Eighty-eight. Callum

Faster. Move. I have to do it. I just have to. Wait. Please wait.

I race like the wind towards Sephy’s house. Faster than I’ve ever run before. As fast as if my life depends on it.

Please God, if you’re really up there . . .

I clamber up the rise to the rose garden, just in time to see a car turn out of the security gates. Sephy is in the back, next to her mum. But she’s looking down, not at me, not anywhere near me.

Please God . . .

‘WAIT! SEPHY, IT’S ME. WAIT!’

Run. Move. I sprint after the car. I stop breathing so drawing breath won’t slow me down. Run. Race. Sprint.

‘SEPHY . . .’

The car is several metres ahead of me now. The driver’s eyes meet mine in the driver’s mirror. Sephy’s Mercedes accelerates smoothly but noticeably away from me.

‘SEPHY . . .’ I speed after the car. My lungs are about to implode and every muscle, every bone in my body is on fire. But I’ll follow that car to hell and back, if I have to. If I can.

Please, please God . . .

I trip over my feet and hit the ground face first. Dazed, I look up, but the car is almost out of sight. I grip Sephy’s letter in my hand, lying on the ground, listening to the sound of all my hopes and dreams moving further and further away. Like listening to the sound of a door being slammed in my face.

THE HOSTAGE . . .

Eighty-nine. Sephy

Funny the way things work out. When I first arrived at Chivers, I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. I’d cry myself to sleep over what had been and what might’ve been, over Callum not wanting to leave with me, live with me. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye. It took a long time to stop crying.

And shaking.

I didn’t really believe I was drinking that much and I certainly wasn’t an alcoholic, but after the second day of feeling wretched and wrung out, I finally realized I was suffering from alcohol withdrawal pains. The school nurse reckoned I had the flu and was very sympathetic, but I knew differently. It took three weeks before I could call my body my own again – and even then, I had to fight hard against the sudden cravings I got for a glass or two or three of wine or cider. So I buried myself in schoolwork and activities, the more physical the better. And it had slowly but surely begun to pay off.

Chivers is definitely the best move I could’ve made – under the circumstances. It gave me a chance to remake myself, start from scratch. I stopped hanging on to my childhood and started moving forward. I made new friends like Jacquelina and Robyn, who saved my sanity because they liked me for who I was, not for what my father did, or the money my mother had.

The schoolwork was harder than it’d been at Heathcroft, because at Chivers no-one pushed me, so I had to push myself. And I was terribly homesick for the first few months. I still get homesick if I allow myself to think about home for too long, but I don’t allow that to happen any more – much. I spent the whole Crossmas holiday with Jacquelina and the Easter holiday skiing with Robyn. It was great. I talk to Mother on the phone of course, and she’d been up to see me a few times, but so far, I’d managed to stay away from home.

And I joined a dissident group. We were Crosses fighting for change in the system. But we had to be careful. We each made a pledge to do what we could – now and in the future – to further the cause of true integration between noughts and Crosses. I think we all felt that the only way we’d achieve real progress was to wait for all the old dogs to die so that us new dogs could replace them and their thinking. Old dogs like my father who couldn’t see beyond the fact that noughts used to be our slaves. As far as he was concerned, they’d never be much good for anything else. The dissident group was the one thing that kept me focused when I was at Chivers. It was my reason for doing well, for succeeding. Our group kept me sane. It was a shame my sister didn’t have something similar to believe in.

I used to comfort myself with the belief that it was only certain individuals and their peculiar notions that spoilt things for the rest of us. But how many individuals does it take before it’s not the individuals who are prejudiced but society itself? And it wasn’t even that most Crosses were prejudiced against noughts. I still didn’t believe that. But everyone seemed to be too afraid to stand up in public and say ‘this is wrong’. And, by everyone, I meant me included. No-one wanted to raise their head above the parapet. At least our group knew that the way things were was wrong. At least we were trying to do something about it – albeit from behind the scenes. We moved quietly but irrevocably, like a relentless army of tiny termites eating away at the rotten fabric of a house. And we would succeed. Each of us believed that, for the simple reason that we had to.

A few months after joining our group, I thought long and hard about asking Minnie to join us, but in the end I decided against it. Minnie’s only got one more year at school and judging from the twice I’ve spoken to her, she’s finding being at home difficult to say the least. She’s determined to go to a university as far away from our home as she can get, but Mother cries or throws a tantrum or both if she even so much as mentions it. I’m glad I got out before her. Selfish but true.

According to Minnie, Mother’s still drinking. I’m not. Even when some of the girls sneak the odd bottle or two into the dorm at night, I don’t touch the stuff. I don’t trust myself. It’s very easy to hide away in a wine bottle, but very hard to come out again. Besides, that’s part of my past too. I’m designing my future.

A future without Callum.

I’ve decided to be a lawyer. But I’m only going to work on those cases that I believe in. I’m going to be another Kelani Adams. I’m going to stand up and speak out and I’ll be so famous and popular that no one will be able to touch me. Not the government, not the P.E.C., no-one. It’s great to finally have some direction to my life.

I admit that I think about Callum. Often. But I’ve stopped brooding and I’ve stopped yearning for the impossible. Maybe in another lifetime or in a parallel universe somewhere Callum and I could be together the way we should be. But not here. Not now.

And that’s OK too. He’s moved on with his life, and now so have I.

I wonder if he ever thinks of me? I doubt it, but just occasionally, when I’m doing my homework or washing my hair or cutting my toenails, I pause for a second or two and wonder.

But only for a second.

Or two.

Ninety. Callum

My dad said something once about the Liberation Militia. He said that once they had you, they never let you go. I learnt exactly what he meant over the next couple of years. I started off as little more than the tea boy, but I was eager and keen. I soon worked my way up the ranks. I moved on from tea boy to grunt, following the orders of anyone and everyone in my cell of six men and three women. From grunt I moved on to private and on up the ranks until I earned the rank of sergeant and joined a new cell. Sergeant at nineteen – I was proud of that.

And whilst I was working my way up the L.M. ranks, I took the time to take care of some personal business. Namely, Dionne Fernandez, Lola Jordan and Joanne Longshadow – the ones at Heathcroft who’d beaten up Sephy for sitting with me, for being with me, for not knowing her place – which was kilometres above mine. With the contacts and resources now at my disposal it wasn’t difficult to find out where they lived. I made it my business to find out all about them: their home lives, their family circumstances, their likes and dislikes – everything. If there’s one thing that being in the L.M. taught me, it was that everyone had a weakness. You just had to know where and how to look for it.

I dealt with each of them in turn. Lola first, then Joanne. Dionne last, but by no means least. I took particular trouble to make sure that Dionne suffered – just as she’d made Sephy suffer. They say that revenge is a dish best served cold – and they’re right. I served it icy-cold. And I lost more of myself as I did so. But that was OK. Because the Callum Ryan McGregor who loved to sit on the beach and watch the sun go down didn’t exist any more. He’d been taken and I’d been left in his place. A poor trade, but an inevitable one.

In the new cell, there were four of us altogether. Pete, Morgan, Leila and me. Pete was in charge. We called him the quiet one. He didn’t say much, but he smiled a lot. I was careful to watch my back around him. He was deadly with a knife and had at least four that I knew about always stashed on him somewhere. Morgan was twenty and the joker of the pack. He was our computer expert and the best driver in any L.M. cell for kilometres around. Leila was my age and knew everything there was to know about breaking into buildings and blowing stuff up. She’d been my call.

One evening, just a couple of months after my eighteenth birthday, I’d been sitting sipping a coffee outside a café in the city and surreptitiously timing the guards’ movements in the glass-fronted office block opposite when I first spotted her.

It was one of those cafés which likes to pretend it’s très chic by serving croissants at night and coffee that’s all foam and no flavour – or liquid for that matter. The evening was quite chilly so apart from me, there were only three other men huddled at another table about two metres away from me.

Leila came over to me first.

‘Spare some change for a coffee?’

I looked at her and shook my head. She moved on to the only other occupied table outside the café.

‘Spare some change please?’

‘Here’s five quid.’ One of the morons at the table waved it under her nose. ‘What will you do for it?’

I turned to watch, interested to see what she’d do next.

‘Well?’ The man winked at his friends and continued to wave the money under Leila’s nose.

I could tell from her tense stance that she was furiously angry, but the guy who was showing off to his mates was too thick-skinned to realize it. Or maybe he just didn’t care? Leila lurched forward to try and snatch the money from the moron’s hand, but he snatched it back.

‘Come on, you tart! You can do better than that.’

‘What did you call me?’ Leila asked softly.

I moved my coffee to the other side of my table.

‘If the shoe fits . . .’ The moron laughed and his friends joined in.

‘Stand up and I’ll show you what I’ll do for that fiver,’ Leila said silkily.

And like a jackass the man stood up. Seconds later he was doubled over after Leila’s foot made painful contact with his goodies.

‘You were right. The shoe does fit!’ Leila hissed at him, snatching the five pounds out of his unresisting fingers.

Moron number one collapsed to the floor, coughing his guts out. Morons two and three should’ve remained seated but they decided to go for it. Big mistake! It took less than fifteen seconds for Leila to sort out those two. By the time she’d finished, they were all rolling on the ground like human skittles.

I waved to one of the waiters inside the café who was watching the proceedings with horror.

He edged out, giving Leila a wide berth.

‘My bill, please,’ I told him. I turned to Leila. ‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’

Leila spun around, belligerence all over her face. ‘Are you talking to me?’

‘Yes. Would you like a dinner – somewhere away from here though. The police will be here in about five minutes.’

She looked me up and down – and more than once before she answered. ‘Yeah, OK then.’

I glanced into the café but my waiter was taking his time. So guessing at the price then doubling it, I put my money down on the table. We strolled off down the road towards a good meat restaurant I knew. I’d been poor for too long to be a vegetarian. And as we walked along, Leila never said a word. When we got to the restaurant, she sat down on her chair poised to leap straight on to her feet if the situation demanded it.

‘Two menus please,’ I said to the waitress. ‘I’m Callum,’ I told my new companion, holding out my hand.

‘Leila,’ she replied, digging her hands deeper into her pockets.

And that was the beginning of our friendship. It’d taken me a while to get to know her but it was well worth the effort. She and I had a similar sense of humour – which always helps. I was the one who recommended that she be taken under our wing. She’d been on her own for a long time before she joined our cell, so she was ridiculously grateful at belonging to the L.M. So grateful that she suggested becoming my lover. It was a couple of months later when we were held up in one of our safe houses, waiting for Pete and Morgan to return from a reconnaissance trip.

‘Thanks for the offer,’ I told her. ‘And I’m very, very flattered but I’ve only got room for one thing in my life now – and that’s my work.’

‘You’re sure?’ she asked.

I nodded. To my surprise, Leila put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me. It was nice too, but that’s all it was.

‘You’re sure you won’t change your mind?’

‘I’m sure,’ I smiled.

‘Well, the offer is always open,’ she shrugged.

‘I’ll remember that.’

And we’d both carried on cleaning our field guns. I didn’t want to get involved. In fact, I didn’t want any distractions, no matter how lovely they were – and Leila was lovely. She was as tall as me and super-fit with dark brown, short-cropped hair, cat-green eyes and a ready smile in spite of all the crap that’d happened to her. Of course, Morgan and Pete couldn’t believe the fact that I’d turned her down. I heard the two of them discussing whether or not I batted for the other side. That made me laugh wryly, but I left them to wonder. Sometimes I felt lonely enough to take Leila up on her offer, but I never did. The last thing any of us needed were lovers’ quarrels taking our minds off what we were meant to be doing.

So in a short space of time, I made quite a name for myself. I was known as the crazy one – the first one into danger and the last one out. Everyone in my cell was convinced I had nerves of steel. So much so that Pete had to take me to one side and tell me to take it a bit easier or I’d wind up dead. No-one realized that that was the whole point.

By the time I was nineteen, I’d gained my stripes – and lost my soul. But a soul was unnecessary in my line of work. To make it as a grunt I had to beat up a dagger. I ambushed one on his way home from work and knocked seven bells out of him. To prove myself as a private I had to take on three of them, but for that I was allowed to be armed. I had a knife and I’d been taught how to use it. I won that fight as well. And one of the daggers died later from his wounds. I waited for days to feel something, anything, but I never did. Confirmation, if I needed any, that I was dead inside.

And to become a sergeant . . . Well, it doesn’t make any sense to dwell on it. I did what I had to do. I did the only thing I could do. I became one of the youngest sergeants in the whole of the Liberation Militia. Second-in-command of our well respected cell. One of the most respected. And one of the most wanted.

I missed my mum. I sent money to her whenever I could, but I never made any attempt to see her. It would’ve been too dangerous, for both of us. And I never posted the money from the same place twice either. In my line of work, there was no such thing as being too careful. Poor Mum! One way or another, she’d lost us all – through no fault of her own.

I never once saw my brother. I heard he was in charge of a cell further north. We never had any contact with each other. I was told not to expect any favours because I was Jude McGregor’s brother and Ryan McGregor’s son – and I didn’t. I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t want anything. I didn’t ask for anything – except complete loyalty from those in my cell. And absolute obedience the couple of times I had to take charge. And I got it too.

The police didn’t know my identity, my real name. They didn’t even know what I looked like, I was careful that way. They just had the codename of our cell – Stiletto – like the very sharp, very deadly dagger. Isn’t that ironic?

My cell was never given anything too onerous to do, or too dangerous for that matter. We were more of an acquisitions cell than otherwise. Money, explosives, guns – you name it, we did what we had to do to get it. I was on my way up and nothing was going to get in my way. Nothing.

Our cause was just.

Our aim was true.

A couple of months after my nineteenth birthday, Pete received a direct order from L.M. command. They were sending a lieutenant to assess his cell’s ‘efficiency’.

‘Efficiency, my left buttock!’ Pete fumed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my cell’s efficiency.’

The rest of us could see the strop the message had put Pete in, from over five kilometres away and wisely kept our distance for the rest of the day. There was no word as to when we could expect this lieutenant and Pete was determined he or she wouldn’t be able to fault any of our work or procedures. He made Leila go through our inventory with a fine-tooth comb to make sure that everything was accounted for. Pete went through our accounts himself, whilst Morgan and I grumbled like hell about having to clean our main headquarters in the tunnel complex beneath Celebration Park from top to bottom. We were holed up in the old access tunnels which were no longer used by anyone but the rats. We received reasonably fresh air from the ventilation grills still scattered throughout the park, but nothing we did got rid of the permanent sewer stench. To be honest, after a couple of weeks in the tunnels, I didn’t even notice the smell any more. We weren’t going to be in the tunnels for longer than a month or two, so there was no point in bellyaching about it. We all just got on with it. Morgan and I made sure each tunnel was secure and our warning devices on the grills were in place and working.

At last, when Pete was reasonably satisfied, we all sat down for our dinner – a take-away meal of burger and chips.

‘Why isn’t there anyone outside guarding the main entrance?’

I recognized that voice at once. I leapt up, shocked. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Unless you’re in charge here, I’d sit down and shut up if I were you,’ came the reply.

‘I’m in charge,’ Pete stood up slowly.

‘You should’ve been expecting me. I’m your new lieutenant,’ said my brother, Jude. ‘And I asked you a question. Why is no-one outside guarding the main entrance?’

I sat down slowly, never taking my eyes off my brother. He turned and looked at me, his eyes burning into mine and I knew right then and there that he still didn’t quite trust me. And that everyone in our cell was in danger because of it.

Ninety-one. Sephy

It was time to go back home. I’d finished my end-of-year exams and the summer holidays had already started. And I didn’t have to wait for the results to know that I’d passed all my subjects. So, as Mother had tersely pointed out, there was no reason for me not to go home. Except that I really didn’t want to go back. Over two and a half years away from home and to be honest, I had no desire whatsoever to return. I’d dragged my feet for two weeks but August had started and Mother wasn’t taking no for an answer. I’d run out of excuses. Mother and Minnie had been up to see me a few times – sometimes together, a few times apart, but somehow I’d always managed to avoid reciprocating. There was always something stopping me – a holiday with this friend, a long visit to that friend, the excuses had been trotted out one after another. Backpacking, camping, overseas expeditions, you name it, I went on them. Anything to keep me away from home. And I’d got away with it.

But not this time. Mother was putting her foot down and insisting. So I had no choice. If I’d had my way, I’d’ve been seventy not seventeen-going-on-eighteen when I returned home. I hated that place. So many bad memories. Too many.

Karl was sent to pick me up at Chivers. On the long drive home, we barely exchanged a word once the platitudes were over. He was fine, everyone in his family was fine, I was fine, school was fine – end of conversation! It was a long drive home!

Getting home was a bit of an anti-climax too. Minnie was spending the week with one of her friends and Mother was out on one of her rare visits to her Aunt Paulina and had left a message on our answering-machine saying that her car had broken down on the motorway so she’d be late getting home. To be honest, not meeting up with Mother immediately was a bit of relief. I still hadn’t worked out how I was going to handle her. Should I be all sunshine and flowers and smile and take nothing seriously? Or should I be morose and sombre and take everything she said too seriously? Either way, there was no way I was going to stay put for more than a few days. I’d lined up a summer job with a law practice near to Chivers school and I had one week before I was due to start. One week. The new term didn’t start until October and Mother was expecting me to stay for the rest of the summer break. Some hope.

‘Welcome home, Miss Sephy,’ Sarah hugged me as she emerged from the study. I hugged her back.

‘It’s good to see you, Sarah,’ I smiled.

Sarah looked around quickly. ‘A certain someone found out that you were due home today and he left a message for you.’

She whipped out a folded brown envelope from her pocket and stuffed it into my hand. Without another word, Sarah disappeared back into the study. No need to ask who it was from. I recognized the handwriting on the envelope at once. My heart bounced about at the mere sight of it. What did he want, after all this time? I should just put the letter in the bin. Yeah, right! In another lifetime maybe. I tore open the carefully sealed letter and began to read.

Dear Sephy,

I know it’s been a long time since we last met and you probably don’t even remember me any more. But if you do, please could we meet tonight around nine o’clock at our special place. It’s very important. But I’ll understand if you can’t make it. Two, almost three years is a long time. A lifetime.

C.

Why did he want to see me? Why was it important? All the feelings I thought I’d bundled up and thrown away years ago suddenly came rushing through me again. Did I really want to see him again? It didn’t take much intuition to realize that Callum was the one person who could upset my carefully constructed plans for what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Look at this! One letter and I was already confused and uncertain about what I should do next.

No! I wouldn’t do it. Callum had his life now and I had mine and they were worlds apart. But I hadn’t seen him in such a long time. And what harm could a short ten-minute meeting do? I was a big girl now! Not a child any more. I’d go and say hello and we’d pass the time by catching up with each other’s lives and then we’d part on better terms than happened years ago. Where was the harm in that?

Don’t go, Sephy . . .

Where’s the harm in that?

Don’t go . . .

Where’s the harm?

Don’t . . .

Ninety-two. Callum

‘Is everyone clear about what they’re supposed to do?’ Jude asked.

Nods and grunts and a low-pitched, grumbled ‘Yeah! How many more times?’

‘She might not even come,’ I warned.

‘If she got your message, she’ll come,’ Jude announced. He gave me an assessing look. ‘What about you, little brother? You up for this?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ I asked, pulling on my black leather jacket.

‘We need to know we can count on you, on your loyalty,’ said Jude.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. The room grew very still. I regarded my brother, not attempting to disguise my hostility.

‘Meaning?’

Jude looked at me, but he didn’t say anything.

I looked around. ‘Which one of you doubts my loyalty then?’

Silence.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said.

‘You let us down, and I’m going to forget you’re my brother. Understand?’ said Jude.

I didn’t deign to answer. My brother could go rivet himself.

‘This is going to make us famous,’ said Morgan as he and Pete slapped hands in gleeful anticipation.

‘And rich!’ Jude grinned. ‘Just think about all that lovely money we’re going to be able to add to the Liberation Militia’s coffers.’

‘Come to Papa!’ Morgan laughed, rubbing his hands together.

‘And if this comes off,’ Jude said to Pete, ‘you’ll be able to write your own ticket. You’ll be able to set up your own L.M. division anywhere in the country.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Pete smiled.

It was the first smile he’d directed at my brother. The promise of a bigger and better army to lead had sweetened him up no end and all his resentment about being usurped by Jude seemed to have melted away.

‘Let’s not count our chickens,’ I said brusquely.

‘Ever the voice of doom, eh?’ Jude smiled. ‘If you do your part, nothing will go wrong. Nothing.’

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 633