‘Quite! So what happened then?’ Kelani prompted.
‘The girl said that the boy was a friend of hers and that he was just taking her out to show her something,’ said Mr Stoll.
‘You’re sure that’s what she said,’ Kelani asked eagerly.
‘Positive. Like I said, I used to be a police officer so I’ve been trained to observe and remember.’
Did Sephy say that? I couldn’t even remember. I just remember my desperation to get her out of the Dundale before the whole place was blown to smithereens.
‘Did the girl seem particularly scared or worried in any way?’ Kelani asked.
‘Not at all. She was treating the whole thing like it was a big joke.’
‘And how come you survived the bomb blast?’
‘I finished my coffee and left less than a minute after the boy up there and his friend.’
‘Thank you, Mr Stoll. No more questions.’ Kelani Adams sat down.
Spontaneous cheers erupted throughout the courtroom. Judge Anderson tried to restore order but it wasn’t going to happen. In the end he had to clear the court. But just like that, my story had been corroborated. And by a Cross police officer of all people. If it’d been funny, I would’ve busted a gut laughing.
seventy-one. Sephy
Every evening I sat glued to the early evening news for any information about Callum’s dad’s trial. I’d racked my brains to try and come up with some way of helping him. But I’d drawn a complete and utter blank. What could I do? What could just one person do? So I sat and watched like the rest of the country whilst a reporter told us in great detail what had happened that day in court. They occasionally showed Callum and his mum hiding their faces from the cameras as they came out of the court.
The night they showed Callum’s house burnt to the ground I went to my bedroom and cried and cried. Luckily, Callum and his mum were staying with relatives but it still hurt to think of what my friend was going through. I wanted to phone but I didn’t have Callum’s new number. I wanted to visit him but I didn’t have his new address. I still went down to the beach once in a while but Callum was never there. I pretended to myself that we just kept missing each other. I’d arrive at five, he’d arrive at six. I’d arrive at six, he’d arrive at seven. But deep down I knew that he’d stopped coming. He had more important things on his mind.
I don’t know how Callum’s mum managed to get Kelani Adams to defend Callum’s dad but I was so glad she had. Even before I’d had to go into the courtroom, I’d heard of Kelani Adams QC and I wasn’t really into politics or current affairs or anything like that. According to the reporters on the telly, Kelani was making sure that the trial was as fair as possible – and putting the judge’s back up in the process. Good for her!
Ryan Mcgregor just had to be found not guilty. It was only right and proper.
It was only just.
It was only justice.
seventy-two. Callum
Dear Sephy,
This is a very hard letter for me to write. I keep putting it off and putting it off and this is about the tenth draft.
I scrunched up the paper and threw it in the already overflowing bin. Start again.
Dear Sephy,
I’m just going to come right out and say this. I don’t know how you managed to get all that money together to help my dad but I love you for it. Our lawyer, Kelani Adams, is really on our side, to the extent that the judge has threatened twice to hold her in contempt of court.
I don’t know how, but some day, some how, I’ll make it up to you. I just want you to know that I’ll be for ever . . .
Another sheet of paper scrunched up and thrown in the bin. I folded my arms on the table and rested my head on them. Good or bad, every aspect of my life lay in the hands of others. Kelani Adams, the jury, my so-called education at Heathcroft, even with Sephy. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was all there was or ever would be to my life. I was so sick and tired of being this helpless.
Over the last few months, I’d had a recurring nightmare about being in a cardboard box, no bigger than I was. A normal, simple cardboard box. But no matter how hard I pushed or punched, I just couldn’t smash my way out. In fact the more I tried, the harder it became. And in my bad dreams, it was only when my hands were bloody and I was gasping frantically for breath that I realized I wasn’t in a box at all. It was a coffin. And once I realized that, I stopped struggling and just waited to die. That’s what terrified me the most.
I stopped struggling and waited to die.
seventy-three. Sephy
At last the trial was over. The jury was out, considering its verdict. I was actually flicking from TV station to TV station trying to find any news item that would bring me more up to date. I’d seen the so-called evidence weighed up by numerous experts on any number of news programmes as well as in the papers. And they all thought Callum’s dad was guilty. No-one ever came right out and said so. There was a lot of useless talk about the ‘balance of probabilities’ and the ‘pros and cons’ of the case and discussions on the evidence. Funny, but I’ve never been the slightest bit interested in the news before. Now suddenly I couldn’t stop watching it. When Minnie started moaning in my ear about watching something else, I went up to my room to watch it in peace and private.
Ryan McGregor wasn’t guilty.
So why did I feel like I was the only person in the world – the only Cross in the world – to believe that?
seventy-four. Callum
Mum and I held hands as we waited for the foreman to speak. Hope and hopelessness churned in my stomach like oil and water.
‘Foreman of the jury, have you reached a verdict upon which you are all agreed?’
‘We have, Your Honour.’
‘D’you find the defendant, Ryan Callum McGregor, Guilty or Not Guilty of the crime of Political Terrorism?’
Why was he taking so long to speak? Answer the question . . . What’s your answer?
He opened his mouth and said something but I didn’t hear. Why couldn’t I hear? I shook my head and leaned forward, concentrating hard. Had he spoken? I’m sure he’d said something. I saw his mouth open and close. I licked my dry lips, feeling sick. I looked at Mum. Her expression was carved in granite. Next to Mum a blonde woman buried her face in her hands. The man next to her shook his head in disbelief. Why couldn’t I hear anything? Maybe because I didn’t want to hear.
‘D’you find the defendant Ryan Callum McGregor, Guilty or Not Guilty of the murder of Aysha Pilling?’ The clerk’s voice rang out like a gunshot.
And I heard the verdict that time. God help me, I heard it.
THE WAY IT IS . . .
seventy-five. Sephy
I sat on our garden swing, twisting it this way and that. I didn’t actually swing any more – that was kid’s stuff. I just . . . twisted. It was hot. Too hot.
‘Sephy, what’re you doing?’ Mother yelled across our garden at me.
Uh-oh! Trouble! I’d come home and gone straight out into the garden, when I knew Mother did her nut if she saw me messing about in my school uniform.
‘Come here please,’ Mother hollered.
I was going to shout ‘why’ but I thought better of it. For the last couple of weeks, Mother had got worse and now I just did as I was told and kept my head down as far as she was concerned. And for the most part it worked. Jumping off the swing, I ran to the house.
‘Go to your room and put on your navy-blue dress and your blue shoes.’
‘Which blue dress?’ I frowned.
‘Your Jackson Spacey one,’ Mother told me as if it was obvious.
My eyebrows went up at that. That dress had cost over one thousand pounds and Mother told me I was not to wear it without her express permission. The last time I’d worn it was when I’d snuck out of the house to Callum’s after Lynette had died. I and my dress had gone down like a lead balloon then. It kind of made me loath to put the thing on again.
It wasn’t a special Saturday and it wasn??
?t anyone’s birthday. Or had I forgotten someone? No . . . Today was 24th July and the next birthday was my sister’s and that wasn’t until the middle of August.
‘Why do I have to get dressed up?’
‘Because I said so,’ Mother snapped. ‘Do as you’re told. And tell your sister to hurry up as well.’
‘Where’re we going?’
‘No more questions,’ Mother said, edgily. ‘Go!’
I headed for the kitchen door, turning in the doorway to ask Mum what was going on. She was pouring out a glass of Chardonnay, which she downed in a one-er. She poured out another one. I left the room and headed upstairs.
Minnie didn’t know what was going on either – not that she would’ve volunteered to tell me if she had. Apart from the one time we’d confided in each other in Minnie’s bedroom, my sister and I have never had much to say to each other. But I knew it was something very serious indeed when Mother opened our front door and Dad’s official government Mercedes was parked on the driveway. And Dad was in the back. My face lit up like a Crossmas tree at the sight of him.
‘Dad!’ I ran over to the car and threw open the door before Karl had the chance to do it for me. I hadn’t seen him in over a week.
‘Sephy, get in this car and try to show that you’ve been brought up, not dragged up,’ Dad ordered, his face as stiff a door.
It couldn’t’ve hurt more if he’d slapped me across the face. One week apart – and that was all he had to say to me. Mother and my sister Minerva had reached us by this time. Karl held the door open for them. I hung back, waiting for them to get in first before I did. No way was I going to sit next to Dad. No way was I even going to say a word to him until he apologized. Mother sat next to him, very careful not to actually touch him. Next Minnie, then me. Less than a minute later, we were off – and I still had no idea where. I glanced down at my watch. Four-thirty. I looked at Mother and Dad and Minnie, hoping that someone would let me know what was going on without my having to ask. Nothing doing. I turned and looked out of the window. If everyone else wanted to be mysterious, then let them get on with it. I wasn’t going to join in.
Our car drew up outside Hewmett Prison. Ten to six. There were cars ahead of us and cars behind and people walking in on foot. All the noughts walking through the pedestrian entrance were dressed in black and not one of them spoke. Every expression was a reflection of the one before it and the one after. When we reached the entrance of the prison, Dad flashed his ID card at the two security guards by the gates. We were waved straight through. What on earth were we doing in Hewmett Prison? Why did I have to put on my Jackson Spacey dress no less to go to a prison?
We were taken out into the prison courtyard. The early evening air was humid and uncomfortable. Our car was air-conditioned so I hadn’t realized how unpleasant it had become outside. Already my dress was beginning to stick to me. Half of the prison courtyard was taken up by seats placed in tiers, whilst most of the rest of the space was bare. At the far end of the courtyard was a scaffold. And still I didn’t click. We were shown to our places right at the front of the seated area.
I looked around, puzzled. All the noughts were standing. Some were looking at the scaffold, a few were crying, some were looking at us Crosses on the seats, burning hatred on their faces. Without warning, my eyes caught and locked with Callum’s. Shock, like a bucket of ice-water, flowed over me. What was going on? He stared at me. I hadn’t seen him for so long that the jolt was all the greater for seeing him here.
‘Ladies and gentlemen and noughts, we are here today to witness the execution of Ryan Callum McGregor of 15 Hugo Yard, Meadowview, having been found guilty of seven counts of murder and the charge of political terrorism. His appeal having been denied, the sentence of hanging by the neck until he is dead will now be carried out. Bring out the prisoner.’
And only then, when it’d been spelt out for me, did I finally realize what I was doing there. They were going to hang Callum’s dad. I turned to the scaffold, appalled. A door opened to the left of the scaffold and Callum’s dad was led out.
I turned to Mother and Dad. They were looking straight at the scaffold, their expressions grim, sombre. I tried Minnie. Her head was slightly bowed but she kept stealing glances at the scaffold. And still no-one spoke. We might’ve been in a graveyard.
We were in a graveyard.
I turned to Callum. He was watching me with a look on his face I’d never seen before. A look that cut right through me like the sharpest, keenest scalpel. I shook my head slowly.
I didn’t know, I mouthed. I looked from the scaffold back to Callum, from Callum’s dad to Callum, from my parents to Callum, from the crowds all around and back to Callum.
I swear I didn’t know.
How to make my desperate thoughts reach him? I wouldn’t have come if I’d known where we were going. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me through those gates. That’s the truth. Callum, you must believe that.
‘Mother, I want to leave,’ I whispered furiously.
‘Not now, Sephy.’ Mother looked straight ahead.
‘I want to leave – NOW!’ I jumped to my feet, raising my voice.
Heads were turning in our direction but I didn’t care.
‘Sit down Persephone and stop making an exhibition of yourself,’ Mother snapped.
‘Nothing is going to make me sit here and watch this. I’m leaving,’ I turned on my heels, trying to push past the other dignitaries in my row.
Mother stood up, spun me around and slapped my face. ‘Now sit down and don’t say another word.’
Cheek smarting, eyes stinging, I sat down. Some eyes were watching me. I didn’t care about that. More eyes were watching the scaffold. Well, maybe I couldn’t leave but they couldn’t force me to watch. They couldn’t force me to raise my head. And if they did, they couldn’t force me to open my eyes. And if they did, they couldn’t force me to see. But I couldn’t keep my gaze lowered . . . Slowly, I raised my head, my eyes drawn to the sight, my heart disgusted by it. Angry with myself, I turned away, only to find myself looking straight at Callum. He wasn’t watching his dad either. He was looking at me – and wishing me and every other Cross as dead as dead could be. I’d seen that look on other’s faces – noughts looking at Crosses, Crosses looking at noughts. But I’d never seen it on Callum’s face before.
And I knew in that moment that now I’d never ever stop seeing it. Flinching, I turned. Back to the scaffold. A choice of views. Hatred or hatred. They were putting a black hood over Callum’s dad’s head now. The prison clock began to strike the hour. When it struck six, it’d all be over.
One . . . All eyes on the scaffold.
Two . . . The noose around Callum’s dad’s neck.
Three . . . Someone begins to weep. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
Four . . . A man at the scaffold nods to someone behind him.
‘Long live the Liberation Militia . . .’ Callum’s dad shouts at the top of his voice.
Five . . .
seventy-six. Callum
The clock struck five. One more . . .
‘WAIT! WAIT!’ A voice called out from beneath the scaffold.
‘The governor . . .’
‘That’s the prison governor . . .’
I strained to see him, but part of the wooden scaffold structure was in the way. I wanted someone in the crowd around us to say what was happening, but now there was just silence. No-one spoke. No-one moved.
Six . . . The clock struck six times. I hardly dared to breathe, afraid the slightest motion would spring the trap beneath Dad’s feet.
‘Mum . . .’ The merest whisper.
‘Shush!’
‘THE EXECUTION IS STAYED,’ the same voice shouted out. I saw a Cross move from behind the lattice of woodwork and beckon to the guard up on the scaffold with my dad.
The peculiar thing was, there were no cheers, no shouts, no sounds at all. Maybe everyone was like me, unable to believe or understand what was going on. What did it m
ean? Were they going to let Dad go? Did they have new evidence to prove he was innocent? Maybe Dad’s lawyer had done it! From the moment Dad was found guilty, Kelani Adams had parcelled out all her other cases to her colleagues to concentrate solely on Dad’s appeal. She’d told Mum and me that she wouldn’t rest until Dad was a free man. I know that even as they were waiting to lead Dad out of the prison and up to the scaffold, Kelani had been busy making desperate phone call after desperate phone call. Obviously the phrase ‘a lost cause’ wasn’t part of her vocabulary. Funny . . . it seemed to be a major part of mine.
The man who’d stopped the execution walked up the steps to the scaffold. He nodded to the guard who immediately took the hood off my dad’s head. Dad blinked crazily for a few moments, his eyes wide like he was in the middle of a nightmare and even with his eyes open, he couldn’t wake up. The governor walked up to Dad and said something to him. It looked like he had to repeat it, asking Dad if he understood. Dad shook his head. The governor put one hand on Dad’s shoulder. Dad nodded. Murmurs sprang up through the audience. This not knowing was killing me. What was going on? The governor raised his hands for silence.
‘Ladies and gentlemen and noughts, I am Governor Giustini. I have just this moment been informed that Ryan Callum McGregor has received a reprieve. His sentence has been commuted to life imprisonment. There will be no hanging today.’
‘LONG LIVE TH . . .’ Dad’s knees buckled as if the ground had suddenly disappeared beneath him. The prison officer standing beside him only just managed to grab him in time to stop Dad from keeling over completely.
And then the whole place erupted. It was only because there were tall metal barriers between us and the scaffold that it remained in one piece. Our fury was so deep, we were all drowning in it. We wanted to get to Dad, to sweep him away, to get him out of there. But we couldn’t get to him. Mum tried to pull me back but I was one of the first to push and shove my way forward.