So let’s just do it before we get too old and scared. Let’s do this before we turn into them. I’ve got plenty of money saved in my own personal bank account, plus there’s my regular monthly allowance from both Dad and my grandmother’s trust fund. And we can both work. Just as long as we’re together. All you have to do is say yes. I thought we could move right away from here. Maybe rent a place up north somewhere. Maybe in the country.
If you say yes.
Mother has finally agreed to my going to Chivers Boarding School and I’m leaving at two o’clock on Sunday afternoon. If I don’t hear from you by then I’ll know what your answer is. I’ll wait for you right up until the moment I have to leave. But either way I’m going to get out of here.
Take me away from all this, Callum. Don’t let me leave for Chivers. I want to be with you. Please don’t let me down.
All my love
Yours for ever,
Sephy
I stuffed the letter back into its envelope as I heard footsteps approach the kitchen. I was in luck. It was Sarah.
‘Sarah, I . . . could you do me a favour? A really big one.’ I chewed on my lip nervously, trying to read her expression.
‘Oh yes? What’s that then?’
‘Could you deliver this letter to Callum McGregor? He’s staying with his aunt. I’ve written the address on the front.’
‘I don’t think so!’ Sarah scoffed. ‘I need this job.’
‘Please, Sarah. I’m begging you. It’s really important.’
‘What is it?’ Sarah asked.
‘A letter.’
‘I can see that. What does it say?’
I chewed on my lip some more. A horrified look appeared on Sarah’s face.
‘You . . . you’re not pregnant, are you?’
I stared at her, then burst out laughing.
‘I guess not,’ Sarah said dryly.
‘Please,’ I pleaded, my smile fading. ‘I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t really, really important.’
Sarah regarded me thoughtfully. ‘OK,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll deliver it on my way home tonight. But only on one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That you don’t do anything . . . hasty.’
‘It’s a deal!’ I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you.’
‘Hhmm!’ Sarah didn’t sound convinced that she was doing the right thing at all.
I licked the envelope and sealed it before pressing it into her hand before she could change her mind.
‘Thanks, Sarah. I owe you one.’ I grinned at her as I skipped off.
‘You owe me several, Miss Sephy,’ Sarah called after me.
‘I know.’ I twirled around before heading up the stairs.
Hasty! This wasn’t hasty at all. I’d thought and considered and planned this for days, weeks, months, all my life. Everything Callum and I had ever done had been leading up to this moment.
Callum would read my letter and come for me and together we were going to escape.
Wasn’t life glorious?!!
eighty-six. Callum
‘Callum, there’s someone downstairs to see you . . . What’re you doing?’
I closed my eyes briefly, my back towards Mum. I’d hoped to escape any kind of explanation.
‘I’m going away, Mum.’
‘Where?’
‘Away,’ I replied. ‘Somewhere where I can make a difference.’
Silence. When I could bear it no longer, I turned to see what Mum was doing. She stood in the doorway, watching me.
‘I see,’ she said at last.
And she did see. That was the trouble.
‘When will you be back?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered truthfully.
Pause. ‘Will you see your brother?’
‘I don’t know. Probably.’
‘Tell him . . . Give him my love,’ Mum said at last, adding, ‘Do one thing for me, will you?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Keep your head down. And tell your brother to do the same.’ Mum turned to walk out of the door, her whole body slumped and drawn in on itself. She turned her head. ‘What about Sarah downstairs?’
‘Sarah?’
‘Sarah Pike who works for Mrs Hadley. She’s downstairs.’
‘Tell her I’m busy at the moment. I don’t want to see her.’ I shook my head. The last thing I needed right now was a stale morality lecture from Mrs Hadley’s dogsbody. ‘I can’t take all my stuff,’ I decided. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon for the rest.’
Mum carried on downstairs. I flung a clean T-shirt into my rucksack and closed it, waiting for the sound of the front door to close downstairs. My leaving would please Aunt Charlotte at any rate. I’d already received my orders. Go to the bus garage just outside town, sit on the bench outside the bus garage and wait. All very hush-hush, cloak-and-dagger. It was a big waste of time and effort if anyone were to ask me, which no-one did. But if it kept my brother happy then fair enough.
I felt quite upbeat about what was going to happen actually. I was going to join the Liberation Militia. It wasn’t what I’d planned for myself a couple of years ago, but at least I’d stopped drifting. At last, I belonged.
The moment I heard the front door shut, I headed downstairs.
‘Sarah left this for you,’ Mum pointed to a letter on the hall-table.
‘I’ll pick it up tomorrow with the rest of my stuff,’ I said, impatiently, without even looking at it. What Sarah couldn’t say to my face she’d written down, eh? Well, it could wait. I was off to spend my Saturday evening outside a bus garage.
‘I’m off now, Mum.’
Mum nodded. ‘Take care of yourself.’
‘You too.’
We stood in the hall like two lemons on display.
‘See you, Mum.’
‘Bye, son.’
I skirted round Mum trying to make sure I didn’t knock her with my rucksack. And then I was out of the door. Mum closed it quietly behind me as I walked off towards the other end of town.
eighty-seven. Sephy
He’s coming. He’s not going to come. He’s coming. He’s not going to come. He’s . . .
‘Persephone, move it!’ Mother snapped. ‘D’you want to go to Chivers or not?’
‘I’m coming,’ I called out. I took one more look around, searching the grounds, the path, towards the gate.
Nothing.
He wasn’t going to come. The desire to cry came and died. Dry-eyed I moved towards the car. Karl, the chauffeur, stood by the passenger door, holding it open for me.
‘Sephy!’
I turned as Minnie came hurtling out of the door. She stopped right in front of me.
‘Enjoy yourself at Chivers,’ she said at last.
‘I wish you could come with me,’ I told her.
‘Do you?’
I nodded.
‘Well, Mother can’t do without both of us and as I’m the oldest and my exams are only just around the corner, and going to a new school would be too disruptive, so I might as well stay here . . .’
Mother’s arguments, not Minnie’s.
‘I’m sorry, Minerva.’
Minnie shrugged. ‘Yeah, so am I.’
‘Couldn’t you have another word with Mother? Maybe she’ll . .?’
‘It wouldn’t do any good,’ Minnie interrupted. ‘She’s determined that I should stay.’
‘You worry too much about pleasing everyone,’ I told her.
‘Unlike you. You couldn’t give two hoots for anyone else’s opinion,’ Minnie smiled.
If only that was true. I sometimes acted first and thought about it afterwards but I did care what other people thought. That was the trouble.
‘Don’t . . . don’t get too . . . like Mother – OK?’ I said.
‘I’ll do my best.’ Minnie winked conspiratorially. ‘And you lay off the booze. Agreed?’
‘I’ll try,’ I told her.
&
nbsp; ‘I thought you stopped for a while?’
‘I did.’
‘What made you stop?’
I shrugged. How to answer that? Feeling wanted. Being cuddled. Not feeling sorry for myself any more. Any number of answers. Lots of reasons.
‘Well, what made you start again?’
I shrugged again. Being lonely. Missing him. The absence of hope until I’d written my letter.
‘Sephy, you’re not Mother. Stop trying to be,’ Minnie said.
I started at Minnie’s words, staring at her. Is that what I was doing?
‘Sephy, please come on,’ Mother called out from behind us.
‘Bye then.’ Minnie bent forward awkwardly and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. I couldn’t remember the first time come to that! I headed for the car, still looking around.
He wasn’t coming.
Wave goodbye to Dreamland, Sephy. I sat down next to Mother.
‘At last!’ she said, annoyed.
Oh Callum . . . Why didn’t you come? Didn’t you believe me? Or maybe you didn’t believe in me? Or maybe you were the one who had to have sense enough for both of us. Or maybe you were just scared enough for both of us.
Karl walked around the car to the driver’s seat – and we were off.
Callum, why didn’t you come?
eighty-eight. Callum
Faster. Move. I have to do it. I just have to. Wait. Please wait.
I race like the wind towards Sephy’s house. Faster than I’ve ever run before. As fast as if my life depends on it.
Please God, if you’re really up there . . .
I clamber up the rise to the rose garden, just in time to see a car turn out of the security gates. Sephy is in the back, next to her mum. But she’s looking down, not at me, not anywhere near me.
Please God . . .
‘WAIT! SEPHY, IT’S ME. WAIT!’
Run. Move. I sprint after the car. I stop breathing so drawing breath won’t slow me down. Run. Race. Sprint.
‘SEPHY . . .’
The car is several metres ahead of me now. The driver’s eyes meet mine in the driver’s mirror. Sephy’s Mercedes accelerates smoothly but noticeably away from me.
‘SEPHY . . .’ I speed after the car. My lungs are about to implode and every muscle, every bone in my body is on fire. But I’ll follow that car to hell and back, if I have to. If I can.
Please, please God . . .
I trip over my feet and hit the ground face first. Dazed, I look up, but the car is almost out of sight. I grip Sephy’s letter in my hand, lying on the ground, listening to the sound of all my hopes and dreams moving further and further away. Like listening to the sound of a door being slammed in my face.
THE HOSTAGE . . .
eighty-nine. Sephy
Funny the way things work out. When I first arrived at Chivers, I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. I’d cry myself to sleep over what had been and what might’ve been, over Callum not wanting to leave with me, live with me. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye. It took a long time to stop crying.
And shaking.
I didn’t really believe I was drinking that much and I certainly wasn’t an alcoholic, but after the second day of feeling wretched and wrung out, I finally realized I was suffering from alcohol withdrawal pains. The school nurse reckoned I had the flu and was very sympathetic, but I knew differently. It took three weeks before I could call my body my own again – and even then, I had to fight hard against the sudden cravings I got for a glass or two or three of wine or cider. So I buried myself in schoolwork and activities, the more physical the better. And it had slowly but surely begun to pay off.
Chivers is definitely the best move I could’ve made – under the circumstances. It gave me a chance to remake myself, start from scratch. I stopped hanging on to my childhood and started moving forward. I made new friends like Jacquelina and Robyn, who saved my sanity because they liked me for who I was, not for what my father did, or the money my mother had.
The schoolwork was harder than it’d been at Heathcroft, because at Chivers no-one pushed me, so I had to push myself. And I was terribly homesick for the first few months. I still get homesick if I allow myself to think about home for too long, but I don’t allow that to happen any more – much. I spent the whole Crossmas holiday with Jacquelina and the Easter holiday skiing with Robyn. It was great. I talk to Mother on the phone of course, and she’d been up to see me a few times, but so far, I’d managed to stay away from home.
And I joined a dissident group. We were Crosses fighting for change in the system. But we had to be careful. We each made a pledge to do what we could – now and in the future – to further the cause of true integration between noughts and Crosses. I think we all felt that the only way we’d achieve real progress was to wait for all the old dogs to die so that us new dogs could replace them and their thinking. Old dogs like my father who couldn’t see beyond the fact that noughts used to be our slaves. As far as he was concerned, they’d never be much good for anything else. The dissident group was the one thing that kept me focused when I was at Chivers. It was my reason for doing well, for succeeding. Our group kept me sane. It was a shame my sister didn’t have something similar to believe in.
I used to comfort myself with the belief that it was only certain individuals and their peculiar notions that spoilt things for the rest of us. But how many individuals does it take before it’s not the individuals who are prejudiced but society itself? And it wasn’t even that most Crosses were prejudiced against noughts. I still didn’t believe that. But everyone seemed to be too afraid to stand up in public and say ‘this is wrong’. And, by everyone, I meant me included. No-one wanted to raise their head above the parapet. At least our group knew that the way things were was wrong. At least we were trying to do something about it – albeit from behind the scenes. We moved quietly but irrevocably, like a relentless army of tiny termites eating away at the rotten fabric of a house. And we would succeed. Each of us believed that, for the simple reason that we had to.
A few months after joining our group, I thought long and hard about asking Minnie to join us, but in the end I decided against it. Minnie’s only got one more year at school and judging from the twice I’ve spoken to her, she’s finding being at home difficult to say the least. She’s determined to go to a university as far away from our home as she can get, but Mother cries or throws a tantrum or both if she even so much as mentions it. I’m glad I got out before her. Selfish but true.
According to Minnie, Mother’s still drinking. I’m not. Even when some of the girls sneak the odd bottle or two into the dorm at night, I don’t touch the stuff. I don’t trust myself. It’s very easy to hide away in a wine bottle, but very hard to come out again. Besides, that’s part of my past too. I’m designing my future.
A future without Callum.
I’ve decided to be a lawyer. But I’m only going to work on those cases that I believe in. I’m going to be another Kelani Adams. I’m going to stand up and speak out and I’ll be so famous and popular that no one will be able to touch me. Not the government, not the P.E.C., no-one. It’s great to finally have some direction to my life.
I admit that I think about Callum. Often. But I’ve stopped brooding and I’ve stopped yearning for the impossible. Maybe in another lifetime or in a parallel universe somewhere Callum and I could be together the way we should be. But not here. Not now.
And that’s OK too. He’s moved on with his life, and now so have I.
I wonder if he ever thinks of me? I doubt it, but just occasionally, when I’m doing my homework or washing my hair or cutting my toenails, I pause for a second or two and wonder.
But only for a second.
Or two.
ninety. Callum
My dad said something once about the Liberation Militia. He said that once they had you, they never let you go. I learnt exactly what he meant over the next couple of years. I starte
d off as little more than the tea boy, but I was eager and keen. I soon worked my way up the ranks. I moved on from tea boy to grunt, following the orders of anyone and everyone in my cell of six men and three women. From grunt I moved on to private and on up the ranks until I earned the rank of sergeant and joined a new cell. Sergeant at nineteen – I was proud of that.
And whilst I was working my way up the L.M. ranks, I took the time to take care of some personal business. Namely, Dionne Fernandez, Lola Jordan and Joanne Longshadow – the ones at Heathcroft who’d beaten up Sephy for sitting with me, for being with me, for not knowing her place – which was kilometres above mine. With the contacts and resources now at my disposal it wasn’t difficult to find out where they lived. I made it my business to find out all about them: their home lives, their family circumstances, their likes and dislikes – everything. If there’s one thing that being in the L.M. taught me, it was that everyone had a weakness. You just had to know where and how to look for it.
I dealt with each of them in turn. Lola first, then Joanne. Dionne last, but by no means least. I took particular trouble to make sure that Dionne suffered – just as she’d made Sephy suffer. They say that revenge is a dish best served cold – and they’re right. I served it icy-cold. And I lost more of myself as I did so. But that was OK. Because the Callum Ryan McGregor who loved to sit on the beach and watch the sun go down didn’t exist any more. He’d been taken and I’d been left in his place. A poor trade, but an inevitable one.
In the new cell, there were four of us altogether. Pete, Morgan, Leila and me. Pete was in charge. We called him the quiet one. He didn’t say much, but he smiled a lot. I was careful to watch my back around him. He was deadly with a knife and had at least four that I knew about always stashed on him somewhere. Morgan was twenty and the joker of the pack. He was our computer expert and the best driver in any L.M. cell for kilometres around. Leila was my age and knew everything there was to know about breaking into buildings and blowing stuff up. She’d been my call.