Double Cross (2 page)

'Tobey, I was er . . . thinking that maybe you and me
could . . . er . . . you know, go to the pictures or go for
a . . . er . . . you know, a meal or something this
weekend?'

Godsake! Couldn't she get through one sentence, just
one sentence, without sticking umpteen 'er's and 'you
know's in it first?

'I can't, Misty. I'm already going out.' I turned back to
my graphic novel – a humorous fantasy that was better
than I had thought it would be when I'd borrowed it from
the library.

'Oh? Where're you going?'

'Out.' I frowned, not bothering to look up from my
book.

'For the whole weekend?'

'Yes.'

'Out where?'

I turned in my chair to look at her. Misty tossed back
her brunette hair with blonde highlights in a peculiarly
unnatural move that had obviously been practised to death
in front of her bedroom mirror.

'Out where?' Misty asked again.

This girl was stomping on my last nerve now. She'd
been asking me out all term and I'd always found some
reason to turn her down. Couldn't she take a hint? Miss
I'm-too-sexy-for-myself leaned closer in to me, so close
that I had to pull back or she'd've been kissing my
neck.

'I'm going out with my family. We're visiting relatives,'
I improvised.

I'm too nice, that's my trouble, I thought sourly. Why
on earth didn't I just tell her that I wasn't interested in a
date or anything else for that matter? For one thing,
hugging her would be like trying to cuddle a chopstick. I
liked curves. And even if I did fancy her – which I didn't
– there was no way I'd ever get it on with an ex-girlfriend
of my mate, Dan. That was a definite no.

'Maybe the er . . . erm. . . following Saturday, then?
We could maybe . . . er . . . go out then if you'd like?' said
Misty.

Rearrange this sentence: hell – freezes – over – when.

The classroom door swung open and Callie Rose
strolled into the room. She stopped momentarily when
she saw who was sitting in her chair. Scowling, she strode
over to Misty.

'D'you mind?' Callie asked.

'I'm talking to Tobey.'

'Not from my chair, you're not,' Callie shot back.

'Er . . . can't you find somewhere else to sit until the
lesson starts?' Misty wheedled.

Uh-oh! I held my breath. Callie let her rucksack slip
from her hand to the floor as her eyes narrowed. She was
one nanosecond away from moving up to Kick-arse
Condition 1.

'Misty, you need to get up off my chair,' Callie said
softly.

'I'd shift if I were you,' I advised Misty.

Much as I found the thought of a cat-fight over me
appealing, I didn't fancy Callie getting into trouble and
then giving me grief for what was left of the term.

Misty huffed and stood up. 'Callie, I'm going to
remember this.'

'Remember it. Take a photo. Break out your
camcorder. I don't give a rat's bum. Just move.' Callie
stepped aside so that Misty could squeeze by, before flopping
down into her now vacant seat.

'Damn cheek!' Callie carried on muttering under her
breath as she dug into her bag for the history books
required for our first lesson. She turned to look at Misty,
who was now back in her own chair.

'If looks could kill, I'd be seriously ill,' Callie said as she
turned to me, annoyance vying with amusement to colour
her eyes more hazel than brown. Every time she was upset
or angry, her eyes literally turned greener. It was one of
the many things about her that got me going. She had the
most expressive eyes I'd ever seen. Chameleon-like, they
changed colour to reflect her every mood.

'Every time I want to sit down next to you or be within
half a kilometre of you, I can't move without tripping
over that girl first. What's up with that?'

I sucked in my cheeks in an effort not to chortle. One
snicker and Callie would bite my head off. I tried for a
nonchalant shrug.

'So what did Miss Foggy want this time?' Callie asked.

'Why d'you insist on calling her Miss Foggy?' I laughed.
I know it was mean, but 'Miss Foggy' really suited Misty.

'That's her name, isn't it? Besides, I'm not the one who
chose to name her after a type of weather, and if the shoe
fits . . .' Callie said pointedly. 'And you haven't answered
my question.'

'She was inviting me out this weekend,' I replied.

I watched keenly for her reaction.

She shook her head. 'Damn! Misty's got it bad.'

'Are you jealous?' I asked hopefully.

Callie's eyebrows shot up so far and so fast, she got an
instant face-lift. 'Are you kidding? I just think it's pitiful.
She's been chucking herself at you all term and you
haven't exactly been rushing to catch her, have you? In
fact, most of the time you just fold your arms and let her
drop on her face over and over again. You'd think she'd
have got the message by now.'

'So you are green-eyed.' I grinned.

'Tobey, I don't know what you're taking, but you need
to get yourself to rehab – quick, fast and in a hurry.'

'My girl is jealous.' My grin broadened. 'It's OK, Callie
Rose. There'll never be anyone for me but you.'

'Go dip your head,' Callie told me.

'I mean it.' I crossed both my hands over my heart and
adopted a ridiculously soppy expression. 'I give my heart
. . . to you.' I mimed placing it carefully on the table
in front of her. Glowering, Callie picked up her pen
and mimed stabbing my heart on the table over and
over again.

I burst out laughing, but had to smother it as Mr Lancer,
the history teacher, entered the room. Callie started
muttering all kinds of dire threats and promises under her
breath the way she always did when I got under her skin.

And I loved it. It was music to my ears.

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

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.

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 homework
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.