Noughts and Crosses (47 page)

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 waved 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.

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.