Chapter 21
21
ISAAC
Joe asks, “Want to know what I did next?”
He speaks to the group of students, but it’s me he watches until I nod. Like them, I’m all ears while Joe digs in a tool kit.
Luke is too, and I wish Joe looked up in time to see my boss holding his breath as if he can’t wait to hear the rest of this story. The jury is still out with some of this audience at risk of following in Joe’s footsteps, but I’m pretty sure he’s hooked Noah, who edges closer.
“I stopped kidding myself.”
Noah fires a bullet-fast question. “About what?”
“About thinking I was on the way up.” He drops a spanner into the box at his feet, the clang hollow. “About actually hitting rock bottom.” He lets another spanner drop, a second clang echoing. Joe dropping a last tool into that box reminds me of Noah tossing part of his past into a time capsule. That’s who Joe makes eye contact with. “And I had to stop pretending that I didn’t need anyone in my corner.”
He was all alone.
Man, I’m angry enough then to run all the way to London and march his family here to see how he pulled his life back together, then went on to do the same for me. And for these students who listen to the strongest man in Glynn Harber describe when he was at his weakest.
Joe takes a deep breath. “I thought, and I thought hard. Lay in that hospital bed and tracked back to each fork in the road it took to end up with me crying like a baby through skin grafts that failed.” He raises his fists, biceps bulging like my heart does at this quiet confession. “And I cried again in physio sessions designed to help me retain this kind of movement. Physical pain, you know? The mental kind was worse. Made myself sick with how I’d chosen the wrong direction over and over, but this is what kept bobbing to the surface the longer I had to think—my mistakes were understandable.” This sounds hard for him to grit out. “And they were forgivable.”
“Yes.” Luke says with conviction. He says the same to Joe as he has to me during our walks. “Keep going.”
Joe does. “I started offending at fourteen. Got attacked at nineteen. Took years after that to believe that I’d served one detention order after another but what I should have been sentenced to was grief counselling with my fam. With my dad and my brother. We lost the person who held us all together but never spoke about it. And the longer I thought back, the clearer I saw this pattern—talking wouldn’t have worked because they didn’t speak the same language as me. We didn’t only lose Mum. We lost our translator. I missed her even more then. Still do.”
Joe’s shoulders bow, if only for a second, then he gets back to poking at old wounds in public.
“So, if I was a marked man instead of a future top boy on the rise in Wintergreen, and if I was a disappointment to my family, that left me with what?”
Noah speaks up.
“With nothing.”
“Yeah.” That comes out on a breath quiet enough that this group of students huddle even closer. “All I had left were scars. That’s when I thought even harder about my dad and brother.”
Perhaps I frown. Joe explains in a hurry. “Josh couldn’t look at me after this happened. And when he shifted career goals to one that meant consulting for the police, I guessed he couldn’t be around me because I embarrassed him professionally. Embarrassed Dad too, who was a police mechanic. I guessed I shamed them both, which, even years after I got burned, was more corrosive than any acid. Shame eats into your sense of self-worth. Big man?” He shakes his head. “I never felt smaller.”
I see him meet set after set of eyes that were frosty when I first crossed the car park. I wouldn’t say that they’ve fully melted, but I hope he can see what I do—they’re thawing.
He can’t quite meet mine while admitting, “Or I felt small until I found ways to help kids in my old welfare role. Turns out I’m not a scary criminal. I’m a people person. I made a new fam. A team all working to stop dealers sinking their hooks into kids. Do any of you know how many jobs there are in early intervention where we’re from?”
Head after head shakes.
“There are so many. I could tell you about them. Could help you investigate courses and training. Volunteer roles and paid ones. Funding to set up your own community projects like this one.” He taps the side of the van. Rust falls from a wheel arch, and his “oops” comes with a ripple of laughter.
He beams at his laughing audience. “Imagine the role models you could be, like Mr. Webber.” That’s a thump to my chest. “Imagine the changes you can make, like he has, for so many kids. Imagine being that powerful. That transformative, and not only for yourselves.”
“Aspirational,” Luke murmurs. I’m not sure Joe hears, he’s so locked in delivering this message.
“These days, I’m more of a lone worker.”
My heart thumps again at being the cause of what he describes as a lonelier working pattern. Like usual, he looks on the bright side.
“I still get to make a difference. Still get to help people break patterns before they become too embedded. But here’s the thing about reflecting. It’s a never-ending cycle, like TikTok. Once you start scrolling, you can’t stop, and the more reflecting I do, the more I can’t help seeing that I wasn’t the only one trying to break old patterns.”
This snort is so soft.
“The last time I spoke to my brother, he told me our dad had brought over three paint rollers for a decorating project. I assumed he wouldn’t want me there, but actually it’s a reminder that yeah, some people break patterns with words. Others use their actions. Now I can’t help thinking about other actions Dad took.”
“Like what?” I didn’t mean to blurt that. Joe’s small smile says he’s pleased I asked, and I’d kiss him if we didn’t have an audience watching and listening.
“I mean, Dad turning up one day with a set of car keys had to mean something, yeah? He told me he’d got a car that needed fixing up and no time to do it. That was bogus—he’d just retired, and when I went to his workshop, he wasn’t there. My twin was. Josh and me hadn’t really talked like we used to since I got burned, but we had to when we rebuilt that car together, even if it was only to say, ‘Pass me a wrench.’ Soon we were repairing more than a car and talking about more than welding and rust.”
“Like?” Noah looks surprised at himself for asking. Joe rewards him by being honest about his failings.
“Like how stealing cars was my way into a world where no one knew I was lost and hurting. I didn’t expect him to tell me that the world had stopped making sense for him too, after losing Mum. I hadn’t realised. He didn’t react like I did. I guess the structure of school helped him. Had a timetable he could follow. And later, computer code was neater than the mess of how he was feeling. Data retrieval was a puzzle he could solve.” He shrugs. “That’s a whole other language I don’t speak, but give him a phone or a laptop and there’s nothing he can’t extract from its SIM or hard drive. Getting him back in my life?” Joe shakes his head, then finds me in the crowd. “Up until lately, it felt the most important thing for me to hold on to. A gift.”
That up until lately feels like a gift of my own. I’m warm all over at him telling me I’m important.
To him .
He is to me too. Has been from our very first meeting right up to him holding his arms out for my brother and promising not to let him fall. I fight my own sensation of falling because Joe isn’t done yet.
“That car was a gift that gave me back my brother, even if Dad never explicitly said that’s why he made us share it. Both of us could have bought our own motors. The fact we still haven’t says a lot. The only thing all three of us still can’t talk about is this mess.”
He manacles a wrist with scarred fingers and squeezes.
“Dad can’t look at this, let alone talk about it so we can put it behind us, and I can’t talk to my brother about it either. He’d only dig for data. For evidence linking what happened to me to the men who gave the order. They were too smart to leave a direct trail or digital footprints. No one’s gonna talk about who runs Wintergreen and risk pulling the same trigger on themselves or their family, yeah?”
Noah doesn’t look at him, but he nods, and Joe speaks directly to him, keeping this plain and simple.
“I got hurt. You did too. Little Lenny’s hurting in a whole other way, but he’s finding his voice with your help, mate. And my court client tomorrow morning? He’s got a whole family still in Wintergreen. No wonder he fights me each time I see him. He’s scared for them, so he lashes out. Still gonna be there for him. Still gonna protect his right to safety, even if he decides to stay silent in court, because we both know the only thing that will truly end all of this pain is cold, hard proof, and there isn’t any.”
Noah rubs the centre of his chest.
I’m no court expert like Joe. I’m a mistrust expert, but Noah sure looks so close to wanting to believe. I can see it swim just below his freckles.
Joe must also notice. “Mate, I’d love it if there was proof. Set Lenny’s mum free by putting away the real dealers for good? Find evidence of who once ordered an acid attack or of who gave the order to scare kids with machetes in their school playgrounds? I’d put all that evidence on blast if I had it. Because here’s the truth that gang lords can’t afford to let spread—there are more of us than there are of them. Stop the recruitment cycle, and how much power do they end up with?”
More kids than Noah tell him.
“None.”
Joe closes his eyes for a long moment. They reopen to show typical-for-him softness. “The problem is thinking we’re alone. We aren’t. We just gotta communicate better to spread the message.” He keeps going, leading by example. “Dad helped me do that by giving me and my twin a hunk of junk to fix up.” He flashes a look my way. “I wouldn’t be here without that car.”
He’s right. Without it, Joe couldn’t have driven to a beach where I yelled that someone would miss him. And without that vehicle, he wouldn’t have found us in a lay-by. Now he holds out bare arms and does the same baring with his soul.
“Pretty sure it was Dad’s way of making sure Josh and I had a reason to keep communicating. A bridge we could cross to meet in the middle, so if I’m planning on coming back here to challenge all of you to confront your own pasts, I gotta confront this question: When did I last try to communicate with him?”
He clears his throat before continuing.
“Because I can’t ask you to break silent patterns if I won’t try to break my own, yeah?” He draws in the same kind of deep and slow breath Luke has encouraged me to take so often, then he pulls out his phone and places a call.
“Dad?”
Joe takes another breath, and I hold my own at him reaching out with an audience hanging on each word he chokes out. “Hey. You got a minute to talk? No, not about painting this weekend. I’m needed elsewhere.”
With me .
His eyes locking with mine say so.
“Listen,” he asks his father, gaze not shifting so I both hear and see how much he means this. “I got a problem. One I can’t fix on my own.”
I can’t help pushing closer, then I take a seat next to him in the van opening so I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with Joe like he just promised to be with me.
“Hang on. Can I switch to video?”
His father agrees, and I get a front row seat to see an older version of Joe on the screen, all frown lines and worry that deepens when Joe turns the phone to show off the boys and girls watching. They must be a hard-faced reminder of the gang he used to run with.
“If I start an engine, can you help us all to troubleshoot the problem with it?”
His dad nods, listens, then casts expert judgement.
“Could be the fuel injection, could be a clogged filter. Start with the spark plugs. You got the right spanner?”
Joe aims a request at a kid who looks nearer now than ever to communicating with him. “Noah, take a look in the toolbox for me?”
The man who taught Joe how to make repairs offers assistance from the phone Joe props beside the engine. “Look for a T-shaped handle.”
Noah finds it, and we all get to witness Joe use it and hear him do some of that reflecting he mentioned. “You showed so many kids how to do this when I was younger. Every single Saturday morning in that repair group you set up, yeah?”
He addresses the group next, glance flicking at the screen like he’s nervous about his father overhearing.
“Pretty sure Dad did that for the same reason he took me and my brother to a boxing club after our mum’s car accident. He tried to find communities for us. When one didn’t pan out for me, he kept trying.” This is grittier. “All of those Saturdays with him mending motors have come into a different focus lately.”
He faces his father and gets honest.
“I used those skills for the wrong reasons. To steal cars. Haven’t done that for years. But that community feeling? It stuck right here.” He rubs the centre of his chest like Noah does so often, and that’s who Joe next faces. “Look at me now. Then look at you. We both got into trouble in Wintergreen.” That must have been loud enough for his dad to register—I glimpse frown lines deepening as Joe continues. “You didn’t mean for that to happen, Noah. Now your future is like this engine.”
Noah is silent, his freckles even starker as Joe holds up a dirty spark plug to the screen. His dad nods at the probable cause of my van’s problem while Joe address the cause of Noah’s.
“You feel like you’re the one on trial. I don’t blame you. Anyone who survives what we did deserves to catch a break instead of facing more judgement. It’s like this dirt, yeah? Keeps coming back to stop you cold.” He uses a rag to rub one spark plug clean. “I won’t let it while you’re on my caseload the same way I’m not about to let the person I care about most face tough stuff all alone this weekend.”
He doesn’t name me. I’m certain my inhale tells him I heard. Joe doesn’t leave room for doubt, and forget dragon riders or Tarot lords fighting over their thrones or Aslan roaring.
I swap them all for Joe, who isn’t done using me as an example.
“Someone I care about is gonna walk out of a difficult family visit to find me waiting. I’ll be right beside him like I’ll be right beside you in court one day, Noah, if that’s where you decide to give evidence. But it’s what happens after that court date that I’m interested in the most. In how we can work together to turn that pain into something positive. That’s what I care about. Not your past. Your future.” He includes the whole group. “All of your futures. I want to know all of your stories.” He shrugs. “Can’t help it. A librarian got me hooked on happy endings.”
He passes spark plugs and rags to his cohort, and everyone here gets their hands dirty, which isn’t what I expected when I crossed this car park. It wasn’t what I expected either when I woke up with Joe smiling at me. He smiles again after his talk ends with my van purring.
I could purr too at Luke shaking Joe’s hand.
“Thanks, Joe,” he says once I’ve turned off the engine. “That was immensely useful. You’re in court tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, first thing, so I can’t miss my train this evening.”
I’m aware his father still watches from where Joe’s phone is propped up. I can’t read his expression. This is the same reservation Joe only ever shows when someone stares at his scars.
Luke is way more open. “Come back as soon as you can to deliver your full workshop program. You’d be an asset. Truly inspirational. We’d be lucky to have you. Talk to me about dates soon, yes?”
Children flood out from the school, and I catch a glimpse of Lenny, marching with the only gang I want to feature in his future.
Tor leads the way, hand-in-hand with Maisie. I’m sure that Hadi and Asa follow. It’s Lenny who shines. Or his cape does, at least. It ripples out behind him, and that’s what I still want now more than ever—for him to fly like he does after running in Joe’s direction for a last goodbye his dad gets to witness.
Lenny takes a flying jump, and Joe catches him like usual. There’s no mistaking my brother’s head resting on Joe’s shoulder for anything but the trust I can’t believe I ever held myself back from.
I wish Mum could see it. Us . Almost a family in the making.
It would be a weight off her mind, whatever her final plea decision. And there’s no mistaking that Joe’s phone screen shows someone else who has had a weight on their mind as soon as Joe asks, “Remember when you used to tell me to keep my guard up, Dad? How you drilled me over and over? How you never stopped nagging.”
His father frowns but nods slowly.
“That was the only thing that saved my eyes. My sight. I’ll remember that every single time I get to see my nephew.”
I don’t hear how his call ends.
Joe tells me once all his goodbyes are over, and I drive out of Glynn Harber with him beside me later.
He scrubs at his face as I head for the station. “I’ve seen Dad in the ring so many times.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Hundreds of times. He used to strap on pads when I couldn’t take a swing at Josh. Told me to have at it.” This is rougher, but now isn’t the time to tell him he sounds just like the man he mentions. “Said I couldn’t ever hurt him. To go all out so I could defend myself if he wasn’t around. Today was the first time I ever left him winded.” He almost chokes on this. “In a good way.”
I’m still winded by what else he let slip during that talk.
Another four letter word describing care follows my purring van along the coast road, soaring and spiralling like the cliffside gulls all the way to the station, which we reach way too quickly.
Joe needs to hurry. He still takes the time to kiss me while we’re still in the van. He breaks off with a promise. “I’ll see you soon.”
“You don’t have to.”
He sits back, a frown flickering. “You don’t want me to see you soon? Because of what I said about…”
“About not letting the person you care about the most face tough stuff on their own?” I narrow my eyes. “That depends on if you meant me.”
His smile mirrors his first one of the morning, slow and so sweet. It’s only interrupted by the whistle of a tourist steam train chugging into the station.
“But seriously, think about it,” I suggest on the way out of the van. “Maybe you should go to that painting party.” Joe’s frown flickers again as he hurries with me to the station entrance, and I hurry just as quickly to say, “After what you just told your dad, you all being in the same room together kinda sounds important.” Plus, all that talk about making repairs with his brother has only added to a picture of two halves that are a stronger whole together.
I can’t come between that.
White clouds come between us instead once we’re on the platform separating an old steam train from the fast train to London that Joe needs. That mist clears, and I search Joe’s face as another whistle blows. “What you said earlier. You know I feel the same, yeah?”
I don’t know if he heard me over the blast of that whistle. Hurrying passengers divide us before I can confess that care isn’t strong enough for how I feel about him.
Joe boards with them to take a window seat I’m tugged towards as if a crab line vibrates between us. It’s actually my phone, which only vibrates with this insistence for one reason.
Mum.
I palm my handset as Joe answers my question by nodding from his seat in the train, then blowing me a kiss like I did just this morning.
I catch it, almost dropping my phone in the process, and up until now, I’ve been in a hurry. Time stops when my screen fills with an email sent from a prison.
Got the photos you sent of Joe.
That should be good news after so many of the shots I sent never made it to her.
This isn’t.
Don’t let him anywhere near Lenny.
I can’t parse what I’m reading. Can’t compute why this email also instructs me to come a day early for an emergency welfare visit. It might as well be written in the same code only someone like Joe’s brother could make sense of. I’m still trying to understand when I get to the closing sentences of this desperate message.
Joe’s train starts to pull out of the station. I lurch like it does. Then I stagger towards his window, walking alongside to turn my phone to face him, and a frown returns that makes him look so much like his brother.
Joe shaking his head means he must have read her next lines.
You can’t trust him. Not after he watched the drug squad destroy our home.
Joe shakes his head again, so I guess he’s read another damning sentence.
He didn’t only watch.
Steam blasts from the train on the other side of the platform.
I still get a close-up view of Joe reading what feels like a final nail in a happy-family coffin.
He led the drug squad to me.