Checkmate (7 page)

'Mum! Mum!' Rose ran into the room at full pelt with Tobey close behind.

'What's the matter?' I asked, looking up from my newspaper.

'The sky is having sex!' said Rose with great excitement.

'I beg your pardon?'

'The sky. Look at the sky,' Rose urged.

Frowning, I got up and opened the living-room curtains. The sky was already dark even though it was still early evening, but by the light of the orange street lamp outside, I could see myriad snowflakes swirling and twirling in the semi-darkness. The snowflakes looked more amber than white under the street lamp's glow.

'See!' Rose said, almost indignant that I'd doubted her word.

I looked from Rose to Tobey and back again. Why did I smell one of Tobey's stories behind this?

'I still don't understand,' I said carefully. 'What've the snowflakes got to do with sex?'

'You mean you don't know?' Rose said astounded. Then she grinned at me, pleased to know something I didn't. 'Well, what happens is, the sky and the ground have a big snog and have sex and the snowflakes are all the sperms hitting the ground. And all the blades of grass are the babies.'

'And where did you get that from?' As if I didn't know.

Rose looked puzzled. 'Tobey told me.'

I stood up. 'Tobey, I'd like a word with you.'

One look at the thunderous look on my face and Tobey bolted.

'I've got to go home now. Bye.'

'Tobey, come back here.' I went after him but he was out our front door and at his house before I'd cleared the hall.

You'd better run, boy, I thought sourly. You'd better run.

'Mum?' said Rose, her head tilted to one side. 'What are sperms?'

So much for my non-existent baking skills. Why was it that I could cook anything savoury, but introduce just one sugar crystal and my food became a disaster area. About the only thing I could make containing sugar which didn't go wrong was a cup of coffee. I glared down at my chocolate cake, which had sunk in the middle and was burned around the edges. It looked like a bowl. I'd followed the recipe exactly, I know I had. I couldn't take this effort into church. I could just imagine the pitying looks when my friends saw it. Maybe if I smothered it with chocolate icing and filled the middle with sweets or something . . .

Out in the hall, my mobile phone rang. I headed out of the kitchen, glad to get away from the cake, which mocked me from every angle. Digging my mobile out of my handbag, I checked for the caller ID, but there wasn't one.

'Meggie McGregor.'

'Hi. It's me.'

Just three words had my heart skipping. I took the phone back into the kitchen and closed the door, before replying.

'Hello, son. How are you?'

'Same as ever, Mum. And how're you?'

'OK, I suppose. I had a nasty fall a few weeks ago.'

'Are you OK?'

'Yeah, I'm fine now.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'What could you have done?' I asked. 'I was several shades of purple up and down my leg for a while, but I'm fine now.'

Jude didn't answer.

'Where are you now?' I asked.

'The Isis Hotel.'

I sighed. Jude was at his regular haunt when he was down this way, but it was still only a cheap hotel. He should have had his own home by now. When was he going to stop living out of a suitcase?

'I'm phoning because I'm going abroad tomorrow for a while,' Jude continued.

'Why?'

'Fundraising.'

'Where?'

'Anywhere where there are
L.M.
sympathizers. I'm following the money.'

'You told me you weren't in the
L.M.
any more. You told me you didn't—'

'I'm not part of the active body, Mum. I'm not a soldier. I just fundraise and work on the administrative side,' said Jude impatiently.

Relieved, I started to breathe again. 'I'd like to see you before you go,' I told him.

'I'm a bit busy . . . but OK,' said Jude.

'Where should we meet? At a pub or—'

'At the hotel. It's safer. I'll order room service,' said Jude.

He gave me his room number, then rang off. Jude didn't believe in long drawn-out conversations, whether on the phone or in person. I pulled off my apron, my thoughts now totally wrapped around my only remaining son. His prison sentence was long over but the bitterness inside still held him prisoner. If I could only get him away from his
L.M.
colleagues. I was convinced they were the ones filling him with hatred and poisoning his soul. I'd never give up hope of showing my son that the Liberation Militia were not the way forward. At least he wasn't an active member, so that was something, but I wanted him out of that organization completely. There had to be a way to reach him, I just had to find it. I'd never stop believing that.

And I'd never stop trying.

'I'm off out,' said Meggie, popping her head round the door. 'Don't bother leaving dinner for me.'

'Where're you going?'

'I'm having dinner with a friend,' said Meggie tersely.

I know I shouldn't've been surprised but I was. I could count on the mittened fingers of our garden gnome the number of times Meggie went out for a meal. She was definitely not a 'lady who did lunch'. Or dinner come to that. Meggie looked around with a frown.

'Where's Callie Rose?'

'At Tobey's house.'

'So late?'

'It's not late, Meggie. I'm going to give her another fifteen minutes then go and get her.'

'Will you . . . will you be all right without me?' asked Meggie, her eyes anywhere and everywhere but on me.

Why don't you just ask me the question you really want to ask?

How long were Meggie and I going to dance around this?

'I'll be fine. Why wouldn't I be?' I challenged.

'If you need me, just phone.'

'Meggie, I'm quite capable of putting my own daughter to bed,' I said patiently.

'I didn't say you weren't. Oh, by the way, don't let her watch the TV this evening though,' said Meggie, her voice grim.

'Why?'

'There's a programme on at eight o'clock about the history of the Liberation Militia. They might mention

'I see.' Now I sounded just as grim as Meggie. Every time the Liberation Militia were mentioned on the TV, my blood ran ice-cold. I was probably over-reacting; after all, Callum's name had only been mentioned in a documentary once
–
at least, that I knew about. That was part of the reason I'd finally decided against giving Callie
Rose her dad's surname. And that was something over which Meggie held no sway and had no say. But that didn't stop the panic rising whenever the
L.M.
were mentioned. I didn't want my baby to hear any of that. I didn't want my baby to know . . . Not yet. Plenty of time to tell her the truth when she was old enough to deal with it, to understand it. But it wasn't just the ashes of past sins that I was afraid of being stirred up. Each time the
L.M.
came on the TV, I waited with bated breath to hear Jude's name.

'Have you heard from Jude recently?' I asked.

The colour drained from Meggie's face, then a slow curtain of red began to rise, covering her neck, her cheeks. She looked away from me.

'No. Why?'

I frowned at Meggie. Why was she so embarrassed? No, it was more than embarrassed. She was lying.

'If you had seen him, would you tell me?'

'Why would I hide it?' Meggie looked me in the eye to say, 'And why ask me about him now? You haven't mentioned his name in ages.'

'He's in the
L.M.,
isn't he?'

'Not any more,' said Meggie.

'Who told you that?'

'Jude did.'

'When?

'The last time I spoke to him.'

'And you believed him?'

'Jude wouldn't lie to me,' said Meggie, drawing herself up.

Was she serious?

'Jude does nothing but lie,' I told her. 'He killed that Cross hairdresser, Cara Imega, and he boasted about it.'

'I don't beli— That's not true. Jude says he didn't do it and I believe him,' said Meggie.

In the battle of 'he said, she said', Jude was the clear winner. I trailed in a poor, weary second.

'Besides, if he did say that, he probably only said it to . . . to . . .'

Couldn't Meggie hear herself? Didn't she hear the ridiculous excuses she was making for her demon incarnate son.

'Yes?' I prompted. 'Why would he say such a thing if it wasn't true? To wind me up? Or maybe just to rub my nose in the fact that I helped a stone-cold killer escape justice? Which reason sounds more plausible to you?'

'Jude didn't kill that girl,' Meggie insisted.

This was an entire waste of my time and my breath. 'If you say so, Meggie. Enjoy your dinner.'

I turned my attention back to the TV. Meggie stood still for a few moments, then headed out of the room and out the house. Only when I heard the front door slam did I allow myself to relax completely.

I found it very hard to relax in Meggie's house, sitting in Meggie's chair with Meggie's things all around me. And impossible to relax around Meggie. She saw everything her way and no one else's. And she didn't trust me. Not even close. But how could anyone in full possession of their faculties really believe that Jude wasn't a member of the
L.M.
or that he didn't have anything to do with Cara Imega's murder.

Cara Imega . . .

That name would haunt me till the day I died. For a long while, I thought that all the terrible things that happened to me after Cara's death were my punishment. The fates tearing me to pieces for my culpability. But that was before I realized that I didn't need the fates or divine retribution or any other external source to punish me. I was doing a first-rate job all on my own.

Jude was a murderer.

But by helping to hide his guilt, what did that make me?

By not coming forward when I had the chance, what was I? I already knew the bitter answer.

I stood up. Time to get my daughter. Time to lose myself in her smile and forget the past. Just for a while.

Hello, Daddy,

How are you today? How is heaven? Sunny, I bet. It's sunny down here on Earth as well. A toasted teacake kind of day. Mummy is in the kitchen washing up and her face is shining. The sunlight glowing on and around her face makes her look like she has golden edges. She looks like an angel. Yeah! Exactly like the angel we put on top of the Crossmas tree each year. I love Mummy. And she loves me
–
and you, Daddy.

Isn't that wonderful?

Can you smell the soup Mummy made for our lunch? I love that smell. It smells like warm and full and safe. I bet you're jealous you didn't get any. Ha! You should've made your ghost appear when we were eating round the table. I would've given you a spoonful of soup with all the best bits in it – if you hadn't scared me too much first.

Talk to you later, Daddy.

Byeee.