Knife Edge (9 page)

I lay in bed this morning going over and over in my mind the events of the night before with Cara. I was still trying to understand what had happened. By which I mean, nothing happened. We ate dinner, we listened to music, and we talked. And laughed. And talked some more. And that was it. And through it all, I tried not to look into her eyes for too long. I tried not to laugh too hard at her awful jokes. I tried not to relax or smile too long at the good music playing. I tried not to touch her any more than I had to.

But I failed.

We ate and chatted and I told myself I'd wait half an hour before making my excuses to leave. Almost three hours later, Cara walked me to the door and then we stood in an awkward silence as she waited for me to make the next move.

An offer of another date? A kiss? What?

I turned to her and said, 'Thank you for a lovely evening. I've really enjoyed myself.'

'So have I,' said Cara.

Pause.

'I hope we can do it again some time,' Cara continued.

'I hope so too,' I replied. 'Well, I'd better get going.'

I opened the front door and stepped out into the night. Truth be told, I couldn't wait to get out of there. The whole evening had been an uncomfortable mistake – because I'd enjoyed it too much. There I was chatting and eating and laughing with a Cross. As I walked away from her front door, I had to remind myself exactly why I was with her. I told myself that the end would justify the means. If I had to make love to a dagger to get the money I needed to further our cause, then I'd have to bite the bullet and do it. She was just a dagger woman – and all daggers deserved what they got. I'd get money and anything else I could from her and then cut her loose. And I needed to do it fast.

How ironic then that my evening with Cara had been the best I'd spent in a long, long time. It'd been relaxing and pleasant and only served to reinforce all the things I'd missed – not just for months but for years. There was a stillness about Cara that allowed me to be still too. A calmness around her that forced me to relax. But I wasn't going to let my guard down. Not for Cara. Not for anyone.

That would be fatal. Not just physically but mentally – which would be worse.

All of Jude's laws from one to six applied in this case – but especially number one.

Never
ever
allow yourself to feel. Feelings kill.

Darling Callie,

We're going home. Tomorrow morning. A firm date at last. Yesterday they said I could go home today but it now looks like it'll definitely be tomorrow.
We're going home.
At last we're getting out of here. And whilst part of me is looking forward to getting away from this hospital, another part of me is so terrified I'm going to mess up. I know Mother will be there but ultimately it'll be down to me. My daughter, my responsibility. Callie, I look down at you, asleep in my arms, and I still can't believe you're mine.

My daughter.

I'm still so young and I have a daughter. I look at you and it scares me how little I know. About anything. I raise my arms slowly, the better to smell you. You smell so fresh and new. I never get tired of the way you smell. I stroke your cheek and it's as soft as a whisper. That's how I spent my time today, Callie. Gazing at you for countless minutes, drinking you in, until I realized that I was being watched. I looked up and jumped when I saw who was standing at the foot of my bed.

Meggie McGregor. Callum's mum.

I couldn't've been more shocked if she'd marched up to me and slapped me round the face with a frozen kipper. My mouth gaped open as I continued to stare at her.

'Hello, Sephy,' Meggie said quietly.

'Hello . . . Mrs McGregor,' I said.

I used to call her Meggie, but that was before I realized I had absolutely no right to do so.

'How are you?'

'Fine.'

What was she doing here? I hadn't seen her since before Callum died. What did she want? Had she come to spit in my eye over the death of her son? I wouldn't blame her if she hated me as much as Jude did. That bloody ad in the paper. Another one of my so-called brilliant ideas that'd turned round and bitten me on the bum. My rear end was blood-raw from my so-called brilliant ideas rebounding on me. I glanced down the ward to the nurses' station. If Meggie had come to hurt me or my baby, would I have time to shout for help? Would they have time to run to my assistance? I clutched Callie closer to me. No one, not Meggie, not Jude, not my father, no one was ever going to hurt my child.

'May I sit down?' Meggie asked.

I nodded warily. Meggie sat in the chair at the side of my bed.

'Can I hold her?' Meggie asked, smiling at my baby.

I eyed her uncertainly. 'Mrs McGregor, I—'

'My name's Meggie. And that's my granddaughter,' Meggie told me. 'I love her already.'

I still wasn't sure, but something about the look in her eyes made me believe her. Slowly I handed over my baby. Meggie's eyes lit up as she settled Callie into her arms. I recognized the expression on her face. It was the same one my mother had worn when she first held her granddaughter. And then I knew that Meggie was telling the truth. She really did love Callie already. Very much.

'Her eyes are blue,' Meggie said surprised.

'All babies' eyes are blue,' I told her.

'But I thought that Cross babies' eyes turned brown within a few hours or days. You've been in hospital quite a while now,' said Meggie.

I shrugged.

'She's very beautiful,' smiled Meggie, her eyes on her granddaughter.

'I think so,' I said.

Only then did Meggie look at me. 'Thank you for calling her Callie.'

I shrugged, remembering how Callum hadn't wanted me to. Rose had been his idea. Callie had been mine.

'Callie Rose suits her,' Meggie smiled.

We were talking about nothing, both of us too afraid to say what was really on our minds. I took a deep breath, gathered up my courage and went for it.

'Mrs . . . Meggie, do you blame me for Callum's death?' I asked.

Meggie looked at me and shook her head. 'No. I never blamed you for what happened to my son.'

'Why not? Jude does.'

'Jude still hasn't found what he's looking for,' sighed Meggie.

'And what's that?'

'I don't think even Jude knows that. But until he can make sense of his own life, he'll blame you and every other Cross for everything that's wrong in it,' said Meggie.

'And you don't?'

'No.'

How wonderful it would be to believe that – even for a moment. With a sigh, I settled back against my pillows.

'Besides, I think you're probably blaming yourself enough for the both of us,' said Meggie.

'You know me so well.' I smiled without humour.

'I should do, Miss Sephy. I brought you up, didn't I?'

Which was no less than the truth.

'Please don't call me Miss Sephy,' I asked. 'Just Sephy will do.'

Miss Sephy . . . I wondered if she hated calling me that as much as I hated to hear it. It was almost like a member of my own family calling me Miss Sephy. Funny, but when I think of my early childhood, I remember my nanny, Meggie, being there more often than my own mother. Meggie and Callum were my closest friends – until the day Meggie left our house with Callum and hadn't been invited back. After that it was just Callum and me, Meggie and my mother had been so close, but it'd changed in a moment. Funny how life pivoted on single moments, single choices.

'So when d'you think you'll go home?' asked Meggie.

'They've said I can definitely go home tomorrow morning,' I told her.

She looked at me. 'Are you still in your flat?'

'Yes.' I frowned. 'How did you know about that?'

'A friend told me.'

A friend . . ? Jude?

'No, not Jude,' said Meggie, reading my mind. 'I haven't seen him . . . to speak to since before Callum died.'

Did I believe her? I had no reason not to.

'I've got a suggestion,' said Meggie.

'What's that?'

'You could move in with me.'

'Sorry?' I was sure that I must've misheard her.

'If you don't like the idea of being alone in a flat, I thought perhaps you could move in with me,' said Meggie. 'I could help you and Callie Rose. I wouldn't try and take over. I just want to help.'

'Oh, but Mother's already—'

'It's common knowledge how your mother feels about you and Callie Rose. But that's not how I feel,' Meggie interrupted. 'Just hear me out. I've thought and thought about this and as we're both alone now, I thought it'd be the ideal solution.'

My heart began to pound inside me – long, loud thuds mocking every breath I took.

'But what about your sister? Aren't you living with her now? I'm sure she won't want me and a baby under her feet,' I said.

Tell her. You 're going to move back home with Mother. Tell her.

'I live in my own place now,' said Meggie. 'It's not big or fancy but it's home. And you're welcome to share it with me.'

'Why . . . why d'you want to do this?' I asked, bewildered.

'You and Callie are all the family I've got left,' said Meggie.

Just a few words but they echoed with such longing and loneliness that my eyes instantly began to sting. I looked from Callie to Meggie and back again.

'And I'm sure it's what Callum would've wanted,' said Meggie, playing her ace. 'For us to live together as a family.'

My face felt like it was going to crack. But what could I do? I wanted to go home to Mother. I'd set my heart on that.

But Meggie needed us.

So did Mother.

I groaned inwardly. No matter what I decided, I'd end up hurting someone.

All the family I've got left . . .

The simple truth was that Meggie needed Callie and me more than Mother did. And I owed her.

'Please, Sephy?'

'Are you sure you won't mind being kept awake by a crying baby and having a house smelling of dirty nappies?'

'I'd love it,' Meggie grinned.

'Then I guess you've got two lodgers,' I replied. 'But only on one condition.'

'What's that?'

'You let me pay rent and half of all the bills.'

Meggie looked like she was about argue, but she regarded me and changed her mind. 'OK. That's all settled then.' She handed Callie back to me. 'Thank you, Sephy. I'll come and pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.' Meggie beamed at me. 'Having you and my granddaughter in the house will give me a reason for getting up in the mornings again.'

And with that she set off down the ward. I watched Meggie until she disappeared through the double doors at the end and even then, I couldn't tear my gaze away. What on earth had I done?

'I know this is none of my business,' said Roxie from the bed next to mine, 'but I couldn't help overhearing. I thought you were going home with your mother tomorrow?'

'I guess not,' I said, my voice clipped.

'Who was that woman then?' Roxie asked.

'Meggie McGregor. Callie's grandmother.'

'Why did you say you'd go with her?'

'She needs me.'

'What about what you need?' Roxie asked.

I had no answer.

Cara and I have been going out for a couple of weeks now. I decided to be patient. I'm after more than just a day's takings from the local hairdresser's. I have my eyes on bigger fish now – like the money from the whole Delany hairdressing salon account. There must be hundreds of thousands of pounds in it. I've seen Cara constantly have to turn people away so she has to be raking it in. Getting my hands on all her money shouldn't be too tricky.

For the simple reason that she cares about me. A lot.

I've tested her out. Sometimes, I let two days pass without phoning her. On the third day, like clockwork, she phones me on my mobile and suggests we hook up. And every time I see her, I give her flowers or chocolates or cheap bits of jewellery and she laps it up.

And the questions have started.

'How many brothers and sisters do you have?'

'Steve, what're your mum and dad like?'

'Steve, what exactly d'you do for a living?'

'What did you want to be when you left school?'

'Where d'you see yourself in five years' time?'

All those searching female questions that girls ask when deciding whether or not to get serious about you.

And the funny thing is, I haven't done a single thing to encourage it. Definitely no sex, very few kisses, limited handholding.

But I'll say one thing for Cara – she's intelligent. She knows how to have a proper conversation – unlike Gina. And she has opinions of her own. Gina would always ask me what I thought before venturing an opinion, invariably the same as mine. Cara isn't afraid to disagree with me. It's been a while since I sat down and talked about politics and religion and films and life with someone outside the Liberation Militia. And it's been for ever since I discussed any of those things with a Cross.

'D'you get many noughts in your shop?' I asked over dinner one night.

'Not many – no,' said Cara. 'Not as many as I'd like.'

'I bet some of your Cross patrons don't like you doing nought hair in the same salon,' I said.

'Then they're free to go somewhere else,' said Cara immediately. 'I can't stand that kind of thinking around me. It's such a waste of time.'

'So if I asked you to cornrow my hair, you'd do it?'

'In this restaurant – no!' said Cara dryly. 'But in my salon or at my house? Yes, of course I would. Why wouldn't I?'

'You don't feel we noughts are trying too hard to take over the Cross style?' I said, careful to keep my tone even.

'The Cross style? What's that when it's at home?' Cara asked, leaning in to hear my answer, her expression alert.

'Everything that's you and not us,' I told her.

'For example?'

'Walk into any nought clothes shop and you can buy padded knickers so nought women can have more of a curvaceous bum – like Cross women. Everything about our lives, the style of clothes we wear, even down to the food we eat, it's all dictated by Cross aesthetics, by the way Crosses see the world. Rich nought women aren't dressed without collagen implants to give them fuller top lips and melanin tablets or expensive sun bed treatments to make their skin darker. And what about Hartley Durrant?' I said warming to my theme.

'What about her?'

'She's the only nought woman to make it into this year's list of the one hundred most beautiful women in the world. And d'you know why? Because she looks like a Cross.'

'No, she doesn't,' Cara argued.

'Yes, she does.'

'D'you think she's attractive?' asked Cara.

'Yes, she's gorgeous. But that's not the point,' I replied impatiently.

'Don't you think that beauty is as beauty does?'

'What does that mean?'

'It means too many people, Nought or Cross, are caught up in the things that don't mean a damn – like how people look and how much money they have. Who cares!'

'So what does matter then?' I asked.

'What people are on the inside,' said Cara.

What a load of naive, happy-ever-after nonsense, I thought sourly. And easy for you to say.

'Yes, I know it's easy for me to say.' Cara smiled, reading my mind. 'I'm on the inside. I'm part of the majority – I know that. Most magazine covers have Cross women and men on them, not Noughts. Most film stars are Crosses, most TV dramas are about Crosses. I know all that. I'm on the inside but that doesn't mean I can't see what's going on outside. And it doesn't mean I approve of the status quo.'

'Why not? Why should you care?' I couldn't help asking.

'Because my mum and dad brought me up to believe that people are different but equal. And that I should treat everyone, no matter who, with the same respect I'd like to be shown,' said Cara.

'So you're with me to show you can put your parents' philosophy into practice?' I could've bitten off my tongue the moment the words left my mouth.

'Is that what you really think, Steve?' Cara asked seriously.

I took a sip of my wine. I'd said far too much already.

'Is it?' Cara persisted.

'I don't know,' I said, looking her straight in the eye.

To my surprise, she smiled and sat back in her chair. 'Thanks for being honest. Now I'll be equally honest. I'm here with you because I like you – very much. And that's the beginning, middle and the end of it.'

But you don't know me, I couldn't help thinking. And the thought didn't bring me the satisfaction it should've done.

Sometimes when we're chatting or laughing together, I actually forget that she's a Cross. But only sometimes. When that happens, I force myself to look at her and concentrate on her skin colour and nothing else. And that usually does the trick. I focus on the things that are totally different about us. What surprises me is that sometimes I actually forget about our differences. Not for long – but it does happen. And it shouldn't. I'm going to have to make my move soon. I'm in danger here. Because I've started to think about the things we have in common rather than the things we don't. It's time to cut and run with whatever I can get from her.