Double Cross, Page 2

  Callie quickly suppressed a laugh as the buzzer sounded for the end of the lesson. I'd spent the last fifty minutes passing her silly notes and making sotto voce remarks about Mr Lancer's newly bald head with its deep groove down the middle. It now resembled a certain part of the male anatomy and there was no way I could let that pass without comment. Callie had been in smothered fits of the giggles throughout most of the lesson. I loved making Callie laugh. God knows, she'd done little enough of that since her nana died in the Isis Hotel bomb blast. Callie was reaching for her rucksack on the floor and I'd barely made it to my feet when we had company.

  Lucas frickin' Cheshie.

  Misty wasn't the only one who couldn't take a hint. OK, so I still wasn't quite sure what to call my friendship with Callie, but I knew what Lucas and Callie weren't – and that was an item. She wasn't Lucas's girlfriend any more, so why did he persist in sniffing around her? Being older than us, he wasn't even in our class. But he must've seen Callie through the classroom window – and now here he was, lingering like an eggy fart. Smarmy git.

  Completely ignoring me, Lucas said softly, 'Hi, Callie Rose, how are you?'

  Callie's smile faded. She was instantly wary. I was grateful for that, if nothing else.

  'I'm fine, Lucas. How are you?'

  'Missing you.' Lucas smiled.

  Callie searched for something to say, but unable to find anything, she merely shrugged. I glared at Lucas, but he wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of acknowledging my presence.

  'Ignore me all you want, but if you think I'm leaving you alone with Callie . . .' I projected my hostility towards him through narrowed eyes.

  'I'm so glad to see you smiling again, Callie Rose. I'm glad you're getting over the bereavement in your family,' said Lucas.

  The light in Callie's eyes vanished, as if a great, dark cloud had swept across the face of the sun. Callie's grandmother had died two months before, but Callie wasn't over it. Sometimes I wondered if she'd ever be truly over it.

  'And you were so close to your nana Jasmine, weren't you?' Lucas continued.

  I glanced at Callie before turning back to Lucas. A Cyclops with a pencil in his eye could see that Callie was getting upset. Lucas would have to be stupid not to see the effect his words were having. And Lucas was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

  Callie said nothing.

  'Callie Rose, if you ever need to talk about your grandmother and how she died or anything, then I'm here for you. OK?' Lucas smiled. 'I just want you to know that I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend. If you need anything from me you only have to ask.'

  Dismayed, I turned to Callie again. With a few wellchosen words, Lucas had not only knocked Callie to the ground, but then danced all over her. Her face took on the haunted, hunted look she always wore when thinking about Nana Jasmine. Her eyes glistened green with the tears she desperately tried to hold back. Callie hated for anyone to see her cry. My hands clenched into fists at my side. I had to hold myself rigid to refrain from smacking Lucas a sizeable one.

  Lucas put his hand under Callie's chin to slowly raise her head. He was still ignoring me. 'Just think about what I said. I mean every word.' He smiled again, then sauntered off to join the rest of his crew waiting in the doorway for him.

  Callie and I were alone in the classroom. I chewed on the inside of my bottom lip. What to say? What to do? I was so useless at this kind of thing.

  'Callie . . .' I turned to her in time to see the solitary tear balanced on her lower eyelashes splash onto her cheek.

  'Callie, don't listen to him. He was being a git,' I began furiously.

  Puzzled, Callie turned to me, her eyes still shimmering. 'He was just trying to be kind.'

  'Kind, my arse. He did that deliberately . . .'

  'Tobey, what's wrong with you?' Callie whispered. 'You know what, I can't cope with this now.'

  'Callie, can't you see what Lucas was up to? He was . . .'

  But I was talking to myself. Callie was out the door, leaving me in the classroom.

  Alone.

  THE DAILY SHOUTER Friday 19th May Page 3

  BOMB BLAST VICTIM IDENTIFIED AS JASMINE HADLEY

  Jasmine Hadley was yesterday finally identified as one of the victims of the bomb blast at the Isis Hotel. The former wife of Kamal Hadley, ex-MP, was killed five days ago, but it has taken this long to make a positive identification. A source working for the forensic science division of the police force stated, 'The damage to her body was so severe that a combination of dental records and DNA testing had to be used to conclusively identify the victim.' One other unidentified Nought male was also killed in the hotel explosion. The police are making strenuous efforts to establish the identity of this Nought in an effort to ascertain his connection, if any, to the blast. This latest outrage is suspected to be the work of the Liberation Militia, although as yet no one has claimed responsibility. Jasmine Hadley's ex-husband, Kamal Hadley, whose party crashed so ignominiously in the general election held last week, was unavailable for comment.

  two. Callie

  Try as I might, I just couldn't let go of that newspaper clipping. It was either in my hand or in my head. And it never left my heart. Nana Jasmine's photo shone out alongside the article about her death. I recognized the photo. It was the one with Nana in the middle, my mum and me on her right and Aunt Minerva, Uncle Zuri and cousin Taj on her left. It was at least ten years old and in it Nana looked so happy, so proud. I'd asked Nana about the photo once. I'd only been five or six at the time, so to be honest, I couldn't remember that much about it. And what's more I didn't think the photo was all that, but Nana kept a framed copy on the night table beside her bed, a framed copy on her piano and a smaller version of the same photo in her purse. Taj looked like he'd just finished picking or was just about to pick his nose, Mum appeared a bit fed up and Aunt Minerva was looking at Uncle Zuri instead of straight at the camera. But Nana didn't care.

  'I have my whole family beside me,' she told me when I asked her about it. 'That's what makes it so special.' Then she added wistfully, 'The only one missing was your dad, Callum.'

  But for the article, they'd chopped off the rest of us, showing only Nana. The worn, folded seams of the newspaper clipping in my hand had made the paper as fragile as a cobweb, but that didn't stop me from re-reading it. Every day.

  Every. Damn. Day.

  I tried to imagine what had gone wrong. Had Nana Jasmine tried to return the bomb to Uncle Jude? Is that what happened? Did she go to his hotel to throw it in his face? Did it go off accidentally? Did Uncle Jude detonate it deliberately? Did Nana Jasmine try to run and hide? Was there a struggle? Did they fight over it? If so, then Nana Jasmine wouldn't have stood a chance. She took my bomb and, knowing her as I did, she would've relished handing it back to Uncle Jude. But there's no way she could have known just how dangerous Uncle Jude was. The bomb got him – but it got Nana Jasmine too. How did I even begin to forgive myself for that?

  Uncle Jude and Nana Jasmine were dead because of me.

  Because of my bomb.

  I'd made the thing, put it together with rage and hatred in equal measure. I look back on my life of a few months ago and it's like being a voyeur in someone else's twisted mind. I look into my memories and see the thoughts and actions of a stranger, but a stranger with my face.

  'Nana Jasmine, I'm so sorry . . .'

  Sorry. Such a ridiculous, inadequate word.

  Sorry.

  I despised that word.

  I buried my face in my hands. I didn't want to see or be seen. At times like this, I just wanted to crawl away and find a place to hide from the world. Hide from myself. Was there any such place? I would've given everything I owned to find it.

  Little moments of forgetfulness. I guess that is all I can hope for now. Tiny fragments of moments when I can forget how my nana died. Sometimes I'll be cooking with Mum and she'll smile at me, or I'll be arguing with Nana Meggie and she'll huff at me, or I'll be doing my h
omework with Tobey and he'll deliberately wind me up, and in those wonderful, amazing moments, I forget. But such times are few and far apart.

  I couldn't even blame Uncle Jude for what had happened. Not really. My uncle was a soldier. A terrorist. A sad, angry, bitter man. Since his death, I'd learned so much about him and the things he'd done. The Internet and my local library had provided all the details I could ever need. I wish I'd taken the time to find out more about him when he was alive. Tobey tried to warn me, so did Lucas, but I wouldn't listen. I thought that Uncle Jude was the only one who understood me, the only one who was honest with me. How could I have got everything so wrong? I'm obviously not very perceptive. And the pitiful thing is that, until Uncle Jude's death, I thought I could tell everything about a person within three glances. God, I was such a fool.

  All those lies Uncle Jude told me. All that hatred filling him to overflowing. Hatred that he couldn't wait to pour into me. And I let him. And even though I'd made the bomb at his instigation, that still didn't help when I thought about the way he'd died. Him and my nana . . .

  One of the first things this new government did when they came into power a couple of months ago was abolish capital punishment – for good this time, I think. It was abolished over sixty years ago, then brought back five years before I was born after a public referendum indicated that the majority of people in this country wanted Liberation Militia terrorists and those convicted of serious crimes to be executed. This current government claimed that extreme circumstances made for bad laws – like the reintroduction of capital punishment and imprisonment without trial. But part of me just wants to walk into the nearest police station, give myself up and take whatever is coming to me. And if this country still had capital punishment then even better.

  'Nana, I wish you could hear me. D'you hate me? You can't hate me any more than I hate myself. I never meant for you to get hurt. I swear that was never my intention. My head was all over the place then. I didn't know who I was or where I belonged. I do now. But I never wanted that knowledge to come at the cost of your life. Mum keeps saying that I mustn't blame myself – it was all down to Jude. But I'm not stupid. Nana, I'm so sorry.'

  'Callie Rose, didn't you hear me calling you for dinner?' Mum stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. 'We're all waiting for you downstairs.'

  'Is Nathan here?' I asked, folding up the newspaper article again and placing it in the drawer of my bedside table.

  Mum's hands fell to her sides as she walked further into the room. I heard her sigh softly.

  'Yes, he is. I invited him for dinner. Callie, d'you . . . d'you mind about Nathan and me? We haven't really had a chance to talk about him since . . . since your Nana died.'

  'I don't mind at all, Mum,' I said honestly. 'In fact, I'm glad that you've got someone.'

  Mum scrutinized my face, as if trying to gauge how many of my words were true. I met her gaze without flinching or even blinking. I meant every one.

  'Something's bothering you about me and Nathan, though,' she said slowly.

  I had to smile. Mum was so astute when it came to reading my expressions, far more astute than I had ever given her credit for.

  'I was just thinking . . . what about you and Sonny?' I couldn't help asking.

  Sonny was Mum's old boyfriend. The only trouble was, he was still in love with her and trying to win her back, even though Mum had told him she was going to marry Nathan.

  'Sonny and I were the past. Nathan and I are the present.'

  'Does Sonny know that?'

  'I've told him often enough over the last few weeks.' Mum sighed again. 'It's time for all of us to move on. I can't live in the past. I won't.'

  Was Mum trying to convince me – or herself ?

  'Mum, are you and Nathan going to get married, or live together or what?'

  'I don't know. We talked about getting married, but we might have to put our plans on hold,' Mum admitted. 'Nathan's business isn't doing too well and he's now thinking it might be better to wait.'

  'And how d'you feel about that?'

  'I think he's right. I . . . we don't want to rush into anything.'

  'Mum, Nathan loves you, so why hang about?' I said. 'Life is too short.'

  'I guess so,' Mum said faintly.

  Was that doubt I heard in Mum's voice? It certainly sounded like it. I wasn't quite sure I got Mum and Nathan's relationship. It seemed to be an affair more of the head than the heart, at least on Mum's part. Sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, a sombre, thoughtful look clouded her eyes, and in those moments, I knew she was thinking about my dad. Once I'd been ashamed that my dad was Callum McGregor, a hanged terrorist. Not any more. And now that I knew just how much Mum and Dad had loved each other, I wasn't surprised that Mum found it hard to give her whole heart to anyone else. It gave me a strange feeling to know that my dad loved Mum and me so much, had sacrificed so much for us, even before I was born. A strange, warm, comforting, sad feeling.

  Mum and I both stood in a brooding silence, until Mum opened her arms. I immediately stepped into her embrace. We hugged. Mum stroked my hair. Loving moments turned into peaceful minutes.

  On my sixteenth birthday, I was reconciled with my mum. And I lost my nana. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. For a while, after Nana's death, I was so scared that my new relationship with my mum wouldn't last, that things would go back to the way they used to be between us, but thankfully, that hadn't happened. Oh, we'd had the odd hiccup and a couple of shouting matches, but Mum always allowed me to cool off and then she'd come and hug me and tell me that she loved me and my anger would burn away like early morning summer mist. I don't know how I would've coped with Nana Jasmine's death if it hadn't been for Mum. Tobey and Nana Meggie let me know they were there for me, but Mum had never left my side. At Nana Jasmine's funeral she'd held my hand throughout the service to let me know that I wasn't alone. And not once did Mum throw it back in my face that I'd made the bomb that killed Nana Jasmine. Not once. With each smile, each hug, every stroke of my hair she kept trying to tell me that she'd forgiven me. But how could I accept Mum's forgiveness when I knew I'd never forgive myself ?

  'I love you very much, Callie Rose. You do know that, don't you? And there is nothing on this earth or beyond that could ever change that,' Mum said softly.

  I found that so hard to believe, but Mum's face was an open book as she looked at me.

  'D'you promise?' I whispered.

  Mum smiled. 'Cross my heart.'

  'Mum, I love you.'

  Mum hugged me harder at that. And I wished . . . I wished so much that Nana Jasmine was still around to see it.

  three. Tobey

  'Raoul, you blanker, get up!' Dan put his hands to his mouth and yelled so hard, my head started ringing.

  'Godsake, Dan! My frickin' eardrums.'

  'Sorry,' Dan said with a grin.

  I sniffed around his shoulders before recoiling. 'Damn, Dan! Your pits are howling!'

  Dan raised his arm to sniff at his armpits. He looked like a bird covering its head with its wing.

  'Oh yeah, you're right!' he said, surprised.

  I pushed his arm back down before he gassed everyone on the pitch. 'You do know that armpits can be washed, don't you?'

  'I forgot to put on some deodorant today.' Dan grinned.

  I mean, Godsake!

  Our Monday evening football match was well under way. The July evening was still bright and uncomfortably hot. Within minutes of running around, my shirt was sticking to my armpits and my back. Dan and I were on opposing teams, both on the wing, supposedly marking each other. But mostly we were talking. We watched patiently as once again pain stopped play. Raoul was still rolling on the ground, clutching his lower leg like he was in a death scene in some bad straight-to-DVD movie.

  The Wasteland, where we were playing (or Meadowview Park, as the local authority had it listed on their website), wasn't as busy as usual. Only enough guys had turned up for a seven-a-side football match
, hence the reason I was playing. With a full complement of players I was usually relegated to one of the park benches. The Wasteland was a flat patch of rectangular land, with a children's adventure playground at one end and a flower garden enclosed by knee-high blunt railings at the other. Except the flower garden hadn't had any flowers in it for close to two decades, according to my mum. The criss-cross paths of concrete were now used by roller-bladers, skate-boarders and trick cyclists. Anyone using the park for any wheeled activity did so at their own peril – so the numerous signs posted around the place stated. I often wondered if that included pushing baby buggies and pulling shopping trolleys? Closer to the garden than the adventure playground was the football pitch, surrounded on all sides by rusting wire-mesh fencing. It wasn't much, but it was ours. And the football pitch was kept clean of dog crap and clear of litter. All the footballers in the neighbourhood saw to that.

  Raoul finally stood up and shook out his leg. About time! The ball was kicked to me and I displayed semiadequate skills by getting rid of it asap – and to someone on my own side too, which made a change.

  'So what d'you reckon?' Dan flashed his new watch about a centimetre away from my nose, twisting his forearm this way and that. It was so close I couldn't see it properly. Was he trying to poke out one of my eyeballs with the thing or what? And eau-de-stinky-pits was repeatedly punching at my nose again.

  'The watch?' Dan prompted. 'What d'you think?'

  'Does it shoot down low-flying aircraft?' I asked, taking a quick step back.

  Dan pursed his lips. 'Not that it says in the manual.'

  'Does it contain the nano-technology to drain a subdural haematoma?'

  'That's the next model up from this one.'

  'Then it tells the time, the same as my cheap effort,' I said.

  'Yeah, but mine looks good and cost more than everything you have in your bedroom and then some.'

  'Could you lower your arm before you kill me?' I pleaded.