We got out of the car and walked up the path. The light was fading from a rather dreary Monday afternoon. Rosebushes—not in bloom of course—lined the edges of a crisply manicured lawn. I could hardly believe a lone family lived here—you could have fit ten of my old apartments into the place. I thought of Mum scrimping and saving to buy food all last year. It didn’t seem fair that some people had so little while others had so much.
I caught a glimpse of a round, eager face at one of the ground-floor windows. That must be Rosa. If only I could have a few more days just with Brian and Gail to get used to the house before I met my cousin.
My whole body tensed as we reached the front door. Gail was fishing in her bag, reaching for a key, but before she could find it, the door opened. A girl stood there: shorter and plumper than me, with straight hair cut into thick bangs. She was wearing a lot of makeup, with glitter around her eyes and long blue earrings that matched her sweater.
“Hi, Charlie.” She beamed. “I’m Rosa.”
“No kidding.” The words came out all harsh and disdainful. Inside, I winced. I hadn’t meant to sound like that. Rosa blinked, her expression hurt and shocked. I wanted to say something nice, maybe ask how she was or whatever, but I couldn’t figure out the right words to use. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
There was an awkward pause then Gail bustled forward.
“Hiya, sweetie.” She gave Rosa a kiss on the cheek. “How was your day at school?”
“Fine, thanks.” Rosa stared at me.
Brian kissed Rosa too. “Come in, Charlie,” he said. “Sorry, but I just need to do a bit of work before dinner. Still, it’ll give you a chance to settle in, get to know Rosa, eh?”
“Charlie doesn’t mind, do you?” Gail said, smiling anxiously at me.
I shook my head. “ ’Course not,” I said, feeling awkward. Brian had taken the whole day off to collect me from Aunt Karen’s and had spent most of our journey here from Leeds taking business calls on his cell. I watched him head across the hall, laptop in hand.
Gail cleared her throat. “Why don’t you pop the kettle on, Rosa, make us a cup of tea. Charlie, would you like one?”
I shook my head, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. I followed Gail inside. The hall was large and square, with mosaic tiles on the floor and French windows opposite. Gail led me into the room on the right: a big, airy kitchen with shiny scarlet cupboard doors. A table stood at the far end. More French doors led onto what looked like a huge garden. For a second I felt disoriented; I hadn’t anticipated a house so massive it would take me a while to find my way around. Then I realized Rosa was hovering beside me. I turned to face her, willing myself to say the right thing, though unsure what that was.
“Would you like me to show you around?” Rosa asked. She still had a smile on her face, but it was a little fixed now and there was a wary look in her eyes.
“Sure.”
Rosa glanced at her mum. Gail nodded. “Go on then, I’ll make the tea.”
Rosa led me through the hall. Both the doors beyond the stairs were open. She stood back to let me peer into each room in turn. A gigantic living room, then a dining room with a polished wooden table and elegant, glass-fronted cupboards. I could feel Rosa watching me as I took in both rooms. I felt hot and uncomfortable. I would so much rather have been left to wander around by myself. Rosa kept looking at me expectantly, but I had no idea what I was supposed to say. Everything seemed very grand and formal, the total opposite of Aunt Karen’s mess and nothing like the cozy, comfortable home I’d shared with Mum. A sob twisted in my guts as I thought of her. I swallowed it down.
“Mum got our housekeeper to come in today so it would be nice for you.” There was a slightly reproachful edge to Rosa’s voice. I looked at her.
“She didn’t need to do that,” I said.
Rosa smiled her bright, fixed smile again. “We wanted everything to be just right. I helped with your room. Do you want to see?”
I nodded, wondering what Rosa meant by “helped.” Privately, I hoped that the glittery eye shadow and harsh, bright blue of her sweater and earrings weren’t an indication of the décor she’d chosen.
One flight up, Rosa pointed to all the doors that led off the landing, naming a study, her parents’ bedroom, and at least two spare rooms and bathrooms.
“Our rooms are upstairs,” Rosa said.
I followed her up the next flight of stairs to the landing. Rosa indicated the open door on the left. “That’s mine,” she said.
I peered inside. Every surface in the room overflowed with makeup and jewelry. Each wall was painted a different color: pale blue, dark blue, pink, and lilac. Clothes spilled out of the large wardrobe and onto the floor. It was all frills and bright colors . . . the opposite of my own, darker, simpler tastes.
Rosa surveyed her room proudly, then turned away. “The bathroom’s opposite. You’re there.” She pointed to the only remaining door, next to the bathroom.
I crossed the landing, my heart in my mouth. What on earth was my room going to look like? I pushed the door open.
NAT
It was still raining when I got in from school on Monday evening. The house was empty but for once I was relieved. I was in no mood to chat. I dumped my school bag on the kitchen table—still covered with this morning’s cereal bowls—then decided to check to see if anyone had responded to my League of Iron post. I opened the browser on my phone. The Internet connection was frustratingly slow, so I went to the bathroom while I waited. The floor was covered with damp towels. I kicked them into a corner, knowing that I should really take them all downstairs and put them in the washing machine. Maybe Mum would do it when she got in from the hospital.
Yeah, right. Even when Mum did come home, she was never really here. It was as if she left her brain at the hospital with Lucas and then simply drifted around the house, commenting that the boiler was overdue for a service or that Jas needed a haircut.
Back downstairs, I saw a note from Dad saying that he was working on a repair job at the garage and wouldn’t be home until midnight. Shoving it to one side, I checked my phone. The League of Iron forum had opened at last. Two other users had left supportive comments in response to my post. But there was nothing that directly picked up on my reference to the Canal Street market bomb.
And then I read the third post. It was a direct reply to my own words—an individual and specific invitation:
Saxon66 to AngelOfFire:
MEETING in London next week for all seeking answers. POWER watches. Be CAREFUL. Details to come. KEEP the FAITH.
Iron Right
Iron Might
Iron Will
I stood stock-still, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. This was it. I had been personally invited to a meeting of the League of Iron.
Now, surely, there would be answers.
CHARLIE
The room Rosa showed me into was cold—far cooler than the rest of the house—but to my relief it was decorated in a simple style. The walls were plain white and the curtains a dark, silky red. Matching cushions were strewn across the bed, which was made up with a white duvet and pillowcases. A fitted wardrobe ran the length of one wall, a small table stood in the far corner.
“You can use that as a dressing table, for all your, er, makeup and, er, stuff . . .” Rosa trailed off, presumably having noticed that I wasn’t wearing any makeup. I shrugged. I did sometimes put on a little mascara and I used gel to control my curls, but I never applied eyeliner or eye shadow anymore, and I didn’t own a single lipstick. Back when Mum was alive, I used to love all that stuff, just as I used to want a tattoo. Now makeup and fashion seemed like toys to me: childish and pointless and belonging to a long-distant past.
“This is a spare room, where the au pair used to live,” Rosa went on. “Mum made me leave everything plain so you could choose what paint you wanted, get a new duvet set if you like.”
“White’s fine,” I said. I was starting to feel exhausted.
&n
bsp; “Right.” Again, Rosa sounded injured.
We stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Rosa walked across the landing and into her own room.
I took off my jacket and sat down on the bed. It was a double—far bigger than any bed I’d ever slept in before. But then the whole room was bigger. The whole house.
I glanced around again. I was grateful that Gail hadn’t let Rosa loose on the room. It was bland and bare, ready for me to make it my own. And yet as I sat on the bed, I couldn’t help but think back to my old room at Mum’s. That had been painted pale green, with an entire wall of shelves groaning under the weight of all the children’s books Mum had bought for me. Thinking I was too old for them, I’d left them all with Aunt Karen. Now, suddenly, I felt horribly homesick for the books—and for Mum.
My heart seemed to shrink in my chest, tears bubbling up into my eyes. In Karen’s apartment there were pictures of Mum everywhere. Here, it was like she had never existed. I closed my eyes, intending to summon up Mum’s smiling face, but all I could see was that look of disappointment from the last time I saw her.
I wandered over to the window and peered out. The sun was low in the sky, an orange disk setting behind the trees of what was presumably the local park. Up here, on the third floor, I could see over the rooftops and backyards of north London, all brick walls and tiled roofs. I touched the red silk of the curtains. The fabric was soft and smooth. Beautiful. It was all beautiful: the house, the view . . . everything. But it wasn’t me. I didn’t belong here any more than I’d belonged with Aunt Karen.
A sense of desolation swamped me. I was used to missing Mum. I carried her absence with me like a deadweight wherever I went, but right now it felt too hard to bear. All I wanted was to go back to my old life, to be with Mum again. And instead I was here, facing the future without her.
Outside, a police siren screeched into the silence. “There you are.” Gail bustled into the room, my carryall in her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry it’s so cold in here.” She set down my bag, then hurried over to the radiator opposite and fiddled with the knob. “I told Mercy, that’s our housekeeper, to turn it on but she must have forgotten. Is everything okay?”
I nodded.
“I hope Rosa explained that you’re free to do what you like with the room,” Gail babbled on. “I can take those curtains down if you like. You can paint it yourself or we can get the decorators in.” She stood, anxiously, watching me.
“It’s fine,” I said.
Gail coughed nervously. “Look, why don’t you take a moment up here to settle in, unpack some of your things. You need to let us know if you’d like some money for clothes or a new phone. I was thinking that if you decide to stay you’d probably want a new laptop too, for your schoolwork?”
Wow, my own computer. I knew I should feel excited—and grateful. I forced a smile onto my face. “Thank you,” I said awkwardly.
“I’ll get Bri to bring up your other bag. We’ll have supper in a couple of hours, but come down whenever you like. I could help you unpack. . . .”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, well we need to talk about school too. I think you’ll fit into Rosa’s uniform for the first few days, then, if you’re happy to stay, we can get you your own.”
I nodded again. Part of me wanted to ask about the school, but a painful lump had lodged itself in my throat. Gail waited a second, then backed away, closing the door behind her. As I heard her footsteps on the stairs, I took one of my photos of Mum out of my bag, set it beside the bed, then lay back on the soft white duvet. Sometimes it was still impossible to believe she was gone.
Bitterness crept through my veins. It wasn’t fair that she had been taken away from me, that my life had been turned upside down, that I had been left so alone, not belonging anywhere . . . to anyone. . . .
I wished I had someone specific to blame. There was the League of Iron, of course, but that was a faceless organization. I wanted a name. A person. My guts twisted. Tears rose up again: hot, furious tears. I let them trickle down my face. I would stay here. I would go to the new school. I would get on with my life. The League of Iron wouldn’t beat me.
And, one day, I’d find a way to get my revenge for Mum’s death.
NAT
As I trudged up the stairs to math, I couldn’t stop thinking about the League of Iron meeting. When would it happen? Who would be there?
Would they talk about the Canal Street market bomb?
Probably not in an open meeting, but Lucas’s contacts were sure to be there. I was hoping that if I made it clear I was his brother, they might speak to me privately about his involvement.
I’d spent the entire time since I received my invitation thinking about what I should do and say at the meeting. I’d been checking the League forum several times an hour, but no new details had appeared among either the general posts or as a private message to me. In the end, I’d been so preoccupied with it all that I was late for homeroom twice, which meant another break-time detention.
I didn’t care. All I could think about was the meeting—and what I might find out there.
“Hey, Nat, you missed homeroom.”
I turned to see who was speaking. Rosa Stockwell was hurrying up the steps behind me. Considering she was in my house, I didn’t know Rosa that well. If I was honest, I didn’t particularly want to. Rosa was okay, but she had an irritating giggle and a coy, teasing manner, like she was always thinking about the effect she was having on you. Some of my friends liked her, but, to me, she came across as a bit of an airhead.
“Yup, I missed it,” I said, turning to check my phone again. “I was late.”
Rosa giggled. I had no idea why. Still, maybe Rosa didn’t need a reason. I much preferred girls who chatted like normal people, instead of getting all weird when they were around boys.
“Nat, you’re so funny.” Rosa nudged my arm as we walked up the stairs side by side. “Hey d’you want to hear my big news?”
“What is it?” I was barely listening. I’d just spotted a private message from Saxon66. It read:
London MEETING next Tuesday, 7pm. Stand by for details.
Iron Right
Iron Might
Iron Will
“. . . and she’s in our house too.” Rosa finished with a flourish, as we reached the top of the stairs.
I glanced at her blankly. I’d missed most of what she’d said. This was it. I had an actual time. The meeting was next week. It was going to happen.
“Uh-huh,” I said, attempting to stride ahead of Rosa.
“Were you listening to me?” Rosa demanded.
“ ’Course,” I lied.
“What did I say then?”
I forced myself away from my phone.
“Sorry, I’ve got to get to math.” I felt a brief stab of guilt as I hurried off, but a moment later I’d forgotten all about Rosa as I bent over my phone again, full of excited anticipation.
CHARLIE
I was relieved Rosa wasn’t in my math class. It turned out Newbury Park put people into sets for just about everything and, despite my lack of interest in school over the past few months, I was down to be in the top group.
On the other hand, it did mean I had to deal with everyone’s pity all on my own. A couple of girls stopped me in the hallway as I checked my schedule. It was hard to follow, much like the map I’d also been given.
“Hi, Charlie,” one said. She smiled at my look of surprise that she knew my name. “Rosa told us about you.”
“Sorry about your mum,” said the other girl. She peered at me intently. “Were you actually there when it happened?”
I was used to this. Back in Leeds there had been a succession of people asking about Mum dying in the bomb. They all started out by saying how sorry they were, but in the end, it was obvious they didn’t really care about me at all. They just wanted a load of gossip they could spread around.
“I don’t want to talk about my mum,” I said.
The two
girls exchanged a swift glance.
“Rosa said you were still really, really upset.” The girl’s voice exuded syrupy sympathy.
Irritation rose inside me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just trying to find my math class. I have Mr. Pritchard.”
The girls looked at each other again and then back at me. The second girl curled her lip.
“Oh, sorry,” she said sarcastically. “We’re not in that class.”
“Good.” The word was out of my mouth before I could snatch it back.
“Fine.” They sniffed, stuck their noses in the air, and stalked off.
I sighed. Why did stuff like that always happen around me? I hurried on, looking for the right room.
NAT
I reached the classroom at the same time as Mr. Pritchard and stood back to let him through the door. As he strode to the front, the class took their seats. I slipped into my usual spot at the back. Callum leaned across from the next desk and asked in a whisper if I wanted to play soccer after school. I nodded. I could easily spare a couple of hours in the park so long as Jas bought some pasta and sauce on her way home. I needed to remind her to get some milk as well. I scanned the room, wondering where she was sitting. We never sat together in class. Jas said it was because we had enough of each other at home but sometimes I wondered if she minded always being seen as “less academic” than me. I’d got a full scholarship to Newbury Park while Jas had gotten in on a music scholarship, because she used to play the piano. She had always struggled to stay in the top math group, though, thanks to her hard work, she was still here.
After a moment or two I saw her. She was sitting right at the front of the class, copying something down in a notebook. As I watched her, struck by how hard she was concentrating, a girl passed my desk. Someone new, with masses of wild, curly hair down her back. The girl hurried over to Mr. Pritchard and a vague memory stirred deep inside me. I stared at the back of her head, wishing she would turn around so I could see her face.