarrassed that she said anything at all. ‘I just remember him being quite an alpha male.’

‘My cousins are the same. Then there’s me.’ He laughs and takes two packets of Cheetos from the carrier bag and throws one over to her.

‘Hmm, but I wouldn’t say you’re quite free of Lewis’s traits either.’ It’s dangerous ground and she needs to get off it. ‘Do you want to talk about—’

‘No,’ he snaps, his big eyes flick around the room before stopping on her, ‘I definitely don’t want to talk about it.’

She nods, relieved that they don’t have to pick apart the afternoon right now. She wasn’t sure how it would make her feel being there again; she was almost surprised when she felt so little. But it was his reaction which hurt, the way he broke down on the side of the street, it was horrible to watch and know that he was reliving the worst few hours of his life. Then, as they walked back to the hotel he went completely silent and into himself. It reminded her of him at the funeral, of a little boy lost.

‘I’ve been looking online a bit,’ she says, ‘and I’ve got some ideas about how we can get a therapist to join Kindred Kenya; I don’t think it’ll be that hard or as expensive as I originally thought.’

‘I feel relieved that someone else knows about the money. I should have told you at the start. But I’ve always been discouraged from talking about it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it makes people uncomfortable, the idea of someone so young coming into money. I once overheard my teachers talking about it and it freaked me out. I didn’t want anyone to know about it. I didn’t even want to know about it.’

He puts music on the laptop.

‘I read an article online a few years back about compensation for victims of crimes abroad and all the comments were people bitching that the money should go to the NHS instead, like it’s a direct competition or something.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘I know. But I always think of that. How important it is that I do the right thing with this money.’