The Fall

by Tristan Bancks

  ‘Read it,’ he says, and I feel a tightness in my throat.

  I slowly unfold it and stare. It’s the letter that I sent to him when I was eight. I can’t believe he kept it. His answers are scrawled in blue pen next to my questions.

  ‘Turn it over,’ Harry says.

  I do and there’s a letter from him.

  Dear Sam

  I have an apology to make. Many apologies, but let’s do it all in one. This is the hardest and most important thing I’ve ever written and I know I’ll mess it up. I’m allergic to soppiness and emotion, which may be why I’m so lonely.

  I’ve been so focused on my work for years that I think I’ve probably pushed away anything else that could have given me happiness. I lost your mum and she’s the best person I ever met.

  Spending these past couple of weeks with you, seeing how funny, smart and brave you are, I wish I’d been a better father. I’ve been kidnapped, shot and I almost lost you. That’s enough to jolt me out of my selfishness, for the moment at least. You’ve un-stuck me. I hope I’m not too late to earn back your trust.

  I’m not asking you to forgive me. Only that you’ll spend a bit more time with me. If your mum’s okay with it. I promise not to get you kidnapped again. Or to go out drinking when you ask me a few questions about the past. I have a new place already, down by the beach and, as far as I know, there are no crooked cops using the apartment upstairs for covert meetings.

  I need some help with technology, too. Maybe you could come and stay every couple of weeks and teach me a few things, help me with the stories I’m working on. I’m also wondering if you could install some hidden cameras for me. (Joke.)

  Have a think about it.

  Love, Dad

  I look up at him.

  ‘You signed it “Dad”,’ I say.

  He nods.

  ‘Not “Harry”?’

  He shakes his head.

  I reach over and give him a hug, resting my head on his chest. I hear his heart beating. It’s going pretty fast. Feeling the rough, bristly warmth of him I want to forgive him for everything he’s ever done. Or hasn’t done. But if I did, I know I’d only be doing it to please him and I don’t need to do that. He’s not just a superhero any more.

  ‘There’s your mum,’ he says. I feel the words vibrate through him.

  I turn to look down the path and she’s standing there with the screen door half-open. She smiles and waves. I swing open the car door and light and air flood in. Home looks different now. It’s the first time I’ve been here in sixteen days – a week in the city and nine days in hospital – the longest I’ve ever been away. But it’s not just time. There’s something else. The lawns have been mowed. Mum and I never mow the lawn. The gardens have been … gardened. Or something. Mum looks like she’s wearing a dress, too. She never wears dresses.

  My dad wrestles the wheelchair out of the boot and rolls it around to my side of the car, then lifts me into it. My back and leg hurt but I’ve felt much greater pain than this so I suck it up. He eases the chair down the path. Mum wears a half-smile. She looks so happy to see me but I bet she feels weird about my dad being here.

  He’s behind me. Mum in front. Me in the middle.

  I don’t wish that they were going to get back together again or any of that soppy sitcom stuff. I can see why my parents aren’t meant to be together. It’s just that this moment, right now, is the best moment of my life so far. Nine days ago was the worst day of my life and this one is the best. And it’s not that I want it to last forever. I’m just so deeply in it that it feels like forever. That feeling flows through the three of us.

  Magic waddle-runs up the path to greet us and I scruff her around the neck. She’s stayed with Mum for most of the time I’ve been in hospital. Dad has stayed a few nights in the Alpine Motor Inn on the highway. He leans down and Magic licks his face and puts her front paws up on his hands. Then Mum’s arm is around me and she kisses me on the side of the head.

  ‘Guess who’s here?’ she says.

  Two figures appear behind Mum and I feel a grin roar across my face.

  ‘Surprise!’ Scarlet says. Her mother smiles and says hello. If it weren’t for them calling the police or for Scarlet’s phone, things would have turned out very differently.

  My chair comes to rest at the front door and Scarlet bends down to hug me.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.

  ‘Pretty good,’ I say. She stands up and I thank her and her mum. It’s kind of hard to show how grateful you are to someone who saved your life.

  ‘Well …’ says Dad. ‘I’d better go.’

  I crane my neck to look up at him.

  ‘You be good,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder. ‘I hope you’ll take me up on that offer.’

  ‘I will,’ I say, gripping the letter tighter in my hand. I don’t want him to go. It’s quiet and a bit awkward for a moment.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’ Mum says quickly, as though it was a dare.

  ‘I’d better not,’ he says.

  ‘Why not?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ I ask.

  ‘I just …’ He looks down at me.

  I give him puppy dog eyes, my best Magic impersonation.

  His shoulders drop. ‘Yeah, all right. Why not? Thanks, Lisa.’

  Mum takes the front of my chair and Dad takes the back and they lift me up the front step.

  Mum makes tea and I talk to Scarlet and my parents speak to one another and I feel like I’m floating over it all, watching it from above, drinking it all in. Three of these people saved my life and one gave birth to me in the first place.

  After Dad finishes his three-bag tea I see him hand an envelope to Mum and mutter something to her while she’s stacking the dishwasher. Mum brushes him off but he keeps at her. From the way they speak I get the feeling it might be money. I don’t imagine it’s nine years’ back payment but maybe it’s a start. She puts it in the cupboard with the bills and stuff next to the fridge and Dad comes to shake my hand.

  ‘Not this weekend but the weekend after,’ he says.

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Your mum and I have arranged for you to take care of Magic for a bit,’ he says.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Just until I can sneak her into my new apartment. The real estate agent’s not a big dog fan. But Magic looks like she’s lost weight. Make sure you don’t starve her.’

  ‘I think Mum might have been feeding her actual dog food rather than Thai chicken pizza and choc-chip biscuits,’ I say.

  We shake hands, he says goodbye and he’s off up the path.

  Scarlet and her mum leave soon after. Back to the apartment building. Scarlet says she’s not scared though. Mick Kelly is in jail awaiting trial and they reckon he won’t be out for a while. The Hills came back early from their trip after hearing what happened in their apartment. Scarlet says she’ll come visit when I stay at Dad’s new place. She’s older and taller and smarter so I know she doesn’t have to, but she says she wants to, which is cool.

  Then it’s just me and Mum again. Back to normal, with the house creaking and expanding around us in the afternoon sun. Only it’s not normal. I died and came back to life. Literally died. Something in the universe has shifted now, something major. This is what it took for me to not be angry any more. It’s almost funny.

  ‘What would you like for dinner?’ Mum asks.

  ‘I’m cooking,’ I say.

  ‘What?’ she asks, like she doesn’t understand the words I said.

  ‘Spaghetti à la Garner.’

  She snorts. ‘You?’

  ‘Don’t laugh. I had to cook at Dad’s one night and all he had was an old pack of spaghetti, a couple of random vegetables and a slightly rusty can of whole peeled tomatoes.’

  ‘Wow. Sounds delicious,’ she says.

  ‘It’ll be good. Seriously. I’m a chef.’

  ‘Okay. It’ll be a bit difficult in the chair.’

  ‘I’
ll be fine. You relax. Read a book or something.’

  She arches her brows.

  I wheel my chair around the big island bench that divides the lounge room from the kitchen. Mum sits tentatively on the edge of the couch.

  ‘Read!’ I say.

  She picks her book up off the side table, a John D MacDonald novel that she started reading about a year ago, and starts to flick through the pages to find her spot. I wheel over to the pantry and stare up at the vast array of ingredients. It’s so strange to see a kitchen cupboard with more than five items in it.

  ‘Mum, where do we keep the spaghetti?’ I ask.

  She helps me find everything. We even have stuff like garlic and basil for flavour. It’s incredible. She puts the pot of hot water on the stove to boil and helps me up out of my wheelchair onto a stool at the kitchen bench so that I can chop things and reach the stove.

  I send her back to the couch and she starts to read her book again. She looks nervous at first, the way someone does when they think you may be about to burn down their house or poison them. These are both strong possibilities so I understand her concern.

  When we finally sit down to eat, the sauce tastes weird and the spaghetti has stuck together, making it like gluey rope. But Mum demolishes hers and says it’s the best thing she’s eaten in ages. This has to be a lie but she kind of looks like she means it. For me, it’s strange to eat a dinner at home that hasn’t been frozen with a Post-it note on the lid.

  While we eat I ask her about a few things I’ve been wondering. Just little things like, ‘Why do people die?’ and ‘What is justice?’ and ‘Do you think Dad really means it when he says I can stay at his place?’ and ‘When I catch a plane will the staples in my knee set off the metal detector?’ and ‘If even senior police officers can make such bad mistakes, what hope is there for the rest of us?’ and ‘Why do people cry and laugh at funerals?’ and ‘Is being an adult harder or easier than being a teenager?’ and ‘What do you want for dessert?’ and a few other things. Mum does the best she can but I get the feeling I’m going to have to come up with my own answers to these questions. Except for dessert. She wants frozen berries with custard so we have that.

  Later, I join her on the couch and start work on a brand new Harry Garner: Crime Reporter comic. Magic is curled up on the floor, keeping my feet warm. I already know what the comic is going to be about. It will be based on the story that I’ve just told you. Harry’s not so perfect any more. Not a jujitsu expert or a ladies’ man, none of that James Bond stuff. He has a crooked spine and walks with a limp. He’s been shot in the knee and he’s old and gruff. He doesn’t have all the answers. But he’s whip-smart and he’s prepared to put his life on the line for his brilliant, mostly not-angry kid tech-expert assistant. It’s going to be the best comic I’ve ever made. I might even let someone else read it.

  Mum is engrossed in her book and she looks happy. She hasn’t looked that way in a long time. Everything is different now.

  She sees me watching her. I realise my legs are jiggling up and down. She narrows her eyes and says, ‘Have you taken your magnesium?’

  Almost everything.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  SAM GARNER’S TEN COMMANDMENTS OF LIFE

  I’ve learnt a lot over the past few weeks. This morning I was in my coach Margo’s waiting room. She’s helping me work through everything that’s happened. I pulled my dad’s ‘Ten Commandments of Crime Reporting’ article out of my wallet and got inspired like I always do. But I also realised that every one of those commandments could be applied to living a good life, not just reporting crime. So I decided to write my own version of them. Here it is. My manifesto for life. (What I’ve learnt is in italics.)

  God is in the details. Pay attention to this moment right now. Stop worrying so much.

  Make contacts. Reach out to other people, even if they make life difficult sometimes.

  Watch what you say about people. Try to think the best of other humans. Everyone is trying their best with what they’ve got.

  You need to be clear with people which side of the law you sit on. Do what you know is right. Use your instincts.

  Don’t keep everything on a phone. I’m not sure about this one. Maybe it means ‘Back up regularly’ or ‘Keep your memories safe’ or maybe ‘Buy a notepad’?

  Never assume anything. Nothing is ever as it seems.

  Always be authentic. ‘Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.’ (I actually stole this from a magnet we have on our fridge.)

  What does the crime say about us as humans? Every choice you make says something about who you are.

  Curiosity killed the cat. Be careful of becoming too obsessed. The answers are inside yourself, not outside.

  Show determination, patience, mindfulness. Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Like all books, this one has been a labour of love. It takes me years to find the voice and pacing and to build up the layers of character, plot and theme to make a story like this. I have written it while travelling in Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Australia, on planes, trains, buses and trams and in dozens of different cafes, libraries, museums, houses, apartments and tents. (Actually, not dozens of tents, but one or two.)

  Thanks to Amber Melody for her unerring support of my creative endeavours and her belief that we can make a living and a life by creating things. Thanks to Huxley and Luca for constantly reminding me of the energy, wonder and challenges of childhood.

  Thanks to Zoe Walton, Kimberley Bennett and Jo Butler for helping to push the book to the end of the line and asking the tough questions on timing and geography and my understanding of architecture, dado rails, fire escapes, lifts, surveillance techniques, punctuation and human nature. And to Jo, Anthony Blair and Catherine Drayton for being a constant source of excellent advice and for sharing my stories with the world.

  Penguin Random House Australia has such a tight, clever and supportive team who believe in the power of children’s and teen literature and literacy to change lives. Without that team, no one would ever have a chance to read this book. So, thanks to Julie Burland, Laura Harris, Dorothy Tonkin, Zoe Bechara, Suzannah Katris, Angela Duke, Nerrilee Weir, Vicki Grundy and the rest of the editorial, design, production and sales team for their belief in my stories.

  I am also indebted to the generosity of the children’s and YA literature community – talented authors, illustrators and publishing people who work hard, share information freely, stand up for issues that matter and celebrate one another’s successes. I’m proud to be part of such a kind, selfless and kooky group of humans.

  Thank you to the booksellers, teachers, librarians and parents who share my stories with readers and inspire kids and teens to pick up a book.

  Biggest thanks go to you, the reader, for choosing this book. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tristan Bancks is a children’s and teen author with a background in acting and filmmaking. His books include the My Life series, Mac Slater series (Australia and US) and Two Wolves (On the Run in the US), a crime-mystery novel for middle-graders. Two Wolves won Honour Book in the 2015 Children’s Book Council of Australia Book of the Year Awards and was shortlisted for the Prime Minister’s Literary Awards. It also won the YABBA and KOALA Children’s Choice Awards. Tristan’s most recent book is My Life & Other Weaponised Muffins, a fifth book of weird-funny-gross, semi-autobiographical short stories. Tristan is a writer-ambassador for literacy charity Room to Read. He is excited by the future of storytelling and inspiring others to create. You can find out more about The Fall and Tristan’s other books, as well as win prizes, watch videos, play games and chat to the author, at www.tristanbancks.com.

  ABOUT TRISTAN BANCKS AND ROOM TO READ

  Tristan Bancks is a committed writer–ambassador for Room to Read, an innovative global non-profit that has impacted the lives of over ten million children in ten low-income countries through its Literacy and Girls
’ Education programs. Room to Read is changing children’s lives in Bangladesh, Cambodia, India, Laos, Nepal, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Tanzania, Vietnam and Zambia – and you can help!

  In 2012 Tristan started the Room to Read World Change Challenge in collaboration with Australian school children to build a school library in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Over the years since, Tristan, his fellow writer–ambassadors and kids in both Australia and Hong Kong have raised $100,000 to buy 100,000 books for children in low-income countries.

  For more information or to join this year’s World Change Challenge, visit http://www.tristanbancks.com/p/change-world.html, and to find out more about Room to Read, visit www.roomtoread.org.

  Books by Tristan Bancks

  Two Wolves

  The Fall

  Mac Slater, Coolhunter

  Mac Slater, Imaginator

  It’s Yr Life (with Tempany Deckert)

  My Life & Other Stuff I Made Up

  My Life & Other Stuff that Went Wrong

  My Life & Other Massive Mistakes

  My Life & Other Exploding Chickens

  My Life & Other Weaponised Muffins

  Read on for a sample of Tristan Bancks’ award-winning novel

  ONE

  COPS

  ‘You keep runnin’, you’ll only go to jail tired,’ Ben Silver muttered.

  He hit the photo button on his battered video camera and took another picture. He reached across his forest set and moved the legs on two small clay figures. Ben was eye-level with the action, peering between trees made from cellophane and toilet rolls and other found things.

  He often mumbled his characters’ lines as he shot a movie. Later, after he’d filmed everything, he would record the voices and add them to the pictures. He jotted the line in his brown leather notebook: