THREE YEARS LATER . . . 3 page

‘I know.’

I watched Callum’s profile – unreadable and implacable. And it was my fault. I understood that much, even if I didn’t quite understand what I’d done.

‘It’s just a word, Callum.’

‘Just a word . . .’ Callum repeated slowly.

‘Sticks and stones, Callum. It’s one word, that’s all,’ I pleaded.

‘Sephy, if you’d slapped me or punched me or even stabbed me, sooner or later it would’ve stopped hurting. Sooner or later. But I’ll never forget what you called me, Sephy. Never. Not if I live to be five hundred.’

I wiped my cheeks but the tears still came. ‘I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean you. I was . . . I was trying to help.’

Callum looked at me then and the expression on his face made my tears flow faster. ‘Sephy . . .’

‘Please. I’m so sorry.’ I dreaded to hear what he was going to say next.

‘Sephy, maybe we shouldn’t see so much of each other any more . . .’

‘Callum, no. I said I was sorry.’

‘And that makes everything all right, does it?’

‘No, it doesn’t. Not even close. But don’t do this. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Callum turned away. I held my breath.

‘You must promise me something,’ he said softly.

‘Anything.’

‘You must promise me that you’ll never ever use that word again.’

Why couldn’t he understand that I hadn’t been talking about him? It was just a word. A word Dad had used. But it was a word that had hurt my best friend. A word that was now hurting me so very, very much. I hadn’t fully realized just how powerful words could be before this. Whoever came up with the saying ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’ was talking out of his or her armpit.

‘Promise me,’ Callum insisted.

‘I promise.’

We both turned to look out across the sea then. I knew I should go home. I was so late for dinner it was almost breakfast-time. Mother would go ballistic. But I wasn’t going to leave first. I didn’t want to get up. So I didn’t. I shivered, even though the evening wasn’t cold.

Callum took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. It smelt of soap, and chips – and him. I hugged it tighter around me.

‘What about you?’ I asked.

‘What about me?’ he replied.

‘Aren’t you going to get cold?’

‘I’ll survive.’

I moved in closer and put my head on his shoulder. His body stiffened and for a moment I thought he was going to move away, but then he relaxed and though he didn’t hug me the way he usually did, he didn’t shrug me off either. One word . . . one word had caused all this trouble between us. If I lived to be five million, I would never, ever say that horrible word again. Ever. The sun was beginning to set now, burning the sky pink and orange. We sat and watched in silence.

‘I’ve been thinking it over and . . . well, we can still be together outside school but I don’t think you should talk to me when we’re in school,’ Callum said.

I was more than stunned. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘I don’t want you to lose any of your friends because of me. I know how much they mean to you.’

‘You’re my friend too.’

‘Not when we’re both at school I’m not,’ Callum told me.

‘But that’s just silly.’

‘Is it?’

My mouth opened and closed like a drowning fish, but what could I say? Callum stood up.

‘I have to go home now. You coming?’

I shook my head.

‘Your mum will hit the roof and then the nearest orbiting satellite!’

‘It’s Monday. She’s visiting friends,’ I told him.

‘What about your dad?’

‘You know he’s never home during the week. He’s at our town house.’

‘And Minerva?’

‘I don’t know. Probably with her boyfriend. Don’t worry about me, Callum. I’ll stay here for a little while longer.’

‘Not for too long, OK?’

‘OK.’ I handed back his jacket.

Almost reluctantly, he took it. Then he walked away. I watched, willing him to turn around, to turn back. But he didn’t. It was as if I was outside myself, watching the two of us. More and more I was beginning to feel like a spectator in my own life. I had to make a choice. I had to decide what kind of friend Callum was going to be to me. But what surprised – and upset me – was that I even had to think about it.

Eight. Callum

‘D’you know what time it is?’ Mum ranted the moment I set foot through the door. She and I rarely had any other conversation.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.

‘Your dinner’s in the oven – dried out and not fit for eating by now.’

‘It’ll be fine, Mum.’

‘So where have you been until ten o’clock at night?’ Dad surprised me by asking. He didn’t usually nag me about coming home late. That was Mum’s department.

‘Well?’ he prompted when I didn’t answer.

What did he want me to say? ‘Well, I said goodbye to Sephy at the beach almost two hours ago, but then I hid in the shadows and followed her home to make sure she got back OK. Then it took me over an hour to walk home.’ Yeah, right! That little snippet of truth would go down like a lead balloon.

‘I was just out walking. I had a lot to think about.’ And that part at least was the truth.

‘Are you OK, son?’ Dad asked. ‘I went down to Heathcroft as soon as I heard what was going on, but the police wouldn’t let me in.’

‘Why not?’

‘I had no official business on the premises – unquote.’ Dad couldn’t mask the bitterness in his voice.

‘Those rotten, stinking . . .’

‘Jude, not at the dinner table please,’ Mum admonished.

Glancing at Jude, I saw he had enough anger in him for everyone else around. He was scowling at me like I was the one who’d had Dad kept off the school premises.

‘So how was school? How were your lessons, son?’ Dad asked quietly.

The honest answer or the acceptable one?

‘I was OK, Dad,’ I fibbed. ‘Once we got into school it was all right.’

Except that the teachers had totally ignored us, and the Crosses had used any excuse to bump into us and knock our books on the floor, and even the noughts serving in the food hall had made sure they served everyone else in the queue before us. ‘It was fine.’

‘You’re in there now, Callum. Don’t let any dagger swine drive you out – you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘Excuse me.’ Mum rounded on Dad. ‘But when I say I don’t want swearing at the dinner table, that applies to everyone – including you.’

‘Sorry, love,’ Dad said ruefully, winking conspiratorially at us into the bargain.

‘You were on the telly,’ Jude told me. ‘So was your “friend”. The whole world heard what she said . . .’

‘She didn’t mean it like that.’ The words slipped out before I could stop them. Big mistake.

‘She didn’t mean it?’ Jude scoffed. ‘Have you lost your mind? How can you not mean to say something like that? She meant it all right.’

‘That family are all the same.’ Mum sniffed. ‘I see Miss Sephy is growing up to be just like her mother.’

I had to bite my lip at that. I knew better than to argue.

‘You’re better off out of that house,’ Dad told Mum vehemently.

‘You don’t have to tell me twice,’ Mum agreed at once. ‘I miss the money but I wouldn’t go back for all the stars in space. Anyone who can put up with that stuck-up cow Mrs Hadley is a better person than me.’

‘You were friends once . . .’ I reminded her, spooning some totally dried out mashed potato into my mouth.

‘Friends? We were never friends,’ Mum snorted. ‘She patronised me and I put up with it ’cause I needed a job – that’s all.’

That wasn’t how I remembered it. A few years ago and a lifetime away, Mum and Mrs Hadley had been really close. Mum was Minerva’s, then Sephy’s, nanny and a general mother’s helper from the time Minerva was born. In fact, I was closer to Sephy than I’d ever been to anyone, even my own sister Lynette who was my best friend in this house. I remembered when I was a toddler and Sephy was just a baby – I’d helped to bathe her and change her nappy. And when she got older, we played hide-and-seek and catch and tag in the Hadley grounds, whilst Mum and sometimes Mrs Hadley watched us and chatted and laughed. I still don’t know what happened to change all that. One week Mrs Hadley and Mum were like best friends and the next week, Mum and I were no longer welcome anywhere near the Hadley house. That was over three years ago now.

I still sometimes wondered how Mrs Hadley expected Sephy and I to go from being so close to not seeing each other at all? Sephy told her it was impossible. I told my mum the same thing. Neither of them listened. But it didn’t matter. Sephy and I still saw each other at least every other day and we’d never stop. We’d promised each other. The most sacred of promises – an oath sealed with our blood. We just couldn’t tell anyone about it, that’s all. We had our own world, our own secret place on the beach where no-one went and where no-one would ever find us – not if they didn’t know where to look. It was a small space, tiny really, but it was ours.

‘Shush, everyone. The news is on,’ Dad admonished.

I held my breath.

What happened at Heathcroft wasn’t the first item of news at least. The first item was about the Liberation Militia.

‘Today Kamal Hadley, Home Office Minister, declared that there would be no hiding place, no safe haven for those noughts misguided enough to join the Liberation Militia.’ The newscaster’s face disappeared to be replaced by that of Sephy’s dad outside the Houses of Parliament. His face seemed to fill the whole screen.

‘Isn’t it true, Mr Hadley, that your government’s decision to allow selected noughts in our schools was as a direct result of pressure from the Liberation Militia?’

‘Not at all,’ Sephy’s dad immediately denied. ‘This government does not allow itself to be blackmailed by an illegal terrorist group. We acted on a P.E.C. directive that this government had been on the verge of implementing anyway.’

My dad snorted at that.

‘Our decision to allow the crème-de-la-crème of nought youth to join our educational institutions makes sound social and economic sense. In a civilized society, equality of education for those noughts with sufficient aptitude . . .’

I tuned out at that. Sephy’s dad hadn’t changed since the last time I’d spoken to him which was yonks ago now. He never used one word where twenty patronizing ones would do. I didn’t like him much. Correction! Pompous twit! I didn’t like him at all. I didn’t like any of Sephy’s family. They were all the same. Minerva was a snob. Her mum was a bitch and her dad was a git. They all looked at us noughts through their nostrils.

‘The Liberation Militia are misguided terrorists and we will leave no stone unturned in our efforts to bring them to justice . . .’ Sephy’s dad was still at it. I was about to mentally switch off again, but then Jude did something that brought me out of my daydream.

‘Long live the Liberation Militia!’ My brother punched the air, his fingers locked in a fist so tight that I reckoned it would surely hurt to straighten them again.

‘Too right, son.’ Dad and Jude exchanged a knowing look, before they both turned back to the telly. I frowned at them, then turned to look at Mum. She immediately glanced away. I looked back at Jude and Dad. There was something going on. Something to do with the Liberation Militia and my brother and my dad. I didn’t mind that. What I did mind was that I was being excluded.

‘There have been unconfirmed reports that the car bomb found outside the International Trade Centre last month was the work of the Liberation Militia,’ the newscaster continued. ‘What attempts are being made to find those responsible?’

‘I can tell you that our highest priority is to find those responsible and bring them to swift and irrevocable justice. Political terrorism which results in the death or serious injury of even one Cross always has been and always will be a capital crime. Those found guilty will suffer the death sentence, no two ways about it . . .’

Blah! Blah! Blah! Sephy’s dad droned on for at least another minute, not letting the newscaster get a word in edgeways, sideways or any other ways. I tuned out again, waiting for him to finish, hoping he wouldn’t.

Nine. Sephy

‘Sephy, your dad’s on the telly.’ Mother opened my bedroom door to tell me.

I mean, big deal! Mother still thought I was five, bouncing up and down with excitement at the sight of my daddy on the TV.

‘Sephy!’

‘Yes, Mother. I’m watching.’ I pressed my TV remote control to switch it on. Anything for a quiet life! I got the right channel first time. How lucky!

‘. . . is misguided to say the least.’ Dad didn’t look too pleased. ‘Minister Pelango is very young and doesn’t realize that the rate of change in our society needs to be slow and steady . . .’

‘Any slower and we’d be going backwards,’ Minister Pelango interjected.

Dad didn’t looked too pleased at that either, though it made me smile.

‘We call ourselves civilized, yet noughts have more rights in other P.E.C. countries than they do here,’ Pelango continued.

‘And in plenty of other countries they have a lot less,’ Dad snapped back.

‘And that makes the way we treat them right, does it?’

‘If our ruling party politics don’t gel with Mr Pelango’s beliefs, then maybe he should do the honourable thing and resign his seat on the government,’ Dad said silkily.

‘No chance!’ came the immediate reply. ‘Too many people in this government live in the past. It’s my duty to drag them into the present or none of us – noughts or Crosses – will have a decent future.’

Mum left my room. The click of my bedroom door closing was immediately followed by the press of another TV channel button. I didn’t care which one. Any other channel would do. I’d grown up with politics, politics, politics being rammed down my throat. I wasn’t interested in being caught up in it in any manner, shape or form. Why couldn’t Mother understand that?

Ten. Callum

When at last Kamal Hadley had stopped dribbling on, Heathcroft School appeared on the telly. Of course, they didn’t bother showing the fact that the police officers who were meant to be guarding us were letting the crowd get to us to poke and pinch and punch. Somehow the camera was never in the right place to show that the whole back of my jacket was awash with Cross spit. Surprise! Surprise! There wasn’t even a hint of any of that.

‘The noughts admitted to Heathcroft High School met with some hostility today . . .’ the news reporter began.

Some hostility? This reporter’s middle name was obviously ‘Euphy’, short for Euphemism!

‘Police officers were drafted in to keep the peace as it was feared that nought extremists might try to take advantage of the volatile situation . . .’ the newscaster continued.

Jude started muttering under his breath and to be honest, I didn’t blame him. Even I was disgusted at that and I had a much longer fuse than my brother. Lynette took hold of my hand. She smiled at me and I could feel the anger seeping out of my body. Only Lynette and Sephy could do that – make all the rage that sometimes threatened to blow up inside me just fade to nothing. But sometimes . . . sometimes I got so angry that I scared even myself.

The image on the screen cut from Shania falling over to Sephy shouting at the crowd. The TV camera zoomed in for a close-up. The newscaster announced as a voiceover, ‘Persephone Hadley, daughter of Kamal Hadley, had a hand in stopping the fracas . . .’

‘I’m going up to my room. I’ve got homework.’ I leapt to my feet.

I was too late. Those words spilt out of the telly before I could leave. I knew what to expect, what she was going to say, and it still made me wince. I left the room before anyone could say a word to me, but I knew my entire family was watching me leave. Closing the door quietly behind me, I leaned against it and took a deep breath.

Sephy . . .

‘They are all the same,’ I heard Jude scoff. ‘Crosses and noughts will never live in peace, let alone be friends and Callum’s just fooling himself if he thinks that Cross girl cares one clipped toenail about him. When push comes to shove she’ll dump him so fast his body will turn pear-shaped!’

‘You and I may know that, but he doesn’t,’ Dad surprised me by saying.

‘Well, the sooner he learns it, the better,’ Mum sighed.

‘And are you going to be the one that tells him?’ Dad asked. ‘’Cause I’m not.’

‘There’s not one of those Crosses that can be trusted,’ Jude declared.

No-one disagreed.

‘Someone should tell Callum the truth. Otherwise he’s going to get hurt,’ Jude continued.

‘Are you volunteering?’ asked Dad.

‘I will, if I have to,’ replied Jude.

‘No! No, I’ll do it,’ Mum said. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘When?’

‘When I get round to it. Now back off, both of you,’ Mum snapped.

I couldn’t listen to any more. I went upstairs, my shoulders slumped, my head hanging down. For the first time ever, I wondered if maybe my family was right and I was wrong.

Eleven. Sephy

It was time for History. I hate History. It’s a total waste of time. There was only one good thing about it. Callum was down to take History as well. My friend Claire tried to sit next to me.

‘Er . . . Claire, could you sit somewhere else today. I’m saving this seat for someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone.’

Claire gave me a scathing look. ‘Be like that then.’ And she flounced off without a backwards glance. I sighed and watched the door eagerly. Callum and the other noughts were the last ones to come in. Others barged past them and Callum let them get away with it. I wouldn’t have.

I smiled at Callum and indicated the seat next to me. Callum looked at me, then looked away and sat next to another nought. Others in the class looked from me to him and back again. My face burned with humiliation. How could he show me up like that? How could he? I know what he’d said the previous evening, but I wanted to show him I didn’t care who knew we were friends. It didn’t bother me one little bit. So why would Callum turn his back on me like that?

Mr Jason entered the room and launched into the lesson before he’d even shut the door. And within the space of two minutes it was clear he was in a foul mood – even worse than usual. Nobody could do anything right, especially the noughts.

‘Who can tell me one of the significant events of the year 146 BC?’ Mr Jason asked tersely.

146 BC! I mean, who cared?!! I decided to wind down and sleep with my eyes open until the lesson was over. Callum bent down to get something out of his bag. From my position I couldn’t see what. CRACK! Mr Jason smacked a big heavy History textbook down on Callum’s desk.

‘What’s the matter, boy?’ Mr Jason asked. ‘Too poor to even pay attention?’

Callum didn’t answer. Some in the class tittered. A few didn’t. Mr Jason was being a real pig and when he walked past me, I glared at him to let him know exactly what I thought about the way he was carrying on. That put his back up as well. I got told off twice in less than thirty minutes. But I didn’t care. Mr Jason wasn’t important. I had other things on my mind – like how to prove to Callum that I really didn’t care if people knew he was my friend. In fact, I was proud of it. But how to do it…? And then it came to me! Eureka! The perfect solution. If only this lesson would hurry up and finish. All I could think about was lunch-time. I was desperate to be one of the first to get to the food hall. When at last the buzzer sounded, I was the first out of my chair. Trying to be the first out of the room, I barged past my teacher.

‘Er, d’you mind?’

‘Sorry, sir.’ I tried to carry on moving past him. Big mistake!

‘As you’re in such a tearing hurry you can wait until last to leave the classroom.’

‘But, sir…’

Mr Jason raised a warning hand. ‘Any arguments and you’ll be lucky to get lunch at all.’

I shut up. Mr Jason was a real, ill-tempered, ill-mannered slug. And he had to toil hard to work his way up to that. So I waited whilst everyone else grinned smugly at me as they strolled past. I was late getting to the food hall when today of all days I wanted to be one of the first. Callum and the other noughts already had their food and were sitting down by the time I walked through the food-hall doors. All the noughts were sitting at a table by themselves, just like yesterday.

I lined up in the food queue. I wasn’t going to do anything out of the ordinary, so why was my heart bumping in such a strange way? I collected my chicken and mushroom pie with the usual over-boiled trimmings, my jam tart with over-sweet custard and my carton of milk and, taking a deep breath, I headed for Callum’s table. Callum and the other noughts glanced up as I approached their table, only to look away again almost immediately.

‘D’you mind if I join you?’

They all looked so shocked, it wasn’t even funny. The other noughts continued to look stunned, but Callum’s expression turned. I sat down before he could say no and before I could bottle out.

‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ he snapped.

‘Eating my lunch,’ I replied before cutting into my pie. I tried to smile at the other three noughts but they instantly returned to eating their food.

‘Hi. I’m Sephy Hadley.’ I thrust my hand under the nose of the nought girl I was sitting next to. She had a dark brown plaster on her forehead which stuck out on her pale white skin like a throbbing thumb. ‘Welcome to Heathcroft.’

She looked at my hand like it was about to bite her. Wiping her own hand on her tunic, she then took mine and shook it slowly.

‘I’m Shania,’ she said softly.

‘That’s a pretty name. What does it mean?’ I asked.

Shania shrugged. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘My mother told me my name means “serene night”,’ I laughed. ‘But Callum will tell you I’m anything but serene!’

Shania smiled at me. It was tentative and brief but at least it was genuine – whilst it lasted.

‘How’s your head?’ I asked, pointing at the plaster.

‘It’s OK. It’ll take more than a stone step to dent my head.’

I smiled. ‘That plaster’s a bit noticeable.’

‘They don’t sell pink plasters. Only dark brown ones.’ Shania shrugged.

My eyes widened at that. I’d never really thought about it before, but she was right. I’d never seen any pink plasters. Plasters were the colour of us Crosses, not the noughts.

‘Sephy, just what d’you think you’re doing?’ Mrs Bawden, the deputy headmistress, appeared from nowhere to scowl down at me.

‘Pardon?’

‘What’re you doing?’

‘I’m eating my lunch.’ I frowned.

‘Don’t be facetious.’

‘I’m not. I’m eating my lunch.’

‘Get back to your own table – at once.’ Mrs Bawden looked like she was about to erupt kittens.

I looked around. I was now the centre of attention – the very last thing I’d wanted.

‘B-but I’m sitting h-here,’ I stammered.

‘Get back to your own table – NOW!’

What table? I didn’t have my own table. And then it dawned on me exactly what Mrs Bawden meant. She wasn’t talking about me getting back to my own table. She was talking about me getting back to my own kind. I glanced around. Callum and the others weren’t looking at me. Everyone else was. They weren’t.

‘I’m sitting with my friend, Callum,’ I whispered. I could hardly hear my own voice so I have no idea how Mrs Bawden heard me – but she did. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my chair. I was still holding on to my tray, and everything on it went flying.

‘Persephone Hadley, you will come with me.’ Mrs Bawden yanked me away from the table and dragged me across the food hall. I tried to twist away from her, but she had a grip like a python on steroids. I turned my head this way and that. Wasn’t anyone going to do anything? Not from the look at it. I twisted sharply to look at Callum. He was watching but the moment I caught his eye, he looked away. I stopped struggling after that. I straightened up and followed Mrs Bawden to the headmaster’s office.

Callum had turned away from me. I didn’t care about the rest, but I cared about that. He’d turned away . . . Well, I was slow getting the message, but I’d finally got it. God knows, I’d finally got it.

Twelve. Callum

I had to get out of there. I left my lunch half-eaten and walked out of the food hall without saying a word to any of the others.

I had to get out of there.

I walked out of the food hall and out of the building and out of the school, my steps growing ever faster and more frantic – until by the time I was out of the school gates, I was running. Running until my back ached and my feet hurt and my heart was ready to burst and still I kept running. I ran all the way out of the town and down to the beach. I collapsed onto the cool sand, my body bathed in sweat. I lay on my stomach and punched the sand. And again, and again. Until I was pounding it with both fists. Until my knuckles were red raw and bleeding.

And I wished more than anything else in the world that the sand beneath my fists was Sephy’s face.

Thirteen. Sephy

I spotted our Mercedes in its usual place, just outside the main school building. As I approached it, a strange man got out and opened one of the back doors for me. He had mousy-brown hair which lay flat and lank against his head, and ice-light, ghost-like blue eyes.

‘Who are you?’

‘Karl, your new driver.’

‘Where’s Harry?’ I asked, climbing into the car.

‘He decided to move on.’

‘Without telling me?’

Karl shrugged and slammed the door shut. I watched him sit behind the wheel and start the car, a frown digging deep into my face.

‘Where did he move on to?’

‘I don’t know, Miss.’

‘Why did he want to leave?’

‘I don’t know that either.’

‘Where does Harry live?’

‘Why, Miss Sephy?’

‘I’d like to send him a Good Luck card.’

‘If you give it to me, Miss, I’ll make sure he gets it.’

Karl’s eyes and mine met in the internal driver’s mirror. ‘OK,’ I said at last. What else could I say?

Harry wouldn’t go away and leave me, not without saying goodbye first. I knew he wouldn’t – just as surely as I knew my own name. Something horrible then occurred to me.

‘You . . . you r-really are my new driver, aren’t you?’

‘Of course, Miss Sephy. Your mother employed me this morning. I can show you my ID card if you’d like.’ Karl’s smile flitted fleetingly across his face.

‘No, that’s OK,’ I said. I sat back in my seat and clipped up my seat-belt.

We drove off. I saw some others, pointing to me and whispering or laughing or both as our car went past. My sitting at the noughts table had spread around the school like a bad dose of the flu. And I knew I hadn’t heard the end of it. Mr Corsa threatened that he was going to send a letter home to my mum and e-mail my dad. No doubt a protest to the Queen was in the offing too. And I wouldn’t have minded any of that if Callum hadn’t turned his back on me. But he had. And I was never going to forget it. He had looked away from me like . . . like he didn’t know me. Like I was nothing. Maybe Mother was right, after all. Maybe Crosses and noughts could never be friends. Maybe there was too much difference between us.

Did I really believe that?

I didn’t know what I believed any more.

Fourteen. Callum

I don’t know how long I sat there, watching the sun burn into the sky as it set, watching the night grow steadily more secretive. Why had my life suddenly become so complicated? For the last year all I could think about, or even dream about, was going to school. Sephy’s school. I was so busy concentrating on getting into Heathcroft that I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d do when I actually got there. I hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to be so . . . unwanted. And what was the point anyway? It wasn’t as if I’d get a decent job after it. No Cross would ever employ me for more than the most mundane, menial job, so why bother? But I wanted to learn. A yawning hole deep inside me was begging to be filled up with words and thoughts and ideas and facts and fictions. But if I did that, what would I do with the rest of my life? What would I be? How could I ever be truly happy knowing that I could do so much more, be so much more, than I would ever be allowed?

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 793