‘Then you should also know for a fact that he saved my life. When I escaped from my prison cell into the woods, Callum found me. He could’ve told the others where I was but he didn’t . . .’
‘No, he just raped you and made you pregnant instead,’ Dad said bitterly.
‘Kamal, please . . .’ Mother began.
‘Callum didn’t rape me. He didn’t.’
‘But you’re pregnant so he must’ve done,’ Mother frowned.
‘I’m pregnant because we made love to each other,’ I shouted angrily. ‘And it was the most magical, wonderful night of my life. My only regret is Callum and I can’t do it again . . .’
Dad slapped me so hard he knocked me off my feet. Mother tried to rush to my side but Dad pulled her back. He drew himself up to his full height, looking down on me with an expression on his face I’d never seen before.
‘You are no longer my daughter. You are a blanker’s slut,’ Dad said with quiet venom. ‘But I’ll tell you this, you will go to the clinic and you will have an abortion. I will not allow you to embarrass me any further. D’you hear me? D’YOU HEAR ME?’
‘I hear you . . .’ I rubbed my cheek, ignoring the tears streaming down my face. Dad turned and marched out of the room.
Mother looked down at me, anguish filling every curve and line of her face. ‘Oh, Sephy . . . Sephy . . .’ she whispered. And then she turned around and left me. Alone.
That’s what I was now. That’s all I was now, according to my dad. A blanker’s slut. I buried my face in my hands and cried.
DECISIONS . . .
one hundred and fourteen.
Callum
I lay on the bunk bed in my prison cell, reading the newspaper. I was still in the newspapers but now that my trial was over I was no longer front-page news. I’d been relegated to the third or fourth pages. And they were no more accurate than the front page. I was only reading it to pass the time. After all, I had nothing better to do. One article did catch my attention though.
SUSPECTED ‘MOLE’ WITHIN THE LIBERATION MILITIA Sources from within the Liberation Militia stated that the whole movement is in turmoil over a suspected mole who, it is believed, is actually working for the government. The mole is rumoured to be someone high up in the party echelons. Our sources have revealed that all LM activity has been suspended until the mole is found.
The editor says . . . See page 13
‘Well done, Jude,’ I thought. That’s if it was Jude. If he wasn’t dead yet.
There was no way to get to the General so a few rumours in the right places, a couple of discreet interviews, and the General would become aware of our suspicions. I could only hope that the General would catch Andrew Dorn before he had a chance to cover his tracks or disappear. I scrunched up the newspaper and dropped it in the bin beside my narrow bed. What was the point of reading the news? No point at all. My thoughts turned to my sister, Lynette. Funny, but I thought of her more and more often these days. She’d always been there for me. She made our home bearable. Each time I thought I couldn’t take it any more, she’d smile or put her hand over mine and I’d calm down inside. When she’d died, part of me had despised her for being a coward. Part of me had hated her for leaving me. It’d all been about me. Now I thought about all the things Lynny had been through. I’d allowed all the things that’d happened to me to rob me of my humanity. Do unto others before they did unto you, that’d been my philosophy. That’s how I’d coped with the world. Lynny’s solution was better. Just fade out, until you were ready to fade back in. Only she hadn’t been ready. Maybe that’s why she’d died. She’d been pulled out of her unreal world too soon.
‘Cal, you have a visitor,’ Jack told me.
‘A visitor?’
Jack nodded, his expression sombre. Jack was a Cross prison guard but in the short length of time I’d been at Hewmett Prison, we’d become friends. I’d even say good friends. Something I’m sure was against the rules. But if Jack didn’t mind, why should I? I looked at him now. Judging from his expression, this visitor was obviously someone I wouldn’t particularly welcome. I had no idea who it could be. I hadn’t been allowed any visitors at all since I’d been brought to Hewmett Prison, so I was curious – to say the least.
‘Man or woman?’ I asked.
‘Man.’
‘And I take it I have to see him?’
Jack nodded again.
‘OK,’ I said, picking up my T-shirt. ‘I’ll just put on . . .’
‘Don’t bother. You’re not going to the visitors’ hall. He’s coming to see you.’
‘Here?’
‘Yep!’
I put my T-shirt back on anyway. The prison cells were like ovens during the day and although we were meant to keep our clothes on, most of the guards turned a blind eye if we took off our shirts. I’d taken mine off when it’d started to stick to my sweaty body like clingfilm. Heels clicked along the corridor. A man’s heavy, determined footfall. And angry too by the sound of it. I stood up and waited. Then the man appeared before my cell bars. My mouth fell open. Kamal Hadley. He was the very last person I’d been expecting.
He entered my cell. Jack stood outside. Kamal wore a dark charcoal-grey suit and a royal-blue shirt with matching tie. His black shoes were so highly polished I could see the light strip above reflected in them.
‘You can leave us now,’ Kamal ordered, his eyes never leaving my face.
‘But . . .’ Jack began.
Kamal turned to him with a look that brooked no disagreement. Jack set off down the corridor. I considered knocking out Kamal and taking off down the corridor. But how far would I get? I considered knocking out Kamal just for the hell of it. It was definitely tempting.
‘I’m sure you can guess why I’m here,’ said Kamal.
I couldn’t actually, so I kept my mouth shut.
‘I’m here to offer you a deal,’ Kamal went on.
‘What kind of deal?’
‘If you do as I say, I’ll make sure you don’t hang. You’ll be sentenced to life imprisonment and I’ll make sure you serve no more than eight to ten years. You’ll come out of prison still a young man with your whole life ahead of you.’
I studied Kamal as he spoke. He hated being here, he despised having to ask me for anything and he was having trouble hiding just how much he loathed it. It made me smile inside. I had something he wanted very, very badly. But I had no idea what.
‘And what exactly do I have to do for this . . . largesse?’
‘I want you to state publicly that you kidnapped and . . . raped my daughter. I want you to freely admit to the crimes you’re charged with. No more denials.’
‘Why?’
At first I thought Kamal wasn’t going to answer. I waited. I had all the time in the world. I wasn’t going anywhere.
‘My daughter won’t be able to put this whole business behind her and get on with her life if you don’t,’ he said at last. ‘She feels she owes you something because you saved her life in the woods. If she knew you weren’t going to die, then she’d be only too willing to get rid of your child. A child she never wanted. A child she still doesn’t.’
Every word he spoke was well rehearsed and deliberately wielded to cause the maximum amount of pain. And it worked too. I half-sat, half-collapsed down onto my bed, looking up at him. My guts were being shredded and he knew it.
‘And she told you this, did she?’
‘Of course.’
I didn’t believe him. I almost didn’t believe him. He was lying. But suppose he wasn’t?
My life or my child’s?
Was that really the only reason Sephy was still carrying it? Because of misplaced guilt over me? I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t know what to believe.
My life. Or my child’s?
‘Is it just the thought of Sephy and I having a child together that you can’t stand, or is it all mixed-race children in general?’ I asked.
‘We’re not here to discuss my feelings.’ Kamal wave
d aside my words like he was swotting flies. ‘What’s your answer?’
My life? Or my baby’s?
Oh Sephy, what should I do? What would you do?
‘I need to think about it.’
‘I want your answer here and now,’ Kamal demanded.
I stood up slowly.
‘Well?’ he prompted, impatiently.
Time to choose. A choice to live with or die with. I looked Kamal Hadley straight in the eye – and told him my decision. I knew it would damn me to hell, but I knew it was the right one.
one hundred and fifteen.
Sephy
Dad barged into my room without even knocking on the door first. It was very late, almost midnight, but I wasn’t the least bit sleepy. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had a good night’s sleep. I sat at my table, writing in my diary when Dad came in. I shut the book and swivelled round in my chair. Dad stopped in the middle of the room. We regarded each other. We hadn’t exchanged a word since he’d slapped me. Dad sat down on the corner of my bed, suddenly looking very weary.
‘I’m not going to beat about the bush, Persephone,’ he told me. ‘Callum McGregor is going to hang for what he did to you.’
I swallowed hard but still didn’t speak.
‘And you’re the only one who can stop it,’ Dad continued.
Every cell in my body was put on full alert at Dad’s words. I sat very still and watchful, waiting for him to carry on.
‘It’s within my power to ensure that he doesn’t hang. I’ll make sure he only goes to prison. He’ll get a long sentence but at least he’ll be alive.’
And where there’s life . . . there’s a price. I kept my mouth shut, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
‘And all you have to do is agree to have an abortion,’ said Dad.
Like all I had to do was agree to eat my greens or go to bed early – that’s what he made it sound like.
‘Why?’ I whispered.
‘Why!’ The incredulous word exploded from Dad’s mouth. ‘Because you’re too young to have a child. Because it was a child forced on you . . .’
‘I’ve already told you, Callum didn’t . . .’
‘You didn’t set out to get pregnant either, did you?’ Dad interrupted harshly.
‘It’s too late to get rid of it. I’m too far gone,’ I pointed out.
‘There are ways, drugs to take care of that.’ Dad pointed to my stomach. ‘Then they’d induce labour. It’d be relatively painless for you.’
And lethal for my child.
‘If I say no, what will you do then?’ I asked. ‘Kidnap me like the noughts and force me to get rid of my baby?’
Dad stared at me. ‘I know we’re not close, Persephone, and I know that’s my fault, but I would never, ever do a thing like that.’ His voice held such incredible hurt that it got to me, in spite of myself.
‘But what you’re doing is no different,’ I cried. ‘You may not be using direct force but you’re pressuring me into having an abortion. It’s the same difference. Callum’s life or my child’s. You’re trying to coerce me into making a decision. Your decision.’
‘That boy’s life is entirely in your hands.’ Dad stood up. ‘It’s up to you. I know you’ll make the right choice.’
And with that he left my room. I locked my diary and put it in its hiding place, moving around my bedroom on auto pilot. I wanted my brain to shut down so I wouldn’t have to think, so I wouldn’t have to decide. But it didn’t work that way.
If I had an abortion I’d be saving Callum’s life. He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life in jail, either. I’d work every hour of every day for the rest of my life if I had to, to make sure that he was released from prison. And if he came out . . . when he came out, we could be together again. We could have more children. It was the chance of some kind of future together against no future at all. But if we were together would we be able to live with the fact that our first child died for us? Or would the ghost of our child eventually drive us apart?
Callum’s life or our baby’s? That was the choice.
Oh Callum, what should I do? What would you do?
And then just like that, there was no choice. I had my answer. I knew what I was going to tell my dad. God help me, I knew.
LOSING MY RELIGION . . .
one hundred and sixteen.
Callum
‘Jack, your mind isn’t on this game, is it?’
Jack throws down his cards. ‘I don’t want to play any more.’
‘I thought I was the one who was meant to be temperamental and moody, not you?’ I say dryly.
‘Sorry.’
I gather up the cards. Poor Jack! This is almost as bad for him. Almost! Bless him! He’s the one who’s kept me up to date with what was going on in the outside world. He’s the one who told me that since my farce of a trial, Sephy has spoken out publicly against the guilty verdict and has openly declared that I didn’t rape her. She’s told anyone prepared to listen that the authorities refused to let her testify on my behalf. And apparently even some of the national papers are beginning to question the death penalty being given in my case. I’m hoping that Kamal Hadley doesn’t emerge from this one smelling of roses, the way he always does.
A prominent psychiatrist stated in one of the so-called quality papers that Sephy was suffering from Kidnapper Empathy Syndrome. Some psycho-babble about the captive taking on the ideals and beliefs of the captor, to the extent that he or she begins to empathize with them. In Sephy’s case that’s just so much nonsense. If I could’ve spoken to Sephy, I would’ve told her not to say anything on my behalf. Once I’d been found guilty nothing on earth could’ve made the judges overturn the verdict. The reason is simple. I’m a Nought who’d dared to fall in love with a Cross. And worse still I actually made love with her. And even worse than that, she’s pregnant with my child and doesn’t care who knows it.
Poor Sephy! She never could tell when she was fighting a losing battle. I knew I was going to hang before the jurors were even sworn in.
And now I’ve come to my last day on this earth.
And I don’t want to die.
‘What time is it, Jack?’
‘Ten to six.’
‘Ten more minutes then.’ I shuffle the cards. ‘Time for a quick game of rummy?’
‘Callum . . .’
I throw down the cards. ‘It must be catching. I don’t feel like playing myself now.’
Silent moments tick by. I don’t want to spend my last ten minutes in silence.
‘D’you ever wonder what it would be like if our positions were reversed?’ I ask. At Jack’s puzzled look, I continue. ‘If we whites were in charge instead of you Crosses?’
‘Can’t say it’s ever crossed my mind,’ Jack shrugs.
‘I used to think about it a lot,’ I sigh. ‘Dreams of living in a world with no more discrimination, no more prejudice, a fair police force, an equal justice system, equality of education, equality of life, a level playing field . . .’
‘Good grief! Is that a thesis or a fairy tale?’ Jack asks dryly.
‘Like I said, I used to think about it a lot.’
‘I’m not sure I share your faith in a society ruled by noughts,’ Jack tells me, thoughtfully. ‘People are people. We’ll always find a way to mess up, doesn’t matter who’s in charge.’
‘You think so?’
Jack shrugs.
‘You don’t believe that things get better? That they have to, one day, some day?’
‘When?’
‘It takes a long time.’
‘But they do?’ asks Jack.
‘They do.’
But not for me. A long silence fills the gap between us. Until at last, I open my mouth to speak but Jack gets in first.
‘Your girl, Persephone Hadley, tried to get in here to see you – and more than once as well,’ Jack tells me softly. ‘But orders came from way above the governor’s head that you were to have no visitors whatsoever un
der any circumstances.’
I digest this piece of news with regret. Kamal Hadley’s influence no doubt.
‘Jack, can I ask you for a favour?’
‘Just name it.’
‘It might get you into trouble.’
‘My dull life could do with a bit of sprucing up.’ Jack grins.
I smile gratefully. ‘Could you find a way to deliver this letter to Sephy?’
‘Persephone Hadley?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Sure thing.’ Jack takes the envelope from me.
I hold his wrist. ‘You have to personally put it into her hand. Promise?’
‘I promise,’ Jack replies.
I let him go and watch him put the letter into his pocket. Sighing, I sit back on my bed, my back against the cool wall. There’re still so many things I want to do, so many things I want to find out. I would’ve loved to see my mum again, just once more. Just to say . . . sorry. But it hasn’t been allowed. Heaven only knows what she’s going through now. Her husband is dead. Suicide or murder – take your pick. Her daughter is dead. An ‘accident’. Her youngest son is going to die because of his own self-inflicted stupidity. And her eldest son is . . . missing? Wanted – dead or alive. Poor mum. What has she ever done to deserve all this? My thoughts are flitting around now. I wonder about Jude? I miss him so much. I’d love to know if he’s OK. Is he safe or in prison? Has he linked up with Morgan? Has he come up with a way to deal directly with that traitor Andrew Dorn? A newspaper article is all very well, but how can he be sure Dorn won’t weasel his way out or just disappear? Dorn doesn’t deserve to disappear after everything he’s done. Will Jude catch up with him? I’ll never know.
And Sephy, how does she feel about me now? Is she still going to have our child? I’m sure her mum and dad are doing their best and then some to make her get rid of it. Maybe she has already. Our time together in the rose garden was so brief. All those things I’d wanted to say to her – and now they’ll never be said. If I could just see her one more time then I could make sense of all this, I’m sure I could.