Checkmate (33 page)

I watched as he planted a sincere, earnest smile on his face before answering the question put to him.

'Our party is the party of democracy and freedom. We are the party who brought in the reforms which led to not just a better life, but a better world for all our citizens. We are the party who brought in educational reforms allowing noughts to be educated on an equal footing with their Cross counterparts. We are the party which has this current government on the run.'

'And yet, Minister, you're now talking about more than halving immigration quotas and pulling out of the Pangaean Accord, which states that every country has to take a certain number of asylum seekers per year.'

'We are just responding to the concerns of our nation. We are not a country with limitless space and resources. The majority of our citizens feel enough is enough and, unlike this current government, we're listening. This country has all the noughts it can handle.'

'All the
Noughts,
Minister?'

'I misspoke,' Kamal Hadley said quickly. 'I didn't of course mean noughts per se. I was referring to the immigrant population of this country as a whole.'

'Surely your new immigration policies have more to do with the fact that your party is becoming a bit of a nonentity as far as politics in this country is concerned? Isn't this just your cheap, manipulative ploy to get yourself back on the political map?'

'Am I really meant to dignify that with an answer?' asked Dad.

'Noughts in this country make up less than ten per cent of the total population and their contribution to our society in cultural and monetary terms is incalculable. Are we really meant to vote for a party who believe
–
and I quote – "this country has all the noughts it can handle"?'

'I told you before, I misspoke,' Dad snapped. 'We're not just talking about noughts here, we're talking about immigrants from a host of other nations as well.'

I watched Dad wriggle like a worm on a hook as the interviewer pounced on his slip of the tongue. A humourless smile played briefly over my lips. Dad was getting old. His hair might still be artificially jet-black, but the wrinkles and bags under his eyes multiplied every time I saw him on the TV
–
even though his forehead was suspiciously wrinkle-free. And his eyes were old. Very old, but not very wise. A sad combination. Dad was behaving like a tyro at politics. He was allowing himself to get wound up and I was glad. My dad . . . the bigoted hypocrite. Like Janus, he had two faces, showing one face to the public and another to Mother and me. I'd bet his treatment of the two of us and his granddaughter Callie Rose didn't cause him to lose a single second of sleep. I'd bet we didn't even impinge on his subconscious, never mind his conscience. Minerva and her family were still in favour. I would never be.

And I'd had over a decade to come to terms with that. Dad was just the man who'd been present when I'd been conceived, that was all. Just a face on the TV screen, a face I could regard with curious detachment. But when it came to my daughter, that was a different story. I'd never forgive him for the way he treated her when she went to see him. What a shame the country couldn't've seen him at that moment. So much for all his talk about getting back to basics and family values.

'Minister, d'you really believe that a quota system for the asylum seekers we in this country are prepared to aid is fair
–
never mind the legality of it?'

'We cannot keep taking in any person who comes knocking at our shores for entry,' said Dad.

'So if, for example, a major civil war caused a number of people to be dispossessed, you'd be happy to tell them that they will be accepted on a first come, first served basis and after our quota is met, the rest would have to go back to where they came from to face oblivion?' asked the interviewer.

'I think the specific details will need to be thrashed out with the PEC—' Dad began.

'But your proposal is to pull us out of the Pangaean Accord as ratified by the Pangaean Economic Community,' said the interviewer. 'Wouldn't that leave us in a rather invidious position as far as discussing anything with the PEC is concerned?'

'The PEC has placed an unfair burden on this country in terms of the number of immigrants we're supposed to allow into our country,' said Dad. 'I believe . . .'

I wasn't going to watch any more of that man. He wasn't worth my time. He wasn't worth my tears. But my mother definitely was. I needed to go and see her to make sure the drinking had well and truly stopped. She was scaring me to death, in more ways than one. Meggie entered the room, just as I was standing up.

'Sephy, can I talk to you?' she said as I walked past her.

It was as if she'd had to pluck up the courage to even ask me. I turned round. 'Yes, Meggie?'

'Is there any chance of you and Sonny getting back together?' Meggie surprised me by asking.

Frowning, I shook my head. Sonny was long ago and far away. I hadn't even seen him in close to a year.

'I hope . . . I hope it wasn't me . . . I mean . . . if you want to live with him or anyone else, I wouldn't stand in your way,' said Meggie.

I kept my mouth shut. Where was this going?

'I'd miss you . . . and Callie, but I'd wish you well and I wouldn't try to stop you,' said Meggie, her cheeks getting more and more red. She was looking anywhere but at me. 'I just wanted you to know.'

'It's a shame you didn't let me know years ago when it might've made a difference,' I told her icily. 'It's easy to say now, when my daughter and I are always at each other's throats. Thanks for nothing, Meggie.'

'I intended to say something the night you . . . you and Sonny split up. But it seemed academic then as you weren't together any more.'

Oh, Callum, look at your mum and me. So apart, that she's still considering Sonny, when I'm now going out with Nathan.

'Sephy, I . . . I'm so sorry for what I said and did when you came out of hospital.'

At my bewildered expression, she said, 'When . . . when Callie was a toddler. When you were very ill . . .'

My expression had nothing to do with trying to figure out what she was talking about. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing, that's all.

'I think I must've gone a little crazy.' Meggie shook her head. 'I've regretted it so much ever since

'Are you serious? And it's taken you over fourteen years to apologize?'

'Sephy, please. We need to talk—'

'Talk to your son,' I sneered. 'Get him to tell you the truth about Cara Imega and the countless others he's slaughtered. Get him to stay away from my daughter.'

'This isn't about Jude or even Callum. This is about you and me—' said Meggie.

'You made sure that any relationship I entered into after Callum was doomed to failure from the start. You blackmailed me into staying in your house. And you think sorry is going to cut it now?'

'Sephy, please. I just want—'

But I'd had enough. I couldn't bear to hear another inane word. Yes, I was being unfair. I knew Meggie's threats all those years ago had little to do with what happened to Sonny and me, but I didn't want her to think her coercion had made no difference to my life.

Because it had.

I stared at the label on the bottle of claret next to me. How long had we been in this cellar now? How long had the bottle been in this cellar?

'I'm going to keep asking until you tell me,' said my daughter, interrupting my meandering thoughts. 'Why didn't Nana Meggie take me to see you when you were ill?'

I'd promised myself that there'd be no more lies between Callie Rose and me. But how could I tell her the truth? How do I tell my daughter about what Meggie did to me? Some things are just better left unsaid, left dead and buried in the past. Callie loves her nan. I can't take that away from her. Not on top of everything else
–
no matter what Meggie did. Because if I told Callie, she'd hate her nan but hate me too for making her despise someone she's loved for ever. And I can't do that to her. And I won't do that to myself. I love my daughter too much for that. I've got so much wrong. About Callum. About my family – my mother, and Minerva and Callie. I can't afford to get anything else wrong.

'Are you going to tell me or not?' said Callie.

I sighed, then said with a great deal of care, 'Your nana acted with the best of intentions. She did what she thought was right at the time.'

'Mum, I want to propose something?' said Callie, unexpectedly.

'I'm listening.'

'Until Nana Jasmine lets us out, I want to ask you some questions and I want you to promise that you'll only tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.'

I considered. 'I promise to tell you the truth or say nothing at all,' I said at last. I raised my hand to ward off Callie's protest. 'That's the best I can do.'

'Uncle Jude once said the same thing to me,' Callie Rose remembered.

'Yes, but unlike him, I'm not lying,' I replied.

Jude . . . If I had that man in front of me, I'd more than happily swing for him
–
in every sense.

I didn't look away from my daughter. I wanted her to believe me. To trust me again. Did she? I was so desperate for her to trust me. At least she wasn't shouting at me any more, but we still had such a long way to go. I couldn't help but wonder if we'd make it. I watched as Callie chose her next words very carefully.

'Why . . . why didn't you tell me any of this before?'

I took a deep breath to marshal my thoughts. I had to get this right. This was my chance to let Callie Rose know the true story and I couldn't afford to blow it.

If this didn't work then Callie Rose and I would be nowhere. We'd have nothing. Then everything Callum and I had been through would be for nothing. I had to let her know the truth.

And I'd never been so scared of failing in my life.

Mum bent her head briefly before looking straight at me. What was she doing? Preparing more lies? Or balking at the unfamiliar taste of the truth in her mouth?

'Callie Rose, I've wanted to tell you about the past for so long now, but as usual, my timing was off,' said Mum. 'I wanted to sit down with you and say . . . say all kinds of things.'

'Like what?' I asked, trying hard to keep the desperate edge out of my voice.

'Like no matter what other people might tell you, your dad loved us both very much.'

What a load of crap! 'I thought you promised not to lie to me.'

'I'm not lying, Callie.'

'Uncle Jude said—'

'Jude isn't your uncle, Callie. He just happens to be Callum's brother.'

'Then he's my uncle,' I frowned, confused.

'Callie, "uncle" implies a relationship. It implies more than just an accident of birth.'

'But Uncle Jude was the one who told me the truth about my dad when you and my nanas wouldn't. Uncle Jude told me about Dad joining the Liberation Militia and how he was . . . he was hanged for what he did to you. Dad hated you and me and every Cross. D'you know what it's like to know how I was conceived?' I looked away so Mum couldn't see the tears gleam in my eyes. 'So I understand . . . I don't blame you for hating me so much.'

'That's not true!' Mum leaped to her feet and came straight over to me. She kneeled down before me. 'Listen to me, Callie Rose, not a word Jude told you is true. Not one single word.'

She tried to pull me to her but I pushed her away.

'Don't lie, Mum. Stop lying. I . . . I've got Dad's letter.'

'What?' Mum sat back on her heels and stared at me, shocked.

'The letter Dad wrote to you. The letter that made you hate me when I was a baby. I've got it. I read it.'

I dug into my trouser pocket and pulled the thing out. I'd wanted to carry it with me on my first and last
L.M.
assignment. The paper was beginning to fall apart from all the times I'd read it in spite of myself. The tears on my face were a poor imitation of what was going on inside me.

'I read it,' I cried.

And then I lost it and broke down completely.

'Callie, darling. Listen to me . . .' said Mum. She tried to take me in her arms again, but I pulled out of her grasp. I bent my head, mortified by the tears that wouldn't stop, ashamed of the sobs I couldn't control.

I was bigger than this.

I was older than this.

I was harder than this.

But I wasn't . . .

'Callie, where did you get that letter from?' Mum asked earnestly, her eyes boring into mine.

'I . . . Does it matter?' I hiccupped.

'Callie, love, listen.' Mum's hand stroked my hair. 'You couldn't've seen the real letter your dad wrote because only I've seen that.'

I sat back, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar feel of Mum's hand. It was almost irritating, just like the way she kept denying that I'd seen Dad's letter.

'Mum, Uncle Jude gave me Dad's letter. It was just after I found out who Dad really was – when I was thirteen.'

'Jude again. I should've guessed . . .' Mum said through gritted teeth. Her eyes began to flash with quiet rage. 'Callie, the only reason that man got in touch with you was to use you for his own ends. What he feels for me goes beyond reason and far beyond hatred. Stop thinking he's your friend. He couldn't care less about you. He's just using you to get back at me.'

'No. He told me the truth.'

'His warped, hate-filled version of it,' Mum dismissed. 'Give me that thing.'

I looked down at Dad's letter, still clutched in my hand. My dad wrote every hate-filled word, yet I held onto it like it was a priceless jewel. It was my standard. I was determined to be my father's daughter and every time I felt my resolve wavering, I took it out and read it. Every time I wondered who I was, I took it out and read it. It was the only thing I had of his. I told myself it was the only thing I needed. If Dad could be single-minded in his ambitions, then so could I. Dad let nothing get in the way of what he wanted, and neither would I.

'Give it to me,' Mum ordered, her tone not encouraging argument.

The moment I handed it over, Mum took the letter and ripped it into tiny pieces, her gaze never leaving my face. I stared at her as she did it. I know it wasn't a photograph, but it was still from my dad.

'I should've done that the first time I read the wretched thing,' said Mum, more to herself than me.

She flung the shreds away from her without a glance. I watched them flutter and fall, and then they were still.

'D'you remember when we were burgled all those years ago?' asked Mum. 'They took our TV and some other bits and pieces.'

I nodded, wondering at the sudden change of subject.

'Well, the thief or thieves also took that letter. In fact, I'm convinced the letter was what the thief was really after. Taking all the other stuff was just a smokescreen.'

'What makes you think that?'

'Why would thieves want a private letter? The only reason anyone would take it was for personal gain or personal use. I'm not rich enough to blackmail. I'm not famous enough for the newspapers to want to publish it and embarrass me. And it'd only be a mild annoyance to your grandad – a five-minute wonder, if that. So that leaves personal use. I had that letter hidden away where no one should've been able to find it. Meggie must've told Jude about its existence and he got a couple of his
L.M.
buddies to do the honours.'

'But it's still the letter Dad wrote just before he was hanged—' I began.

'It's a fake,' Mum said.

I stared at Mum. Something deep inside me started to unfurl. Something too fragile to even begin to acknowledge, let alone analyse. 'Dad didn't write the letter I read?'

'Oh, he wrote it all right,' said Mum. 'But it was filled with lies. It wasn't the first letter he wrote to me. I've got the first letter Callum wrote. And the first one is filled with the truth.'

'I don't understand,' I whispered.

Mum dug down into her jeans pocket and took out a folded, yellowing piece of paper.

'I brought this to show you,' she said.

'What is it?'

'Callum's first letter. The one he decided he didn't want me to see. The one filled with the truth. The letter you saw was the second one he wrote, the one full of lies. This is the real one.' Mum held it out for me. 'D'you want to read it?'

I slid backwards even though my back was already against the wall. I had to get away from Mum's outstretched hand. 'No. No more of Dad's letters. Please. I couldn't bear it.'