Split Second

  Karen’s lip trembled. “Please don’t talk about my friends like that,” she said. “And I had them over for you. Because it was Friday and the weekend and last weekend you didn’t leave your room.”

  “So what?”

  She was right, of course. I hardly ever went out. Losing Mum hadn’t just meant moving to Karen’s tiny apartment in Leeds but also leaving my old school and friends behind. Not that I missed anyone much. My friends all treated me differently after Mum died, like they were scared to come near me. The girls at my new school in Leeds, on the other hand, delighted in taunting me.

  I’d never been to a single-sex school before and I hated how bitchy it was. The girls here teased me constantly about my London accent, the way I’d use a long ‘a’ when they said it short and flat. They didn’t even know I was called Charlie instead of Charlotte. Not that I cared. I didn’t care about anything.

  “I cut back on cigs this week to make sure I could afford that dessert.” Karen’s mouth trembled again. “I think the least you could do is say you’re sorry.”

  I peered past her, out to the tiny kitchen, where the remnants of the chocolate trifle Karen had bought lay where I’d thrown it onto the grubby floor. Mum would have made a trifle. Mum would have kept her kitchen floor clean.

  It suddenly struck me that of all the many reasons I felt angry with Karen, by far the biggest was that she simply wasn’t Mum. It was ironic, really. Karen and I had gotten along well once, when Mum and I used to visit her. Karen was Mum’s younger sister, with no kids of her own. She had been fun back then, at least I’d always thought so. But Karen was also kind of forgetful. Not about big emotional stuff, but the small things that make life easy, like paying bills on time and not losing cell phones and remembering when someone’s told you ten times already they need new shoes for school.

  Mum had been great at all that stuff.

  Not that I’d ever appreciated it.

  An image of her unhappy face, just before she’d turned away from me in the market, flashed into my head. I hadn’t even really wanted that stupid tattoo we’d been arguing over.

  A miserable fury filled me again.

  “Charlie?”

  “I just didn’t want to join in before,” I said, struggling to keep my temper. I knew that the rage I felt was all out of proportion. Karen had only been trying to be nice. But, again, I couldn’t stop myself. “They’re your friends, not mine.”

  Karen gazed at me and, though she doesn’t look anything like Mum, for a moment I saw Mum’s sorrowful expression in her eyes.

  It hurt too much to look at her.

  “Go away,” I said. And I slammed the door in her face.

  • • •

  The next day was Saturday. I spent the whole morning asleep and then the whole afternoon reading in my room, coming out only for some toast and a cup of tea. The kitchen was in chaos, as usual: a huge mess of trifle still lay on the floor, dirty plates from last night were stacked in the sink, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts sat on the table. It was funny, I thought as I wiped up the trifle, how Karen was always complaining about being poor, yet spent masses of money every week on her “cigs,” as she called them. I expected her to come in and talk to me again at some point during the afternoon but she didn’t appear until the evening. I was truly bored by then, with another whole day stretching ahead of me before school on Monday morning—and nothing to do.

  I was just poring over my bookshelves, trying to pick another book to reread. I used to have an e-reader with loads of more grown-up novels on it but Mum had pawned it just before she died—so I was left with just the childhood books I’d loved from years ago. Right now I was rereading The Suitcase Kid by Jacqueline Wilson.

  I heard the doorbell, then voices. A minute later Karen knocked on my bedroom door. She didn’t smile as she asked me to come with her into the living room.

  “There are some people here to see you,” she said.

  “What?” Who on earth could be here to see me? I felt like refusing, but Karen was already heading for the living room. Anyway, I was curious.

  A man and a woman were sitting on the sofa. They stood up as I walked in. The man looked vaguely familiar, the woman less so, but I couldn’t place either of them. They smiled at me. I glared back and the woman looked down at the threadbare carpet. Karen cleared her throat.

  “This is Brian and Gail,” she said. “Your uncle and his wife.”

  My mouth fell open. Dad was a soldier who died in action when I was a baby, and I’d met his brother, my uncle, only once or twice when I was younger. Brian looked different from how I remembered him, more fleshy in the face with a definite paunch under his sharp suit. I glanced at Gail. She was thin with a timid smile. I couldn’t remember her at all. Brian had gone to work abroad when I was still very little. Mum had told me that he and my dad disliked each other and had hardly seen each other in years.

  “Hello, Charlotte.” Brian strode toward me and gripped my hand. He pumped it up and down. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Is it?” I withdrew my hand. “If it’s such a pleasure, how come I haven’t seen you for, like, a million years?”

  Beside me, Karen gasped. Across the room, Gail’s eyes widened. She looked horrified. I folded my arms, filling up with anger. How dare she looked so shocked? She and Brian hadn’t even come to Mum’s funeral.

  And then Brian laughed. A big belly laugh. It transformed his face, softening all his features. I’d heard that laugh before. It sounded just like my dad’s in the videos Mum used to play of him. Of them together. When they always seemed to be laughing. I’d grown up watching those videos, hearing the sound of Dad’s guffaws, seeing his eyes shining with love for Mum.

  I hated Brian for reminding me. Tears filled my eyes and I turned my face away from him, not wanting him to see how much losing Mum hurt.

  Brian stopped laughing. There was a pause, and then he spoke in a low, gruff voice, quite different from the formal tone he’d used before.

  “I deserve that, Charlotte,” he said. “I’m truly sorry for all that you’ve been through. My mother died when I was younger. I know how hard it is and I can’t imagine how impossible it must be for you losing your mum at such a young age.”

  I looked back at him. “I’m doing fine,” I said, “and it’s Charlie, not Charlotte.”

  “Okay.” Brian nodded. He beckoned his wife, who drifted nervously to his side, eyeing me as if I were a wild dog that might bite her if she wasn’t careful. “Gail and I would like to help.”

  I stared at them. “Help?”

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Karen tugged me onto the chair next to her. Brian and Gail sat opposite.

  “It’s been difficult, as you know, Charlie,” Karen said. She laid her hand over mine. “I love you very much but I don’t think its really working out. We’ve both said as much, so . . .” She trailed off, not meeting my eyes.

  “You’re kicking me out?” I said.

  “No.” That was Brian. He leaned forward. “I’m back in London for work and living with the family full time instead of only on weekends. Gail and I want to have you. We have a large house and I’ve got a great job at ViaTech—and a good job is a big deal these days, as you’ll know. Rosa’s your age. Well, she’s nearly ten months younger, but you’re the same grade at school. We’re your family. And I think it’s time we stepped in.”

  “We just want to help, Charlie,” Gail said. Her eyes were round and soft. “I only met your mother a few times but I liked her. It’s a shame we lost touch. And I know we should have done more over the past few months but with Brian spending so much time out of the country it’s been hard.”

  I looked from her to Brian. “You want me to come and live with you?” I turned to Karen. “You want me to go?”

  Karen looked down. “It’s not that, exactly.”

  Something twisted in my guts. It was that. Exactly.

  “We’d treat it as a trial,” Brian sa
id. “Like a vacation, trying it out for a couple of weeks. There’s no need to involve Social Services or do anything formal at this stage.”

  “Does that mean I won’t have to go to school?” I looked up.

  Brian chuckled. “I’m afraid school is nonnegotiable. This is an important year for you, with your tests coming up. Anyway, trying out Rosa’s school is part of the reason for coming to stay for a couple of weeks.”

  “It’s a great place, Charlie,” Gail said. “Newbury Park. Rosa loves it. It’s private, with lots of great facilities.”

  “A private school?” I sat back. Since the economy had gotten worse last year, lots of private schools had closed because parents couldn’t afford tuition. You had to be really rich to go to one.

  “We’d be happy to pay for your place there if you decide to stay. It’s not a problem,” Brian said.

  I sat back, my head spinning. I’d never been to a private school before or mixed with private school kids. And I had no idea what Rosa would be like. On the other hand, the prospect of getting away from here was tempting.

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “North London,” Gail said. “Near Hendon.”

  I nodded. Back to London then . . . not far from where Mum and I had lived and even closer to where my dad had grown up. Near, in fact, to the market where Mum had been killed. Still, I could avoid ever going there again. And no one would tease me about my accent in London, either.

  Brian stood up. “Take some time to think about it. I know things haven’t been easy for you this year. But Gail and I want to help, like we said.” He sighed. “It’s no secret that your dad and I didn’t get along, but that’s no reason you should suffer now. We’re staying overnight in a hotel nearby. Call if you’ve got any questions. Karen has the number. We’ll come back in the morning, you can tell us what you’ve decided then. If you need more time, that’s fine.”

  “Right,” I said. I looked at Karen. She was watching me carefully. I knew that if I refused to go she would let me stay with her. But was that what I really wanted?

  “So . . . the school, me going there for a trial period, that’s really okay too?”

  “Absolutely. You can even join Rosa’s house temporarily,” Gail said.

  I stared at her blankly.

  “They divide the kids into houses, so they can have mentors and a real sense of identity. It’s a great system.”

  “Will you think about it?” Brian asked.

  I looked into his eyes. They were warm, strong, serious. Like my dad’s had been. A sob welled up inside me. I swallowed it down. Karen didn’t really want me. There was nothing to keep me here.

  “I guess I could think about it,” I said with a shrug. But inside I already knew I was going to say yes. After all, London was more my home than Leeds. And, in the end, it didn’t matter where I was. Mum would never be there.

  Wherever I went, I would always be alone.

  NAT

  I put my hand on Mum’s shoulder. She leaned toward me for a moment, then shifted forward in her chair, her eyes fixed once again on Lucas. I let my hand drop.

  There had been a time, before the bomb, when we were still a family: all five of us watching TV together or Mum insisting we sat down for meals or that last vacation in Spain when Jas got sunburn. But those memories belonged to another life. For the past six months Mum had spent most of her time in the hospital, as if somehow she could will Lucas back to consciousness simply by watching him. The doctors held out only the faintest hope that he would ever wake up. He had been in a coma since the bomb went off.

  And I had kept his secret.

  “Lucas looks better today, Nat, don’t you think?” Mum glanced over her shoulder at me. “A bit more color in his cheeks.”

  “Mmm.” I shrugged, feeling awkward. As far as I could see Lucas looked the same as he always did: pale and still and kept alive only by the wires and tubes that ran in and out of his body.

  I walked to the door. Mum didn’t seem to notice. Lucas had always been her favorite, her “golden boy,” tragically left in a coma because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I knew the truth. I knew that Lucas had been part of the terrorist team who set off the bomb in the market.

  I still didn’t understand it. Lucas hadn’t been a violent person with extreme views. He hadn’t really been interested in politics at all. He’d admired the peaceful and democratic new Future Party—and its leader, Roman Riley—but then so did virtually everyone. It just didn’t make sense that Lucas could have set off a bomb for the League of Iron, a nasty, far-right group that spouted vicious and racist propaganda.

  Having said that, Lucas had changed a month or two before the bomb. Previously happy-go-lucky and disorganized, he had acquired a new sense of purpose. His grades improved. He made more effort around the house. He carried himself more proudly. And then, on the very day of the bomb, I’d overheard him on the phone, his voice tense and excited. I hadn’t picked up much, but Lucas had definitely referred to an explosion that would happen “later today” and the resulting “blast radius.” A few hours after the call, I’d screwed up enough courage to sneak a look in the pockets of his jacket and found the cell phone he’d used . . . a second cell that I hadn’t even known he had. And I’d seen the text:

  Take package—Canal St market, 3pm

  I’d put the phone back in his jacket and psyched myself up to ask Lucas what was going on. But before I could say anything, Lucas had grabbed his jacket and left the house. I followed him to the market, but I was too late.

  It ate away at me, not being able to tell anyone, but things at home were bad enough without me making them worse. The truth would destroy Mum and Dad—who would never understand how Lucas had gotten mixed up with a Nazi outfit like the League of Iron—and it would devastate my twin sister, Jas. She had idolized Lucas as much as I had.

  After the blast, I found Lucas’s phone with the incriminating text in his pocket. In a panic I’d thrown it away. For weeks I expected the police to come knocking at the door, but Lucas wasn’t a suspect. He hadn’t been right next to the bomb when it went off and there was no trace of explosives on his clothes, so no one connected him with the bombers. Perhaps the device had detonated sooner than it was meant to, before Lucas had time to get away. I had no idea. All I knew was that Lucas, with his easy manner and crooked smile, was the opposite of anyone’s idea of a terrorist.

  I stood at the door of the hospital room. “I’m going to school now, Mum,” I said.

  Mum didn’t hear me. She was busy tucking Lucas’s arm under the cover, her anxious fingers stroking the underside of his wrist with its tiny, strange tattoo in the shape of an open hand. None of us had even known it was there until after the bomb.

  I dug my fists deep into my pockets as I walked away. I wanted to shout at Mum that there was no point fussing over Lucas, that he wasn’t coming back. But of course I couldn’t. There were no raised voices in my family anymore. Our house didn’t even really feel like a home. It was just somewhere we all slept.

  I dawdled along to school, seriously considering cutting the rest of the day. A couple of tramps shuffled past me. There were homeless people on practically every street now. I kicked an empty can of beer across the pavement. I couldn’t cut again. It would just mean more stress for Mum and Dad.

  It started to rain and I sped up, pulling my school blazer over my head. It was Lucas’s old blazer—and slightly too big for me. Most of my school uniform was Lucas’s now. It had felt weird at first putting on his clothes, but I had grown almost two inches in the past six months and my own stuff didn’t fit anymore. It was obvious Mum wasn’t up to replacing my uniform, even if we could have afforded new clothes, so I took Lucas’s.

  Out of habit, I checked the League of Iron forum as I hurried along the street. I had spent a long time trying to find out who Lucas had known in the League, hoping it would lead me to someone who could explain why my older brother had wanted to bomb the C
anal Street market. But, so far, I’d discovered nothing. I checked a few threads. As usual there was plenty of anger against the Government and support for the League, now proposing that all black people should have their benefits stopped or their jobs taken away. Some forum users even wanted all non-whites and new immigrants rounded up into camps and killed.

  I sighed. I understood how frustrating it was to see people on benefits when others, like Dad, worked sixteen-hour days. Still, a lot of people couldn’t work through no fault of their own. And why did the League of Iron have to take their anger out on black people? It didn’t make sense. Still, maybe I needed to get more involved, pretend to share the League’s disgusting views. My tentative efforts to find out if anyone on the forum knew Lucas certainly hadn’t worked so far. I logged in with my user name: AngelOfFire, then bent over my phone, writing in the “add your comment” box:

  Killing people should be TARGETED. We need to destroy EVERYONE standing in our way: blacks, Muslims, corrupt politicians, bankers, scroungers. It means BOMBS, not talk. Not stupid politicians who wimp out from DOING anything.

  I pressed the “post” button and my comment appeared live on the forum. I checked the time. I had already missed homeroom, which probably meant another detention. I trudged along as the rain poured down, matching my mood. Sometimes it felt that nothing had changed and that nothing was ever going to change.

  CHARLIE

  “We’re here.” Uncle Brian pointed out of the car window.

  We had parked outside an enormous house. Wow, Brian and Gail must be really rich. Gail turned from the passenger seat and smiled at me.

  “Rosa can’t wait to see you,” she said. “She’s so excited.”

  “Don’t worry, Charlie,” Brian said softly. “This is just a trial period, remember? No pressure.”

  I nodded but inside I felt all churned up. Getting away at such short notice from a school I hated and leaving behind the constant fights with Aunt Karen was one thing, but now that I was actually on the verge of a new life the reality seemed overwhelming. For a moment I missed Mum so badly my stomach hurt. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give in to the pain. This was a fresh beginning, a chance to start over. That’s what I had to focus on.