Noughts and Crosses (18 page)

Well, Callum, this is it. Are you going to do it or not? Are you going to stand up for yourself? You’ve had more than half a term of this . . . this crap. Speak. Say something. Don’t be such a wimp.
DO IT
!

‘Excuse me, Mr Jason. May I have a word with you?’

‘As long as it’s a short, fast word,’ Mr Jason replied without bothering to look up from fastening his bag.

I looked around, waiting for the last person to leave the classroom.

‘Well?’ Mr Jason snapped, as he headed for the door.

‘Why . . . why did I get a C-minus for my mid-term grade when I got twenty-seven marks out of thirty in your last test and came first?’

‘Your grade reflects other things besides how well you did in the test.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like your coursework and homework to date, not to mention your attitude.’

‘I’ve never got less than nine out of ten for my homework.’

Mr Jason stopped in his tracks, just beside the door. I finally had his full attention. ‘Are you questioning my judgement? Because that’s exactly what I mean when I say your attitude leaves a lot to be desired.’

‘I’d just like to know your reasons, that’s all.’

‘I gave you the grade you deserved – no more, no less.’

‘Adotey got a B when my work so far this term has been getting better marks than his and I got five more in the test.’

‘If you don’t like the way I’ve graded you, you can always appeal,’ Mr Jason challenged.

But I was ready for that one. ‘OK, I will.’

I went to move past him but he slammed the door shut before I could leave.

‘I see you’ve chosen this particular time to make a fool of yourself, McGregor. Your grade will not be altered, I can promise you that.’

I regarded him, Mrs Paxton’s words still ringing in my ears.

‘Why d’you hate me so much?’ My words tumbled out in angry frustration. ‘If anything you should be on my side.’

Mr Jason drew himself up to his full height, his eyes giving me frostbite. ‘What’re you talking about, boy?’

‘You’re half-nought so I don’t understand . . .’

Mr Jason’s bag dropped to the floor, forgotten. He gripped my shoulders and started shaking me. ‘Who told you that . . . that lie?’

‘I . . . no-one. I just thought . . . You’re lighter than Mrs Paxton and all the others so I just thought . . .’

Mr Jason released me as suddenly as he’d grabbed me. ‘How dare you?
How dare you?
Who else have you said this to?’

‘No-one.’

‘No-one?’

‘I swear.’

‘Every time I look at you, I thank God I’m not one of you. D’you hear me? I thank God.’

‘Y-yes, sir . . .’

Mr Jason picked up his bag and marched out of the classroom. I didn’t realize it until he was out of sight, but I was shaking. Actually, physically shaking.

But at least that question was answered.

Mr Jason strode down the corridor with a face like a cold rice pudding. The man was
seriously
ticked off. I only noticed because I was looking at the faces of every male that passed me, wondering if this boy looked like my brother, or if that boy had the same eyes, the same nose,
the same mouth as my brother. I’d been at it all day. I’d been at it ever since I’d heard I had a brother.
My brother
. I turned the corner and saw Callum standing in the doorway of our classroom. I was ready to tell him my news now. Quickly checking up and down the corridor to make sure we were alone, I said, ‘Callum, guess what? You’ll never believe what I found out from eavesdropping on Mother and Dad . . .’

‘Not now, Sephy.’

‘But Callum, this is important . . .’

‘Sephy, I said not now. Can’t you think of anyone else but yourself for a change?’ Callum snapped.

And he strode off, in the opposite direction to Mr Jason. But not before I realized that the expression on his face mirrored that of Mr Jason. Exactly.

We were all sitting down for dinner and not one of us spoke. No-one had anything to say. Lynny kept her head bowed and concentrated on her plate of sausages and chips. Jude had the same sour, sullen look on his face that he’d worn since he and Lynny had had their fight. Dad’s face was sad. Mum threw down her knife and fork, the clatter making us all jump.

‘Goodness me! What’s the matter with everyone?’

‘Meggie . . .’

‘Don’t Meggie me.’ Mum frowned at Dad. ‘There’s been a funny atmosphere in this house for a while now. What’s going on?’

‘I’m going for a walk.’ Lynny sprang out of her chair.

‘Lynny?’ Mum wasn’t the only one who was surprised. This was the first time Lynny had shown the slightest interest in leaving the house by herself since I don’t know when.

‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll only be gone for a little while.’

‘Where’re you going?’ asked Mum.

Lynny smiled gently. ‘Mum, I’m a big girl now. Stop worrying.’

‘Want some company?’ I asked.

Lynny shook her head. She turned abruptly and headed upstairs.

‘I thought you were going for a walk?’ Mum called after her.

‘I want to do something first,’ Lynny called back.

I carried on eating my dinner for the want of something better to do.

‘I’m going now. I’ll see you all later,’ said Lynny, when she finally came downstairs again.

And she grabbed her wraparound jacket and headed out of the door with all of us watching her. Lynny turned round. Mum half stood up, but then she sat down again, never taking her eyes off my sister.

‘Bye, everyone,’ Lynny smiled softly, the saddest, loneliest smile I’ve ever seen. And then she shut the door behind her and was gone.

‘Ryan, I want to know exactly what’s going on – and don’t say it’s nothing. That won’t work this time. One of you had better start talking – and fast.’

Jude lowered his head. I looked at Jude. Dad looked at Mum.

‘Meggie, it was when you last went to visit your sister,’ Dad said at last.

‘I’m listening,’ Mum prompted sombrely.

And, as Dad told her exactly what had happened, we waited for the storm to hit.

Mum sat glaring at each of us in turn. I knew she was still doing it, even though I didn’t dare look at her. After a lot of shouting, she’d spent the last three and whatever hours staring and glaring and scowling, until I don’t know about the others, but I felt like a withered worm, twisting for her contemptuous inspection.

‘Ryan, where’s my daughter?’ asked Mum for the umpteenth time.

Dad didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just continued to hang his head.

‘Jude and Lynette fighting . . . Ryan, I can’t believe you let it happen. You are the most ineffectual useless man it’s ever been my misfortune to come across,’ Mum said with deep reproach.

‘It’s not Dad’s fault, Mum,’ Jude tried.

‘And you can shut right up.’ Mum turned on him like a cornered rat. ‘I’m sick to the back teeth of this belief you have, that you and your opinions are always right and everyone else is wrong. You’ve been picking on your sister and goading her for months now.’

‘Well, you’ve been doing the same to me, so that makes us about even,’ Jude shot back bitterly.

‘I’ve been picking on you – as you call it – because you’re not doing anything with your life. You could work with your dad in the lumberyard or do an apprenticeship with Old Man Tony but . . .’

‘Old Man Tony is always bombed off his trolley! Light a match in front of his mouth and the whole street would go up in flames. And I don’t want to work in his ruddy bakery!’ Jude shouted. ‘If I get into that, I’ll never get out again. I’ll be covered with flour and baking bread till the day I die.’

‘It’s an honest job.’

‘I don’t want an honest job!’

‘You don’t know what you want,’ Mum dismissed with a snort.

‘Yes, I do. I want to go to school.’ The words came out in a rush.

I stared at Jude. Since when had he wanted to go back to school? He’d always scorned me for having my nose in book after book. When I’d been studying for the Heathcroft High entrance exam, every word, every syllable he’d directed my way had dripped with sarcasm and contempt.

‘Jude, we’ve been through this before,’ Mum sighed her impatience. ‘We didn’t have the money to keep you in school. I lost my job – remember?’

‘But you found the money for Callum to go to school,’ said Jude. ‘Every bit of care and attention in this house goes to Lynette and Callum. When is it my turn?’

‘Boy, stop talking nonsense,’ Mum snapped. ‘You’re
our son and we love you – just the same as the others – but at this precise moment I don’t like any of you very much.’

‘Then I won’t inflict my presence on you any longer.’ Jude sprang to his feet and headed for the front door.

‘Jude . . .’ Mum was also on her feet and moving forward.

Jude threw open the front door, but was halted in his tracks by the presence of two police officers, framed by the darkness outside. One of the officers had his arm raised, ready to knock on the door. They seemed as startled to see us as we were to see them. The officer in front was obviously the one in charge. A police sergeant, I think he was. A thin, reedy man whose uniform looked at least a size too big for him. The constable was almost the exact opposite. He was built like a brick outhouse. What he lacked in height, he made up for in width. Both of them were Crosses of course. Nought police officers were as rare as blue snow.

‘Mr McGregor?’ The senior police officer looked around the room. Dad stood up slowly.

‘Lynette . . .’ Mum whispered. Her trembling hand blindly sought and found the back of the sofa, her eyes never leaving the officers.

‘May we come in?’

Dad’s nod was brief. ‘Please.’

They stepped into our living room, carefully shutting the door behind them.

‘I’m Sergeant Collins and this is Constable Darkeagle,’ said the senior policeman.

‘Officers?’ Dad prompted when no-one in the room
spoke. We were all wound so tautly that platitudes just made our torture worse.

‘I’m so sorry, sir, ma’am. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’

The officers had pitying, embarrassed looks on their faces. Dad swallowed hard, his expression carved in granite.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked quietly.

Mum’s grip on the sofa tightened, her knuckles whitening. I stared at the officers, telling myself that no matter what they said, it wouldn’t,
it couldn’t
be as bad as the thoughts racing through my head.

But it was.

‘You have a daughter called Lynette McGregor?’

Dad nodded.

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir, but there’s been an accident – a tragic accident. I’m afraid she walked right into the path of an oncoming bus. Er . . . witnesses said she seemed to be in a world of her own. Maybe she had things on her mind?’

No-one answered his question. I don’t think he expected an answer because he went on almost immediately.

‘It was no-one’s fault. If it’s any consolation, she was killed instantly. She didn’t suffer. I’m so sorry.

No-one spoke. I kept my eyes on the officer, the bearer of the bad news. I couldn’t have looked at any other member of my family then if my life had depended on it.

It was all my fault
.

That’s how it felt. I remembered her staring at herself in the cracked living-room mirror, her hands bloody
where she’d cut herself on the rough glass. Only a few days ago. Only a lifetime ago. Lynette . . .

‘Your daughter is in the morgue of the local hospital if you wish to see her . . .’

‘
NO
!’ Mum let out a sudden howl like a wounded animal and sunk to her knees.

Dad was at her side at once. Jude took a step forward then stopped. The two police officers looked away, unwilling to be spectators at Mum’s grief. I stood like a statue, frozen and mute. The seconds ticked past. Dad hugged Mum to him, rocking her. Mum didn’t speak and she didn’t cry. She didn’t make another sound. Her eyes were closed as she let Dad rock her. Sergeant Collins stepped forward, a card in his hand.

‘This is my number. If you need anything, anything at all, just phone me. I’ve written the number of a bereavement service on the back of the card in case you want to use it.’