Forty-eight. Callum

Lunch was over, without too much grief – for once. Jude had come home from heaven only knew where so we’d all eaten together – which made a change. Mum indulged in small talk, telling us all about what our neighbours and relatives and friends were up to, whilst Jude was his usual effervescent, scintillating self and didn’t say one word. No-one was particularly bothered that I didn’t have much to say either. Before I’d swallowed my last mouthful, my knife and fork clattered onto my plate and I jumped up. Grabbing my jacket off the back of the sofa, I headed for the door.

‘Where’re you going?’ Mum asked with a smile.

‘The shopping centre.’

Jude leapt up like a scalded cat. ‘Oh no you’re not.’

I frowned at him. ‘I’ll go where I ruddy like. Since when is it any of your business where I go?’

‘Callum, you don’t want to go there. Not today,’ Jude said, nervously.

‘Jude?’ Mum stood up slowly.

A tense, watchful atmosphere entered the room like chilling fog.

‘Why shouldn’t I go?’ I asked my brother.

He didn’t answer.

‘What’s going on?’ I persisted.

I turned to Mum. She was staring at Jude, a stunned look on her face. From her expression, she was obviously well ahead of me.

‘Don’t go there, Callum,’ Jude told me, pointedly.

‘But . . .’ And only then did I click.

The Liberation Militia were planning something at the Dundale. Something Jude knew about. Something my brother didn’t want me anywhere near. And then I remembered.

‘Sephy’s at the shopping centre,’ I said, horror-stricken.

‘Callum . . .’ Jude began.

I didn’t wait to hear any more. I ran out of the house, leaving the front door wide open as I raced for the shopping centre.

Forty-nine. Sephy

Mother was driving me nuts! In our five long, long hours together, I’d bitten my tongue so many times it’d swollen up to the size of a football and was choking me. If she asked me for my opinion on one more pair of shoes, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. I sipped my orange juice, grateful for the short but welcome break away from her. She’d gone back to the car park to pack away her various purchases. She was enjoying herself. I’m glad one of us was!

‘Sephy! Thank God! You have to get out of here.’

‘Callum!’ I beamed. ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘Never mind that. You’ve got to leave this place now.’

‘But I haven’t finished my drink . . .’

‘Never mind your ruddy drink. You have to leave – NOW!’

I looked at Callum then, really looked at him. He was scared. No . . . he was terrified.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t argue. Out!’ Callum told me grimly. ‘Come on.’

Callum dragged me out of my seat and towards the café door.

‘Excuse me, love, but is this boy troubling you?’ a stranger asked as I was dragged past his table.

‘No! No, he’s a friend of mine,’ I called back. ‘He wants to show me something . . .’

Callum dragged me out of the café and along the concourse and then every alarm in the world went off, at least that’s what it sounded like.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked, looking around.

‘Move it. Come on.’

And we were running towards the nearest exit. Others around us were looking around and frowning, wondering what was going on. Maybe they saw Callum and I racing for the nearest exit, maybe we started it. I don’t know. But it seemed like moments later, everyone was shouting and racing for the exits. We were amongst the first ones out of the Dundale. We stumbled out into the spring sunshine and still Callum had hold of my hand and was pulling me after him.

‘Where’re we going?’ I asked breathlessly.

‘Run. Come on,’ Callum puffed from beside me. ‘I thought I’d never find you. It took me almost half an hour to find you. Move.’

‘Callum, I’m getting a stitch,’ I protested.

‘Tough. We’ve got to keep going.’

‘Callum, enough!’ I pulled my hand out of his. ‘You’re . . .’

Then there was a flash like the very air was alight, followed a fraction of a second later by the most colossal boom. I was blown off my feet and into the air like a dry leaf in a high wind. And even from where we were, I could feel an intense heat on my back. I landed flat on my face, my arms outstretched. There was a strange ringing sound in my ears and it wouldn’t stop. For I don’t know how long, I lay in a daze. Was I dead? Was this what it felt like to die? I closed my eyes tight and covered my ears, trying to block out the incessant ringing sound – only it was inside my head, not outside. I swallowed hard and my ears popped, and the ringing stopped. Twisting around, I turned to see what on earth had happened. Billowing smoke shot out of the shopping centre. For a moment it was eerily quiet, like the end of the world. I wondered panic-stricken if the explosion had deafened me. And then I heard screaming and sirens and all hell was let loose.

I turned to Callum, who lay stunned beside me.

‘Are you OK?’ You’re not hurt?’ Callum asked anxiously, running his hands up and down my back and arms.

‘Y-you knew that was going to happen . . .’ I realized, aghast. ‘You didn’t . . . Tell me you didn’t . . .’ I shook my head. No, that was preposterous. Callum had nothing to do with whatever that explosion was. It must’ve been a bomb. But Callum didn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

But he knew.

‘Mother! Oh my God!’ I jumped to my feet and raced towards the car park across the street from the shopping centre.

I was almost across the street when I remembered Callum. I turned around.

But he was gone.

Fifty. Callum

I’d barely got the key in the lock before the front door was flung open and Mum pounced on me.

‘Where’ve you been? You look terrible. Are you all right? Where’s Jude? Isn’t he with you?’

‘I thought he was here,’ I said wearily, closing the front door behind me.

‘No, he left almost as soon as you did,’ said Mum. ‘What happened?’

‘Didn’t you hear?’ I asked, astonished.

‘Hear what?’

She should’ve heard the explosion from here. But then again, maybe not. Our house was right across town from the shopping centre.

‘It hasn’t been on the telly?’ I turned to the TV, perplexed. The news wasn’t on, just a rerun of some ridiculous detective programme where practically every low life in it was a nought. I recognized this episode. A cop was chasing a nought scumbag who’d shot and killed his partner.

‘Callum, talk to me. What happened?’

‘Mum . . .’

‘We interrupt this programme to bring you a newsflash,’ a voice suddenly declared.

My head whipped up. The telly’s most popular newsreader appeared, his expression grim. My heart began to thump in a crazy way that made me feel physically sick.

‘Please don’t let it be something bad about us noughts,’ Mum breathed.

‘Just under thirty minutes ago, a bomb exploded at the world-famous Dundale Shopping Centre. At least seven people are known to have been killed outright with scores more wounded. Casualties are being taken by ground and air ambulances to the local hospitals. All hospitals in the immediate area have been put on full alert. A warning was received from the nought group calling itself the Liberation Militia only five minutes before the bomb actually exploded.’

‘That’s a lie,’ Jude said.

Mum and I turned as one to see Jude standing in the doorway with Dad beside him. We turned back to the TV screen as Dad shut the front door.

The newsreader’s face was replaced by a TV camera at the scene. It swung around this way and that, filming the carnage of people lying on the ground, windows shattered, blood on the concourse. There was no voiceover to accompany it. No voice echoing sorrow at the devastation. No voice filled with indignation. No sound at all. Just silence.

Which made it worse.

The camera focused on one woman sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth, blood running down her forehead and into her eyes. On to the next atrocity. The camera moved in a jerky fashion as if the person holding the camera was shaking, trembling, which he or she probably was. A child knelt by a man’s side. The child was crying. The man was still. The camera was only on them for a second or two, but it was enough.

The Prime Minister appeared on the screen, his expression angry and forbidding.

‘If the Liberation Militia think this cowardly, barbaric act of terrorism is going to win over the vast population of this country to their way of thinking, then they are very much mistaken. All they’ve done is strengthen our resolve not to give in to such “people” or tactics.’

‘Dad . . .’ Jude whispered.

‘Shush.’ Dad focused on the telly and nothing else.

The newscaster’s face re-appeared. ‘A senior police officer on the scene believes that the bomb was planted in a café bin inside the shopping centre but stated that it was too early to speculate. He did promise however that the perpetrators of this crime would be brought to swift justice. There will be more information about this in our main news bulletin after the current programme. Once again, a bomb has gone off in the Dundale Shopping Centre, killing at least seven people.’

The detective programme returned just as the cop gave a flying tackle and brought the killer nought to the ground.

‘Dad? What happened? You said . . .’

‘Shush, boy,’ Dad admonished, looking at Mum.

Mum used the remote to switch off the telly. Then she turned to look directly at Dad. ‘I’m going to ask you something, Ryan, and I want your solemn promise that you’re going to tell me the truth.’

‘Not now, Meggie.’ Dad headed for the stairs. Mum instantly moved to block his way.

‘Yes, now. Did you or Jude plant that bomb?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Damn it, Ryan, don’t treat me like a cretin. Promise me you had nothing to do with this business.’

Dad didn’t speak. He regarded Mum, defiance in every bitter twist and turn of his expression. ‘What I did or didn’t do is none of your business,’ Dad said at last.

I’d never heard Dad speak to Mum like that before. The pinched, angry look on Mum’s face was an indication she’d never heard that tone of voice from Dad either. Mum and Dad regarded each other, their expressions setting harder and harder. They were standing perfectly still and moving further and further apart. Mum deliberately turned her back on Dad to face Jude.

‘Jude, did you plant that bomb? NO! Don’t look at your father. I asked you a question – now answer it.’

‘We . . .’

‘Jude, keep your mouth shut, d’you hear?’ Dad ordered grimly.

‘Jude, I’m still your mother,’ Mum said very, very quietly. ‘Answer me please.’

Desperately, Jude looked from Mum to Dad and back again.

‘Jude . .?’ said Mum.

‘We had to, Mum. Our cell was ordered to do it. Some of us set it up last night, but they said they’d phone through with the warning an hour before it went off. I swear they did. They said that everyone would be evacuated in plenty of time.’ The verbal waterfall tumbled from Jude’s mouth.

‘You killed, you murdered all those people . . .’ Mum whispered, appalled.

‘Dad said they would phone through with a warning. That’s what he said. I don’t understand.’ Jude turned bewildered eyes towards Dad.

Mum’s whole body was shaking, heaving. Her lips clamped together as she struggled to stop herself from retching.

‘Meggie . . .’ Dad’s mask slipped for the first time that evening. He looked so forlorn. He touched Mum’s arm. She spun around and slapped his face so hard, there was a crack as her fingers bent right back.

‘You murdering, lying . . . You promised me there’d never be anything like this. You promised you’d only be involved in the background, in planning. You promised.’

‘I didn’t have any choice. Once you’re in, they’ve got you – and you have to do as you’re told.’

‘You don’t. You could’ve said no. You should’ve said no.’

‘I was protecting you, Meggie. And our sons. I had no choice.’

‘Protecting us from what? From something you inflicted on us in the first place?’ Mum dismissed.

‘Who d’you think I’m doing all this for?’ Dad cried.

‘I know exactly who you’re doing all this for. But she’s dead, Ryan – and murdering innocent people won’t bring her back.’

‘You’ve got it wrong, Meggie.’ Dad shook his head.

‘Have I? I warned you, Ryan. I begged you not to involve Jude in all this.’ Mum cradled her now-limp right hand in her left. One of her fingers was bent back on itself in a definite V-shape.

‘I’m sorry . . .’ Dad began. But if anything that just made things worse.

‘Sorry? Sorry? Say that to the families of all those people you murdered,’ Mum yelled at him. ‘How could you? I can’t bear to look at you.’

Dad straightened up. His eyes flint-like again. The mask was back – with a vengeance. ‘At least now the Crosses will know we mean business.’

‘All those people killed and maimed and that’s all you have to say about it?’ Mum’s voice dropped to a strange hush.

‘They were legitimate targets,’ said Dad.

Mum stared at Dad like she’d never seen him before. Silence. She turned away, wearily. ‘In that case we have nothing more to say to each other. Jude, could you take me to the hospital please? I think I’ve broken one of my fingers.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Dad insisted.

‘I don’t want you anywhere near me. Don’t you ever come near me again,’ Mum hissed. ‘Come on, Jude.’

Jude looked at Dad, unsure of what to do. Dad nodded and turned away. Jude took Mum by her left arm and led her out of the house. Only when the door shut, did Dad let go. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms around himself and bent his head, almost like he was praying. Except I knew he couldn’t be because Dad doesn’t believe in God. He began to tremble like Old Man Tony when he’s got the DTs.

‘Dear Lord, please . . .’ Dad began. But then he opened his eyes and saw me watching him. He started with surprise. A second or two passed before I saw recognition on his face. In everything that had happened, I’d been completely forgotten. By everyone.

‘I’ll . . . I’ll just go and see if Jude and Mum n-need my help,’ I stammered.

It wasn’t that I wanted to be with them so much. I just needed to get away, to be somewhere else. Dad didn’t try to stop me. I grabbed my jacket and headed out, shaking as the door shut behind me. The evening air was warm and welcome on my skin. Was I going to try and catch up with Mum or Jude or just run and run and keep going – for ever and ever, amen? I looked left, then right. My conscience made up my mind for me. I followed after Mum and Jude.

Fifty-one. Sephy

If only I could stop my mind from spinning. If only I could shut out everyone and everything for just a few hours. Just long enough to get some sleep, so that I could think clearly afterwards. But I couldn’t switch off.

After two fruitless hours of tossing and turning and counting everything from sheep to ring-tailed lemurs, I gave in and sat up, as wide awake as I’d ever been. I glanced at the silver clock on my bedside table – a fourteenth birthday present a few months ago from my father. A present he’d probably never even seen. It was still quite early. I’d gone to bed early, mainly because Mother had insisted, but even the regular beat of the second hand counting away time couldn’t lull me off to sleep tonight.

Thank goodness Mother was OK. She was still packing away her shopping when the explosion went off. Glass from the centre was everywhere, scattered across most of the car park. And Mother was in a mad panic, screaming out my name over and over. The moment she saw me, she rushed towards me and gave me a hug which lifted me right off my feet. But we were OK – which is more than could be said for a lot of poor people still caught inside the Dundale when the bomb went off.

‘We should see if we can help,’ I’d said.

‘No way. We’re leaving now. At once,’ Mother insisted.

And no amount of arguing on my part could change her mind. She wanted to put as much space between us and the Dundale Centre as fast as possible. I wasn’t sure about the wisdom of her driving us home but we’d managed to get back home OK. Mother then insisted on checking me over properly but apart from a bruise on my forehead and a couple of grazes on my knees and hands I was fine – outside.

Inside, I couldn’t get it out of my head that Callum had known about the bomb. He’d probably saved my life. But I almost wished he hadn’t. Almost.

With a sigh I got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen. There had to be something I could do to help me get to sleep. A glass of warm milk perhaps. Mother was in her room and Minnie was away, spending the weekend with her best friend.

The kitchen was dark and silent and strangely comforting. I got myself a glass from one of the cupboards and headed for the fridge. The moment I opened it, I was instantly flooded with light.

What to drink? Warm milk or cold orange juice? In the fridge door was a half-full bottle of Chardonnay. I took out the bottle and swirled around the golden liquid. My mother lived in this bottle – and others like it. She was probably upstairs now, drinking to forget today’s events. Drinking to forget a lot of things. After a moment’s hesitation, I poured myself just enough to cover the bottom of the glass. The first sip almost made me gag. It tasted like refined vinegar. What did Mother see in this stuff? I took another sip. After all, there had to be something to it if Mother liked it so much. Another sip. Then another. And another. I poured out a bit more, half a glassful this time. I drank slowly but steadily. By the time I’d finished, Chardonnay didn’t taste quite so bad. And it made me feel funny, pleasant inside. Sort of warm and squishy. Pouring out a whole glassful, I headed back to my bedroom. I sat up in bed, sipping at my wine, feeling very grown-up as I let it wash over me and through me and into me. My head started to sway from the inside out. Backwards and forwards, rocking me gently.

At last, I put down the empty glass and curled up in bed. This time I didn’t even have to think about trying to sleep. This time I left the world behind the moment my head touched the pillow.

And I slept like a log.

Fifty-two. Callum

Mercy Hospital was a sad joke. The rundown accident and emergency department was busting at the seams, and then some. It looked like many of the people there were nought casualties from the shopping centre. The walking, walk-in wounded. There were people crying, shouting, one woman was screaming at regular five-second intervals and no-one was taking the least notice of her. The air smelt of strong, cheap disinfectant. It was so strong I could almost taste it as it caught at the back of my throat, but it still couldn’t quite mask the nastier smells of vomit and blood and urine it was trying to disguise. The whole place reeked of barely organized chaos. All the nurses were noughts and all but one of the doctors. I wondered what a Cross doctor was doing at a nought hospital. Building his stairway to heaven no doubt. I looked at my brother. He’d been involved in all this chaos and carnage around us. How did it make him feel to see the result of his handiwork? But he wasn’t looking around. He was looking down at the ground, like his gaze was permanently stuck there.

‘Are you all right, Mum?’

‘I’ll survive.’

Mum sat on one of the rock-hard benches, her face rigid and set as she cradled her purple-blue, swollen finger. It looked awful. I kept stealing glances at Mum, wondering why she wasn’t crying. It must’ve hurt like blazes.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Mum,’ Jude asked, looking up at last.

‘Yes.’

Ten seconds later. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

I wasn’t surprised when she finally barked at him, ‘No, I’m not all right, Jude. I’ve broken my finger, it hurts like hell and I’m sick of your stupid questions. So just shut up, OK?’

Everyone around us turned to look. Jude lowered his head, his cheeks flaming.

Mum looked at Jude’s bent head and sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, love . . .’ She carefully removed her good hand from underneath her bad and tried to put it on Jude’s shoulder. Jude shrugged her off.

‘Jude, I’m mad at your dad and I’m taking it out on you. I’m sorry. OK?’ Mum put her hand on Jude’s shoulder again. This time he didn’t try to remove it.

‘OK?’ Mum said softly.

Jude shrugged and nodded at the same time.

‘Callum, go and get yourself a drink or something,’ said Mum.

‘Why?’

‘I want to talk to your brother in private. I have something to tell him.’

‘Mum, please . . .’ Jude began.

‘This has nothing to do with the L.M.,’ Mum told him. ‘This is about you and me.’

‘Can’t I stay?’ I asked.

‘No. Do as you’re told,’ Mum ordered.

I walked over to the vending machine on the other side of the waiting room, but I wasn’t thirsty. Besides which, I didn’t have any money. Besides which, it was out of order anyway. It looked like someone had given it a good kicking – or tried to at any rate. I leaned against it, watching Mum speak earnestly to Jude.

Then even from where I was standing, I saw all the colour drain from Jude’s face as he stared at Mum. He leapt up, profoundly shocked. Mum pulled him back down to sit next to her and carried on talking. She leaned forward towards Jude, speaking rapidly with an animation and urgency that showed she was telling Jude something serious. Very serious. I straightened up as I watched them, wondering what on earth was going on. Jude started shaking his head, slowly at first, then more and more quickly. Whatever Mum was telling him, he didn’t like it. He didn’t believe it. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I started walking back to them. By the time I reached them, Jude was looking straight ahead, his face pale, his eyes almost feverishly bright.

‘Mum?’

‘Sit down, Callum.’

I sat down next to my brother. Mum put her hand on Jude’s shoulder. He turned to look at her, still stunned.

‘Jude, darling, I . . .’

‘Excuse me.’ Jude jumped up and headed for the exit without a backwards glance.

‘Where’s he going?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Mum replied unhappily.

‘Is he coming back?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why’s he upset?’

‘Not now, Callum. OK?’

It wasn’t, but I let it drop. Almost half an hour later, Jude came back. He sat down in his original place without saying a word.

‘Are you OK, love?’ Mum asked, gently.

Jude gave her a look like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Full of hurt and love and anger. Mum actually blushed and turned away. Seconds later, Jude did the same. It was obvious, neither of them was going to tell me what was going on. The minutes crawled by as we all sat in stony silence.

‘Mrs Margaret McGregor?’ A nurse finally called out from outside the room next to the reception desk.

Mum stood up slowly, doing her best to protect her finger.

‘Mrs Margaret . . .’

‘She’s here,’ I called out. ‘She’s just coming.’

Mum tried to stand up. I attempted to help her but it was hard going.

‘Are you trying to melt into that chair or are you going to get up and help?’ I snapped at my brother.

In a daze, Jude stood up. We steadied Mum between us and all walked into the nurse’s little cubby-hole.

‘My mum needs to see a doctor,’ I said when we’d barely got our feet into the room.

‘All patients are assessed here first before they see a doctor,’ the nurse informed us.

‘That’s fine,’ Mum said, casting a warning look at me.

The nurse shut the door behind us as Mum and Jude sat down. I stood up behind him. The nurse headed back to her chair stating, ‘I’m Nurse Carter. I’ll be your primary nurse whilst you’re at the hospital.’

‘Good. Fine.’ Mum nodded.

‘Formalities first, I’m afraid. Before we can administer any kind of medical care, I’ll need to see your ID cards.’

‘Sorry?’ Mum frowned.

‘It’s the new government ruling. All patient IDs have to be checked and registered. I think it’s their way of trying to stop benefit swindles.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mum’s frown deepened. ‘I’m not even on benefits.’

‘It doesn’t matter. This hospital and every other nought hospital in the country gets a certain amount of money per patient we treat. The government are claiming that some hospitals have been trying to abuse the system. So the government’s foolproof plan,’ the sneer in Nurse Carter’s voice made it only to clear what she thought of this so-called ‘foolproof’ plan, ‘is to check each patient’s ID card photo and fingerprint, so that patients can’t hop around from hospital to hospital getting sickness certificates and hospitals can’t lie about the numbers of patients they treat. That’s the theory anyway.’

‘And if I refuse to hand over my ID card?’ Mum asked.

‘Then we can’t treat you,’ Nurse Carter shrugged, regretfully.

‘I don’t think I have it. I left it at home.’

Nurse Carter sighed. ‘Then I’ll need the ID cards of at least two other people who can vouch for you.’

‘I resent this. I’m not trying to defraud anyone,’ Mum fumed.

‘I know. And no-one here is accusing you of anything of the kind. But unfortunately we have no choice.’

Mum lifted up her hand. Although her palm was facing down and the back of her hand upwards, Mum’s index finger was a V pointing up at the yellowing ceiling.

‘Why don’t you just chop off my finger and hold it to ransom until I can prove I’m who I say I am?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ the nurse smiled. She turned her gaze on Jude and me. ‘These are your sons?’

‘Yes,’ Mum answered brusquely.

‘They’re fine boys.’

‘I think so.’ Mum allowed herself a faint trace of pride as she looked straight at Jude. ‘Very fine boys.’

As Jude blushed, I ruffled his hair.

‘Get off,’ he scowled at my grinning face.

‘Which one’s the oldest?’

Mum paused for only a moment as she remembered Lynette. ‘Jude here,’ she supplied before my brother could. ‘And this is Callum, my youngest.’

‘OK, Jude,’ Nurse Carter smiled. ‘May I see your ID card?’

Jude dug into his jacket pocket and pulled it out. I did the same. Nurse Carter swiped them through something attached to her computer. It looked a bit like a machine for checking credit cards.

‘What’s that for?’ Jude asked.

‘All done.’ The nurse handed Jude’s ID back to him. She held out her hand to give back mine.

‘What is that?’ I asked. I hadn’t failed to notice that she hadn’t answered Jude’s question.

‘It just stores your ID details and thumbprints on our hospital database.’

‘I don’t want my sons’ fingerprints stored,’ Mum leapt to her feet, her face pale. ‘Wipe it off – NOW.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs McGregor. As soon as you’re able to bring your ID card, your sons’ details will be deleted.’

‘You’re sure?’ Mum said slowly, sitting back down.

‘Positive. That’s standard hospital procedure.’ Nurse Carter looked from Mum to Jude and I and back again. She was trying – and failing – to keep the curiosity out of her expression.

Jude looked down at his hands. And then I realized what was going on. So much for my so-called intelligence. I hadn’t realized until now why Mum had panicked at the thought of Jude’s prints being on file somewhere. Today was obviously my day for being incredibly slow on the uptake.

Nurse Carter lifted Mum’s right hand by the wrist. ‘How did you do this anyway?’

‘It was an accident,’ Mum mumbled. ‘I hit something I shouldn’t’ve.’

Nurse Carter gave Mum a considering look. ‘I see,’ was all she said.

The nurse examined Mum’s hand very carefully, turning it this way and that as gently as she could. But even at her gentlest, the nurse still made beads of sweat break out over Mum’s forehead and brought a pained shimmer to her eyes.

‘Well, you’ve definitely dislocated something in there!’ Nurse Carter said at last.

I mean – duh! We knew that already. And the look Mum gave the nurse said as much.

‘Yes, I know! But it never hurts to get a second opinion on these things! You’ll need an X-ray and then we’ll get a doctor to sort you out. OK?’

Mum nodded.

We had to wait an hour before one of the only two X-ray rooms in the entire hospital became available. And then we had to wait another forty-five minutes before a doctor came to see us. The doctor finally gave Mum two injections at the base of her finger to numb any pain she might feel whilst he reset her bone, but he wriggled the needle around so much each time, that poor Mum was almost biting a chunk out of her lip by the time he’d finished. He prodded it a few times.

‘Does that hurt?’ the doctor asked.

‘No.’

‘You’re sure.’

‘Of course I’m sure. I’m hardly going to say no otherwise, am I?’

The doctor acknowledged Mum had a point with a nod of his head. He carefully manipulated her finger, feeling along it on both sides before giving it a hard tug. Jude and I winced and I for one closed my eyes. He should’ve given us some warning. I didn’t realize he was going to just yank it.

‘Did that hurt?’ he asked, immediately.

Mum shook her head. ‘The injections did,’ she said. ‘That didn’t.’

‘Good,’ the doctor smiled. He took a bandage out of his pocket and started binding Mum’s index finger to her middle finger. ‘You’ll need to keep this out of water and bandaged for the next three weeks.’

‘Three weeks! I can’t keep my fingers bandaged up for that long. I’m a housemaid. How can I clean anything with my fingers like this?’

‘You either keep them bandaged for three weeks or you can forget about being able to use them at all,’ the doctor warned. ‘You must give your finger a chance to heal.’

‘But, Doctor . . .’

‘I mean it, Mrs McGregor. If you don’t take my advice, you’ll regret it.’

Mum scowled at him, but she got the message.

‘You OK, now Mum?’ I asked as we left our curtained cubicle.

‘I’ll live.’ Mum’s voice was clipped with worry. She headed straight back to Nurse Carter’s station. Using her left hand, she knocked on the door – three smart taps that signalled business. The door opened almost immediately.

‘I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning with my ID and I’m going to trust you to delete my sons’ ID info from your database,’ Mum said.

‘Which son?’ Nurse Carter asked.

‘Both of them,’ Mum declared.

‘Don’t worry,’ Nurse Carter smiled gently. ‘It’s as good as done already. You have nothing to worry about.’

Mum visibly relaxed. ‘Good. Good! Thanks for all your help.’

‘My pleasure.’ Nurse Carter shut the door as Mum turned to leave.

Moments later we were out of A&E – thank goodness – and on our way home. It was a good forty-minute walk back home, but the early April night wasn’t too chilly. I looked up and made a wish on the first star I saw – something Sephy had taught me. The same wish made on every star I saw.

‘Is your finger still OK?’ Jude asked Mum.

‘Yes. The injections haven’t worn off yet.’ Mum smiled.

They walked side by side back home, with me trailing behind them.

Our IDs were on the hospital database. Why did that worry me so much?

Don’t be silly, I told myself. You’re agonizing over nothing.

How did the saying go? If you go looking for trouble, you will surely find it.

Fifty-three. Sephy

I limit myself to a glass a night, just enough to warm me up and chill me out. Waking up the following morning after my first night’s drinking had taught me not to overdo it. Each minute sound, each tiny movement had set off a series of massive explosions in my head like nothing I’d ever experienced before – and I never wanted to go through that again either. All things in moderation. I’m not a drunk, not like Mother. I just drink because . . . Well, because.

I don’t like the taste of this stuff particularly. And God knows it still gives me the worst morning headaches I’ve ever had in my life. But it makes me feel OK when I’m drinking it. Kind of warm and careless. It smooths out the rough edges – as Mother says. I don’t mind so much about Mother any more. I don’t even mind so much about Callum. A couple of drinks and I don’t mind about anything.

Isn’t that cool?

Fifty-four. Callum

Mum went back and had our information deleted off the hospital database but she’s still not happy. The slightest noise outside, the lightest knock at the door and we have to scrape her off the ceiling.

‘Why don’t you just walk around with an “I am guilty!” sign wrapped around you?’ Dad snapped.

I winced the moment he said it, as did Mum.

‘I’m sorry, Meggie,’ Dad sighed.

Mum turned and walked away from him, without saying a word. Dad slammed out of the house. Jude turned up the telly volume, even though it was fine as it was before. I bent my head and carried on with my homework.

But we couldn’t go on like that.

We were all sitting down for Sunday lunch of mince and spaghetti when Mum suddenly threw down her fork.

‘Ryan, I want you out of this house,’ Mum declared.

The floor beneath my chair disappeared and I started free falling.

‘W-what?’ Dad frowned.

‘I want you out of this house by morning. I’ve thought about it and this is the only way,’ said Mum. ‘It’s too late for you and me, but it’s not too late for Jude. I’m not going to let you drag a noose around his neck. I love him too much to let you do that.’

‘I love him too,’ Dad stared at her.

‘I don’t like the way you show it,’ Mum told him. ‘So you must leave.’

‘I’m damned if I’ll leave my own house,’ Dad declared.

‘You will if you love any of us as much as you say you do,’ Mum said.

I looked from Dad to Mum and back again, horrified. I wasn’t the only one at the table who knew that Mum meant every word.

‘You’ve never understood why I’m doing this,’ Dad said bitterly. ‘I want something more for my sons. Something better.’

‘And the end justifies the means?’

‘Yes. In this case it does. Especially when the daggers haven’t left us with any other option.’

‘I’m not arguing with you, Ryan. Just pack your b-bags and leave. OK?’

‘No, it’s not OK,’ Dad shouted, making us all jump.

‘If Dad leaves, then so do I,’ Jude piped up.

‘No, you won’t,’ Mum and Dad spoke in unison.

Jude looked at Dad, bewildered. ‘But you can’t stop me from belonging to the Liberation Militia. I’m not going to bow out now.’

‘Jude . . .’ Mum said, intensely hurt.

‘Mum, for the first time in my life I’m doing something I totally believe in. I can actually do some good, make a difference.’

Make a difference . . .

‘I’m sorry if that upsets you but sending Dad away won’t change my mind. I’ll just go with him, that’s all.’

‘And if I don’t take you?’ Dad asked.

‘Then I’ll find somewhere else to stay. But I’m not giving up the L.M. I’m not.’

‘Then you can both leave,’ Mum said, stonily. ‘And I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect Callum. If I can only save one of my children then so be it.’

They all started shouting and screaming at each other at that. I stood up and headed for the door. I had to get out of there. Fast. They were all too busy hating each other to notice me. I slipped out of the front door and ran.

Fifty-five. Sephy

‘Hi Callum, old friend! Old buddy! Old pal! How are you on this glorious day? Isn’t it a beautiful Sunday? The birds are singing. Not over here, but somewhere they must be singing, don’t you think? Don’t you think, old buddy? Old pal?’ I burst out laughing.

Callum had a very strange look on his face as he watched me. He wasn’t laughing though. Why wasn’t he laughing? I tried to stop, but the look on his face made me laugh even harder. He leaned forward and sniffed at my breath. The look on his face made me laugh until my eyes began to water.

And the next thing I knew, Callum had me by the shoulders and was shaking me like a country dog shakes a rabbit.

‘S-s-stop i-it . . .’

‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Callum shouted at me.

The look on his face scared me. Actually scared me. I’d never seen him so furiously angry before. ‘L-let go . . .’

Callum let go of me almost before the words were out of my mouth. I stumbled backwards and fell in a heap. I tried to scramble to my feet but the beach was swaying. If the beach would just stop swaying for two seconds . . .

‘Look at you, Sephy,’ Callum said, his voice ringing with disgust. ‘You’re drunk as a skunk.’

‘I am not. I’ve had just one glass of cider today, that’s all. Or maybe two,’ I giggled, adding conspiratorially. ‘It would’ve been wine, but I don’t want Mother to get suspicious . . .’

‘How could you be so stupid?’ Callum roared. I wished he’d stop. He was making my head hurt. ‘You want to end up like your mother?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I finally managed to get to my feet, but the whole world was rocking beneath them.

‘I’m not. I can’t stand your mother but at least she had a reason to start. What’s your excuse? Not enough attention? Daddy’s allowance not big enough? Mummy not giving you enough love? Bed not wide enough? Bedroom carpet not plush enough?’

‘Stop it . . .’ I was sobering up fast. Callum was being horrible. ‘Don’t stand there and judge me. How dare you?’

‘If you behave like a complete moron, don’t bleat when that’s how others treat you.’

‘I’m not a moron.’

‘No, you’re worse. You’re a drunk. A lush. An alcy.’

I covered my ears. ‘Don’t say that. That’s enough . . .’

‘Is it? Come on then. I’m waiting to hear your reasons. I’m all ears.’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me.’

‘I’m tired, OK,’ I shouted at him, shouted for the whole world to hear.

‘Tired of what?’

‘Of my mother and father, my sister, of you too if you must know. I’m tired of the way you all make me feel. This is it for me, isn’t it? Be a good girl, study at school, study at university, get a good job, marry a good man, live a good life and they all lived happily ever after. The whole thing just makes me . . . makes me want to puke. I want something more in my life . . .’

‘And you reckon you’ll find it in a wine bottle?’

I kicked at the sand beneath my feet. ‘I don’t know where else to look,’ I finally admitted.

‘Sephy, don’t follow your mother, OK? She’s headed for a mental home – or a coffin. Is that really what you want?’

That made me start and no mistake. Was that really where Mother was going? I didn’t want her to die like that. I didn’t want to die like that. I regarded Callum, seeing myself as he must see me. A silly, pathetic child who thought that drinking was a way to grow older faster. A way to stop feeling, ’cause then nothing could hurt me.

‘I should be getting back,’ I said at last, massaging my throbbing temples.

‘Sephy, promise me you won’t drink any more.’

‘No,’ I said at once.

Callum looked so hurt and unhappy, that I couldn’t leave it there. I just couldn’t.

‘But I promise I’ll try,’ I added.

On the spur of the moment, I leaned forward and kissed Callum on the lips. He moved back.

‘Don’t want to see what kissing is like any more – huh?’ I tried to tease.

‘You stink of alcohol,’ Callum told me.

My smile vanished. ‘D’you know something, Callum? Sometimes you can be just as cruel as my dad is to my mother.’

‘Sorry.’

I turned to walk away.

‘Sephy, I’m sorry.’ Callum pulled me back.

‘Just get lost.’

‘Not without you.’ Callum gave a pathetic attempt at a smile.

‘Leave me alone,’ I screamed at him, knocking his arm away. ‘I should’ve known you wouldn’t understand. I should’ve realized. Besides, you have other fish to fry now. You’re part of the Liberation Militia. You must be so proud of yourselves . .’

‘I’m not a member of the L.M. I never have been,’ Callum denied harshly.

‘How did you know about the bomb at the Dundale then?’

Callum pressed his lips firmly together. I recognized that look, he wasn’t going to say a word.

‘You should’ve let me get blown up, Callum. Sometimes . . . sometimes I wish you had . . .’

Callum kissed me then. And it wasn’t like the first time we’d kissed either. He wrapped his arms around me and closed his eyes and kissed me. And after a startled moment, I did exactly the same.

And it wasn’t bad, either.

But it wasn’t enough. Our kiss deepened and his hands began to wander, and so did mine.

And it made things better. But it wasn’t enough.

Fifty-six. Callum

Of course I admit it. Things went too far. We didn’t go all the way. Not all the way. But I’d only meant to kiss her to show that I didn’t care if she reeked of ruddy cider. I wouldn’t even care if her face was covered with puke . . . well, maybe that’s going a bit far! But I wanted to show her . . . Anyway. I’m going to have to be more careful. Sephy’s just a kid really. We both stopped in time. Not just one of us. I think we both realized we were moving too far too fast.

But now, the thing is, I’m doing my head in thinking about her. Jude would bust a gut if he could read my mind. He’d probably literally do it too. I’m only sixteen and Sephy’s not even fifteen yet. In my world the trouble never stops. In hers, it never starts. This drinking nonsense is just her way of getting attention. I mean, it’s not even as if she’s getting drunk on proper booze. Not whisky or gin or vodka but cider, for goodness’ sake! She’s bored, that’s all it is. I wish she could live half my life. Just half. That’d soon give her something to occupy her time.

Come on, Callum, think of something else or you’ll never get any sleep. I wonder what she’s doing at this precise moment. Lying in bed thinking of me? I hope so.

Dear God, if you really are out there, somewhere, please find some way for Sephy and I to be together when we’re older. For good and all when we’re older. Together for ever. Dear God, please. If it’s not too much to ask. If you’re out there . . .

Callum for goodness’ sake, stop daydreaming and get some sleep. You’re being totally pathetic. Stop it!

There was no warning. No knock at the door. No warning shouts. Nothing. The first I knew about it was the CRASH when our front door was battered in. Shouts. Calls. A scream. Footsteps charging. Doors banging. More shouts. More footsteps – pound, pound, pound up the stairs. By the time I was fully awake and had swung my legs out of bed, smoke was everywhere. At least I thought it was smoke. I dropped to the floor.

‘Jude? JUDE!’ I yelled, terrified that my brother was still asleep. I jumped up, looking around for him.

It was only then that I realized it wasn’t smoke filling my room, filling the house. The strong smell of garlic caught in the back of my throat and brought instant tears to my eyes. I coughed and coughed, my lungs threatening to explode from my body and my eyes were streaming. Tear gas. I struggled to my feet and groped my way to the front door.

‘DOWN! GET DOWN!’ A voice, no, more than one voice, screamed at me.

I turned in the direction of the voice, only to be pushed to my knees, then down to the ground. My chin hit the hard floor, making me bite down on my tongue. My arms were jerked behind my body. Hands bent back. Cold, hard steel cutting into my wrists. My eyes hurt. My lungs hurt. My tongue hurt. I was pulled to my knees, then yanked up. Pushed and pulled and punched forward. I couldn’t see. I closed my burning eyes – and I admit, I was crying by now, trying to clear the tear gas, desperate to stop the pain. My lungs were being filed with sandpaper. Stop breathing. Just stop. But I couldn’t. And each breath was strong as ammonia, sharp as a razor.

‘JUDE! MUM! DAD!’ I called out, only to choke over the words. Only to choke. I couldn’t take much more. My body began to seize up, curl in on itself. And suddenly we were out. Out of the house. Out into the cool, night air. I tried to draw a breath. My lungs were being sliced. I gasped. More air – clean, fresh air. Just as I was pushed into the back of a car, I heard my mum crying.

‘MUM!’ I called. I blinked, and blinked again, looking around, trying to see her. Shapes and shadows swam before me. The car took off. My hands were still handcuffed behind my back. My whole body hurt.

And I still didn’t know why.

Fifty-seven. Sephy

I can’t keep doing this, bouncing between Mother and Minnie and school and Callum like a pinball. Everyone’s controlling my life except me. And I can feel it’s going to get worse, not better. I need to do something. I need . . . I need to get out of here.

But Callum . . .

I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to leave him. But I must. Callum’s a survivor. I’m not. He’ll understand if I explain it to him. I can’t think when I’m around him. He confuses me. Around him, all I do is think about him. Sad, but true! Pathetic, but true!

He kissed me tonight. And held me. And ran his hands over my back and my bum and my waist. And pressed me against him. And it felt so strange. Like I belonged right there with him. Except I didn’t. I wish I knew why he did it. If only I could read his mind.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Callum and I . .?

STOP!

Don’t be ridiculous. You’re fourteen, for goodness’ sake. Sephy, you need to get a life – literally! By the time you’re ready to settle down, Callum will probably be married with six kids. Sort yourself out first, your life out second, and your love life out last! As if Callum would be interested in a kid like you anyway?

But he did kiss me . . .

Listen to me, talking to myself. Telling myself off. I’m really losing it. But I need to take my own advice. Get away. Get a life. Start now, before it’s too late.

‘Mother, I want to go away to school.’

Mother opened her eyes and blinked at me like a stunned owl. ‘W-what, sweetie?’

‘I want to go away to school. I need to get away from here, from . . . everything.’

‘W-where would you go?’ Mother struggled to sit up on her bed. Her eyes were vampire red. There was a telltale smell in the room. I looked at Mother and it was like looking in a mirror that foretold the future. But only for an instant. The smell was vile, the sight was worse. And the mirror cracked.

‘I want to go away to school. A boarding school somewhere . . .’

Callum . . .

‘I was thinking maybe Chivers Boarding School ’cause it’s not too far away.’

Just far enough away to keep me away from here. Too far for weekend visits in either direction. Far enough away to find something I liked about myself. Far enough away to grow up.

‘Only about one hundred and fifty kilometres,’ I continued.

Callum . . .

‘But . . . what would I do without you?’

I could see from Mother’s eyes that our conversation was finally beginning to sink in.

‘You’ll have Minnie. And the servants. And all your friends and your parties and . . . everything.’ I forced a smile. ‘I want to go. Please, Mother?’

‘You really want to leave?’

‘Yes.’

Mother looked at me. A moment of perfect understanding between us. And it made me so sad. I almost changed my mind then. Almost. But not quite.

‘I can see you’ve made your mind up about this.’

‘I have.’

‘And when would you want to start?’

‘Now. Or in September at the latest.’

‘But September’s only a few months away.’

‘I know.’

Mother looked at me, then lowered her gaze. ‘I don’t think so, sweetie,’ she said, sombrely.

‘Mother, I want to go.’

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ Mother said, shaking her head.

‘For who? You or me?’

‘I said no, Sephy.’

I turned and slammed out of her room, grimly satisfied at the muffled wail Mother let out at the noise. I leaned against the wall, trying to figure out what my next move should be. In a moment of pure clarity I realized there was only one thing holding me back. One person stopping me from packing my bags and walking to Chivers right now. I had no idea how I was going to explain my plans to him but I had to. Callum would understand. He’d be on my side once he understood my reasons. Callum and I were like two sides of the same coin.

If Mother thought I was going to let the matter stop and drop here, she had another thought coming. I needed to get away. Get out.

Before it was too late.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 853