Checkmate (10 page)

Hello, Daddy,

I was thinking about you a lot today. I wish I had a photo of you but Mum says she doesn't have any. And Nana Meggie said that she had loads but she put them all in a box and now she can't remember where she put it. I offered to help Nana Meggie search through the house for it but she said it'll turn up one day. I want it to turn up today. I want to see you. Very much. Nana Meggie says you didn't like to have your photo taken anyway. I wish you did. It'd be so cool to see how much I look like you. I want to see how much my eyes or my nose or my lips or my forehead or the shape of my face look like yours. What were you like on the inside? I wonder about that a lot. I don't mean what your blood and your heart and your liver looked like. They probably looked like everyone else's. I mean deep on the inside, the bit that sometimes shows itself and sometimes doesn't. I know you liked the outdoors, you loved trees and flowers and nature and stuff. I guess that's why you became a gardener. And I guess that's why you wanted to call me Rose. Mum says that was your idea. I must admit, I didn't like my name until Mum told me it came from you. I guess that's why she calls me Rose instead of Callie Rose, so that you can almost be with us. You must love being in heaven. I bet it's got lots of fields and flowers and sunshine. Perfect for gardeners. I miss you, Daddy. Very much. Mummy doesn't believe me when I say that.

'You can't miss something you've never had,' she told me. (Have I wrote that right? Mummy said whenever I write down what someone says, I have to put speech marks around the bits that they say and start each person's bit on a new line. I don't suppose you'll mind much if it's wrong.)

Daddy, I do miss you. I'll write again soon. You're not my homework any more but I like writing – especially to you. It makes me feel like we're talking
–
or at least I'm talking and you're listening. I really feel like you're looking over my shoulder or you're in my head or my heart, listening. Nana Jasmine said I can have one of her tidy boxes, the velvety one. I'm going to keep my letters to you and all my other precious things in it. And no one can see them except you because it's got a key. (Don't worry, I'll keep the key in a safe place.) I'm not going to write every day – only when I feel like it. I hope that's OK – because like I said, you're not homework any more. But I will keep talking to you because I love you.

Toodles, Daddy.

Love,

Rose

The night held a silence that only really ocurred in the early hours of the morning. I could hear a police siren somewhere out there in the distance but the sound was easy to block out. I glanced through the window up at the stars, trying to find the familiar ones which Callum had taught me to look out for. I was in Sonny's house, in a downstairs room that had been turned into a mini-studio. Sonny sat at the keyboard across from me as we tried to put the finishing touches on our latest song,
Just Ask Me.

We'd been commissioned to write this for one of the new and happening Cross girl groups. Usually my heart sank when we were commissioned to write for a new pop group, but these girls had been together since school and had been practising for years before landing a recording contract. Designer groups put together by the music companies for the sole purpose of fulfilling a so-called demand or gap in the market usually had a limited shelf-life of about two years. And when they disappeared, their songs usually disappeared with them. Which meant our songs disappeared. In this business, to make money it's longevity that counts.

In a meeting with Dale Applegate, an executive producer at Sometime-Anytime Music, he told us he wanted a dance track where the words would be easy to remember. Sonny and I had to hide our true feelings from Dale when we heard the brief. I could feel the waves of hostility emanating from Sonny at Dale's words, but luckily the producer was too thick-skinned to feel it. And after all, it wasn't the most inane brief we'd ever been given. Plus Sometime-Anytime Music were excellent, not to mention prompt, payers. We were supposed to deliver the song the following week, so we really had to get it right.

Except that I was fading and Sonny had faded and was fast asleep! I read through what we'd written so far, singing softly so as not to wake up Sleeping Beauty.

A pinch of dedication
A dash of consolation
Sling in some deep frustration
Then add a tear or two

A longing for salvation
Disguise the revelation
In a web of conversation
That's all you have to do

Chorus:
Just ask me
What I need
To make me laugh
To make me sigh
What makes me dance
What makes me cry Just ask me
What I'd like to own
What turns me on
What brings me home
Just ask me

Strokes of stimulation
Don't believe in simulations
With a little relaxation
I'll do what you want me to

And be swept up by elation
One kiss for my salvation
I will give in to temptation
But the rest is up to you

Chorus:
Just ask me
What I need
To make me laugh
To make me sigh
What makes me dance
What makes me cry
Just ask me
What I'd like to own
What turns me on
What brings me home
Just ask me

I don't mind if we take for ever
I don't mind if it's just one night
I just want the thrill of something new
To make me feel all right

Chorus:
Just ask me
What I need
To make me laugh
To make me cry
Just ask me
What I'd like to own
What turns me on
What brings me home
Just ask me
(Just ask me)
Why don't you
Ask me
(Just ask me)
You'll never know
If you won't
Ask me

I shook my head. It still wasn't quite right. Now I just had to figure out why. Sonny was usually really good at homing in on why a song or lyric wasn't working but he'd been scribbling away for the last half an hour without coming up with a single new idea. Still, we were both tired. Maybe we should give in and just call it a night, then come back to it fresh in the morning.

My eyes were so full of sleep-sand, I had to keep rubbing them
to try and get the stuff out. Sleep-sand . . . One of my mother's sayings
from when we were children, fighting against drifting off to sleep. I sighed.
Life was very strange. Mother and I were getting on so well at the moment.
We had the kind of relationship I could only dream of as a teenager. But with
Meggie and me it was a different story. Sometimes I felt like Meggie and I
stood on different planets playing tug-of-war with my poor daughter. And as
for Sonny . . . His head was turned to one side and resting on his folded
arms upon the lid of the keyboard as he slept soundlessly. I sat back in my
chair and watched him, surprised at how contented I felt to just watch him
sleep. We seemed to be getting on so well at the moment. Better than I could've
dared to hope. But there was a part of me that stood apart, watching. Sonny
made all the running in our relationship, something he'd pointed out more
than once. We'd been going out for over six months now, or at least that's
what I called it. According to Sonny, we rarely went out. We watched DVDs,
or listened to music and had dinner at his place or at my place on the very
rare occasions when both Meggie and Rose were somewhere else. But there wasn't
an awful lot of 'going out'. And making love was always at Sonny's instigation.
I wasn't unwilling. It wasn't that. Sonny was a kind, considerate lover. And
I did care about him – as much as I could care about anyone who wasn't
my daughter. It was just . . . it was just that—

My thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt at the sight of the piece of paper almost totally hidden beneath Sonny's arm. I thought at first it was just his notes on the song we'd been trying to write together. Until I saw the beginning of my name at the top of the sheet. The rest was obscured by his forearm, but I was sure the 'Seph' I could see was the beginning of my name.

Was he writing something to me? Something he didn't feel able to say, even though I was sitting directly opposite him? Surely that could only be one thing . . . ? I leaned forward and slowly pulled at the sheet. Grunting his sleepy protest, Sonny lifted his arm a fraction. I used the opportunity to successfully whip out the piece of paper from under him. He turned his head on his folded forearms, but didn't wake up. My heart hiccupping in my chest, I sat back and read. I was right. My name was at the top of the paper, but Sonny was writing about me, not to me.

Sephy Scared

She is so scared
She just lashes out
She's afraid that I'll see
What she's all about
She thinks I don't know
That I cannot feel,
Can't see what is false
And can't tell what is real.

She is so lost
She doesn't want to be found
Wants to lift up and soar
But can't get off the ground
All I want is her heart
To beg, borrow, steal
She can't see what is false
And can't tell what is real.

Oh, she's alone in her heart
She's alone in her head
As her loneliness grows.
Oh, I'm not a part of her life
I'm just the man in her bed
Who loves her more than she knows

She is so . . .

I couldn't bear to read any more.

Sephy Scared . . .

Is that how Sonny saw me? Is that what I was? I put down the sheet of paper which was suddenly burning my fingers. I picked up my bag, stood up and, after one last look at Sonny, walked quietly out of the room.

Ella and me were playing. It was the first time Ella had come round to my house after school
–
and it 'was great. We've never been particular friends before this term, but she always asks to play with me at lunch time. And when we have games and have to find a partner, she always rushes over to stand by me. So we're good friends now. And she was good fun – not like her brother Lucas, who was a real pain. We played a couple of computer games, but Ella wasn't really into them so then we played hide and seek. Mum made us sausages, chips and beans for dinner and it was lovely. I sort of drowned the chips in too much vinegar when Mum wasn't looking, so they tasted all soggy and sour. I couldn't eat them but I told Mum I wasn't too hungry for chips. I didn't tell her that I could've sucked out at least half a cup of vinegar from each one.

'My compliments to the chef, Mum!' I said as I put down my knife and fork.

She always lets me off eating what's left on my plate when I say that.

'Thank you, kind miss,' smiled Mum. Then she curtseyed. Mum and I both laughed whilst Ella looked at Mum like she was a fruit-and-nut bar. Ella and me went out into the garden to play on the swing until we both got bored of that as well. Then I had a brilliant idea.

'D'you want to play with my puppet theatre?' I asked. 'Nana Jasmine gave it to me for my birthday.'

'Yes, please,' said Ella.

We'd only just got it out when the front doorbell went.

'Ohhh!' Both Ella and me groaned. Ella's mum had come round much too soon.

'Rose, could you open the door please?' Mum called from the kitchen.

'I'll stay here and set up the puppets,' said Ella.

'OK. I'll be right back,' I said, hoping hard that Ella's mum would want to stay. 'What's your mum's name?'

'Nichelle.'

'That's pretty.'

I headed downstairs to open the door. I liked Ella's mum. She wore her hair in long, skinny locks that were never tied back – at least, I'd never seen them tied back. Every time I saw her in the playground, she wore lipstick and eye shadow and she wasn't spotty or anything. She always looked like she'd just stepped out of the pages of one of Nana Meggie's fashion magazines. As I opened the door, Ella's mum smiled.

'Hi, Mrs Cheshie,' I said.

'Hello, Rose,' she replied. 'Call me Nichelle.'

Which was very nice of her. Some grown-ups are allergic to being called by their first names by anyone younger than them. Maybe she 'would let Ella stay for a while . . . ?

But then I saw him
–
Ella's older brother Lucas. Ella had already warned me about him
–
as if I needed warning. I still hadn't forgotten the time he got me into trouble with Mr Brewster. I still hadn't forgotten the bad name he'd called me either. He was just over a year older than me and Ella, but he went around like he was years and years above us. He looked a bit like Ella, though his locks were shorter, and he had the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen on a boy. He had eyes the colour of baked conkers, and I guess he was OK-looking, but he was scowling at me so hard, it was a bit tricky to tell. Well, two could do that! I glared at him. His frown faded whilst mine grew stronger. He stepped behind his mum. My mum came down the hall, wiping her hands in a couple of sheets of kitchen towel.

'Can I help you?' Mum said politely from behind me.

'I'm here for Ella.'

'You're Nichelle?'

'That's right.'

'Hi. I'm Persephone. Callie Rose's mum. Call me Sephy. Please come in. Would you like a cup of tea?'

For some reason, Ella's mum looked surprised. Had she never had a cup of tea before?

'I'd love one,' she smiled.

Yes! Fantastic! Because that meant that Ella and me could play together for longer. We could make up a story for the puppets. Mum and Nichelle disappeared into the kitchen for a mums' chat. So I knew they'd be
ages.
Lucas shut the door behind him. I ran back upstairs to my bedroom, leaving him in the hall. Ella had made a sign for my door which said,
KEEP OUT, LUCAS! GIRLS ONLY!
and stuck it up with sticky-tacky from my craft box. I went into my room and shut the door. A few seconds later, it opened again. And in walked Lucas.

'Can't you read?' asked Ella. 'The sign on the door says keep out, Lucas.'

'No, it doesn't.'

'Yes, it does.'

'Go away, Lucas,' I told him.

'Won't.' Lucas stood in the middle of the room, his legs planted in my carpet like tree roots.

Ella and me glared at him but he wouldn't move. He hadn't changed at all. I thought about pulling him out of my bedroom, but then Mum would shout and Ella's mum would take her home.

'Just ignore him,' said Ella. 'Then he'll soon get the message and scram.'

Looking at Lucas, I wasn't so sure. The scowl was gone from his face and now he was just watching me like I'd sprouted an extra head or something. He had the kind of look on his face that I get when I get lost in a really good book. Lucas didn't look like he'd care much if we ignored him. He was where he wanted to be and anything else would be jam on top. Ella and I kneeled down, deciding which puppets we wanted to play with.

'Can I play?' asked Lucas.

'NO!' Ella snapped.

I looked at Lucas. Maybe he'd go now? The answer to that was no. He stood there watching us. When he saw me looking at him, to my amazement he smiled. Even more amazingly, I smiled back. Lucas had a surprisingly nice smile!

'Rose! Don't encourage him,' Ella told me off.

'Sorry,' I muttered and returned to the puppets.

Ella and me – but mainly Ella – made up a story about a nasty little boy called Lucas who was captured by a dragon. The dragon tried to eat him but Lucas was so tough and gristly that the dragon spat him out, unfortunately without biting him to death first (Ella came up with that bit). Then Lucas's sister and her best friend (we're best friends now!) set off on an epic adventure to rescue him. We acted out the whole thing with our puppets and put on different voices for the different characters. It was so much fun
–
except for Lucas standing there the entire time, watching us. Now and then, he'd ask if he could join in but Ella always said no. I would've let him play rather than have him just stand in my room, watching.

At last Ella's mum called her and Lucas downstairs. Lucas ran out of the room immediately – thank goodness.

'Let's pack this stuff away,' said Ella, surprising me. I would've thought she'd want to play some more.

'We can carry on for a little while longer,' I said.

'No, we can't. Mum said that if I didn't come the first time she called me, I couldn't come here again,' Ella whispered.

We put all the puppets back in their boxes and packed away the puppet theatre before leaving my bedroom. I didn't miss the stern look Ella's mum gave her as we headed downstairs.

'Ella was helping me put away my puppet theatre,' I quickly explained. I didn't want Ella to get into trouble.

I glanced at Lucas and didn't miss the way he was looking at me either. He had the same puzzled look on his face that he'd had in my bedroom.

'Mum, what's wrong with Rose?' Lucas whispered loud enough for practically the whole street to hear.

I frowned at him. And what was he talking about? There wasn't anything wrong with me.

'Nothing – as far as I know. What d'you mean?' asked his mum.

'Why didn't Dad want Ella to come here and play with her then?' asked Lucas.

'Nonsense.' Nichelle's voice was sharp as pins. 'Your dad never said that.'

'Yes, he did,' Lucas argued. 'I heard you two talking last night. He said he didn't want Callie Rose setting foot in our house and he didn't want Ella playing with some dirty halfer.'

The whole world stopped. The house stopped. My breath stopped. My heart stopped. My heart froze solid. Just for a moment.

'Lucas, that's quite enough,' his mum hissed like an angry snake.

Lucas looked at her, bewildered.

'Your dad never said that,' Nichelle said, really cross.

'But I heard him . . .' said Lucas, even more puzzled. 'I heard you and Dad talking last night. But Rose isn't dirty. I don't get—'

'Lucas, don't you say another word. D'you hear?'

I thought Nichelle was going to slap him. I turned to look at Ella on the stair beside me, but she looked away from me. She didn't say a word
–
which said a lot.

'We have to go now. Ella, get down here,' Nichelle ordered.

I stayed put halfway up the stairs. I looked at Lucas; he didn't take his eyes off me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nichelle snatch up Ella's school bag.

'Ella, what d'you say to Rose and her mum?'

'Thank you for having me,' said Ella politely.

'Don't mention it,' Mum replied quietly.

Nichelle opened the door and ushered Ella outside. Lucas was still watching me.

'Lucas, move!' Nichelle ordered.

'Bye, Rose,' said Lucas.

I didn't answer.

'Bye, Rose,' Lucas repeated.

'Bye.'

Making sure he smiled at me first, Lucas left, followed by Ella and Nichelle. Mum shut the door quietly behind them before immediately turning to look at me.

'Mum, what's a halfer?'

'It's an ignorant word said by ignorant people to mean someone whose Mum was a Cross and whose Dad was a Nought or vice versa,' said Mum quietly. But each word came out clipped and precise.

'I thought that was it,' I said.

'You shouldn't've had to hear it now,' Mum said.

'Why doesn't Ella's dad like me?'

'Ella's dad doesn't know you. And some people . . . a lot of people are afraid of things they don't know.'

A grown man scared of me? That didn't make any sense at all. 'What's he afraid of?'

'Change,' Mum replied immediately. 'A lot of people are terrified of changes. They worship the status quo – which means when things stay exactly the same. But that's not what life is about. Life is all about changes – some good, some bad. Some people, like Ella's dad, don't get that.'

I looked at Mum, not sure I totally understood. I started making my way back up the stairs.

'Rose, d'you . . . I mean . . . d'you want to ask me anything?' asked Mum solemnly.

I turned and shook my head. 'I have to tidy up my room.'

'I'm sorry you had to hear that horrible word,' Mum said from behind me.

'Don't worry, Mum. It's not the first time I've heard it and I knew it wasn't a compliment. I just wondered what it meant, that's all.'

'Has someone called you that before?' Mum said sharply. 'You never told me.'

'It doesn't matter.' I shrugged.

'Yes, it does. You listen to me, Callie Rose Hadley, you're not "half" anything. D'you understand me? You're wholly you. Half implies short measures or a fraction of something. You haven't got half a tongue or half a brain. And you're not a zebra with black and white stripes.'

'Yes, I know, Mum.'

'I hope you do,' Mum said, coming up the stairs. 'Because you're lucky. You can take the best of being a Cross and the best of being a Nought and put them together to create the person you want to be. D'you understand?'

'Chill, Mum. It's OK.' Mum was getting all hetted and fretted up. 'I think it's lucky that I've got a Cross mum and a Nought dad.'

'Why?'

"Cause I can't go round liking one and not the other, can I? 'Cause I'm both.'

It took three attempts before Mum finally managed a proper smile.

'What's the matter, Mum?' I had to ask: even though she was still smiling, she looked like she wanted to cry.

'I just . . . sometimes I forget just how sensible you are.'

Mum kissed my forehead. I put my arms round her waist to hug her. I was glad she'd cheered up a bit.

'We shouldn't cuddle on the stairs
–
it's dangerous,' Mum told me. She unwrapped my arms from round her middle. Again.

I carried on upstairs.

'OK, Rose?' Mum called after me.

I didn't answer.

What was the point?