Checkmate (37 page)

I watched Mother drift in and out of a fitful sleep. Her eyes finally opened long enough for her to register my presence. She tilted her head towards me and tried to smile. I tried to do the same, failing miserably.

'Hi, Mother. How're you feeling?'

'Tired.'

Understatement of the year. For the first time, Mother looked every year of her age.

'Your hair looks good,' I tried.

'Best wig money can buy,' said Mum, patting it.

'Oh, Mother . . .' I did the one thing I'd promised myself I wouldn't do. I started to choke up.

'Does this mean you don't want to hear about my mouth sores or my constant diarrhoea or how everything I eat tastes like rusty nails?' Mother smiled.

I forced myself to smile back. 'I'm glad you've kept your sense of humour.'

'With all my other bits being gobbled up by this cancer, it's one of the few things I can hold onto,' said Mother.

'Is there anything I can get you?' I sat down very carefully on the edge of her bed.

'A new body?'

'I'm fresh out. Sorry.'

'In which case, I'll settle for a hug,' said Mother.

'Are you sure it's OK?' I said, doubtfully.

Mother regarded me. 'I read once that children deprived of hugs and cuddles fail to thrive and don't grow physical or mentally as quickly as children who are held frequently with love,' said Mum. 'Isn't that interesting?'

'You're hardly a child,' I pointed out.

'We're all children,' said Mother. 'From the youngest to the oldest of us.' She was watching me expectantly. What did she want from me? 'Sephy, what happened when Callie Rose was a baby was an accident. Nothing more, nothing less and certainly nothing else. When're you going to forgive yourself?'

'Mother, you're worrying about nothing. Besides, I didn't come here to discuss me,' I said clumsily. 'I want to know how you're doing.'

'If you don't open up to Callie Rose soon, you're going to lose her for good,' said Mum.

Lose her . . . I'd tried talking, apologizing, begging her to just give me five minutes of her time. I'd tried
–
and failed. My daughter wasn't about to forgive or forget any time soon. And I really couldn't blame her. Lose her? That had already happened.

I tried to shrug off the hand in my chest squeezing relentlessly at my heart. I tried to smile away the pin-prick tears making my eyes sting. But I wasn't fooling anyone. 'Mother, I . . . I think I'm too late. Callie Rose won't even speak to me. She can hardly stand to be in the same room as me. I've messed up big time – which I probably would've done anyway, even without Jude's help.'

'Jude?' Mother said sharply. 'What's he got to do with this?'

'He's been seeing Callie Rose.'

'He's what?' Mother winced with pain as she struggled to sit up. 'What's going on?'

I told her everything I knew, which wasn't much. But it was enough if the look on her face when I'd finished was anything to go by.

'Sephy, I want you to do me a favour,' said Mother.

'Anything. Just name it,' I said.

'I want you to ask Meggie to come and visit me.'

'Now, Mother, that won't do any good. Jude is Meggie's one remaining child and she won't hear anything said against him,' I said.

'I just want to chat with her, for old times' sake. Ask Meggie to come and see me please. I'll handle the rest.'

I'm so tired I can hardly stand up. The muscles in my limbs feel like they've been clamped in a vice for hours, which isn't that far from the truth. I was at a
L.M.
training camp again today. We had field training first as always, which meant we all had to run around and complete an obstacle course. This time, I was over halfway around when I was ready to collapse
–
so that was progress. The first couple of times, I'd barely made it to the fifth or sixth obstacle. We had to swing over muddy water, wade through muddy water, crawl under cargo nets through muddy water. By the time we'd finished, every atom in my body ached. I also learned how to strip down an assault rifle and put it back together again. Those assault rifles are bloody heavy. And because I kept getting it wrong, I had to do it three times. By the third time, I could hardly lift the thing, never mind shoot straight with it. All in all, I was pretty useless, but Uncle Jude said he was too when he first started. I found that hard to believe but it was sweet of him to say it to make me feel better. And that wasn't all. We learned about making other devices for self defence like pipe bombs and nail bombs and altering someone's mobile phone so you can listen in to all their calls.

It was so strange sitting in a classroom and learning about bomb-making and weapons instead of algebra or physics. I pinched myself once or twice throughout the lesson to make sure I was really there and not having one of the weirdest dreams of my life. I wasn't even sure what I was doing there. Will I ever be able to pick up a gun and shoot someone? I know Uncle Jude says that we're only learning this stuff so that we can protect ourselves, but the thought of shooting a hole through someone . . . the thought of taking someone's life in cold blood . . .

I'm just not sure I could do it, that's all.

And not because I'm afraid I'd feel too much.

But because I'm terrified I wouldn't feel anything at all.

Uncle Jude stood at the front of the classroom watching me and everyone else. And the way our teacher and all the other adults in the training camp deferred to him made me realize that he was someone very respected in the Liberation Militia. Someone very high up. So Tobey was right about that, after all.

I caught Uncle Jude frowning at me once or twice, but then his expression always relaxed into a smile when he caught me returning his look. It was my third visit to the training camp and I think today was the first time that reality truly set in. The first time I went, it was exciting, an adventure. I didn't even mind when Uncle Jude took me to one side and told me that I shouldn't call him 'Uncle' but 'sir' at the training camp. I was proud to call him 'sir'. I was proud to hear others call him 'sir'. It was all part of the game I was playing. I didn't even mind being one of only a handful of 'dual heritage trainees', as the instructor put it.

But the second time, it wasn't quite so exciting. It was more like hard work. And the instructor started talking about all the things that would be expected of us in 'the field'. We went through basic self-defence training and I hit the mat so many times I'm sure my hips increased at least two dress sizes. But I told myself it was still an adventure. I was like the heroine of a old film, learning the necessary skills to avenge the great wrongs done to her in the past. But at the end of the second training session we were shown an information film.

It was horrific. Relentless images of Noughts being beaten up by Cross police, the battered, misshapen face of the Nought who was beaten to death for being in a 'Cross' area, the limp and twisted dead body of the
Nought who was tied up and dragged behind a car by two hate-filled Crosses, a Cross police officer stating quite seriously that the reason Noughts needed to be restrained with so much excessive force was the fact that they loved violence, as any Cross who'd watched them after a football match or coming out of a pub at night had seen for themselves. The Cross officer then went on to say that Noughts also had thicker, tougher necks so more pressure had to be applied to subdue them. That was why so many of them died when being arrested. And all the incidents we were shown had taken place within the last five years. Some of the stories, most of them, had been on the news. But a reporter with a microphone saying what had happened was very different to seeing the images for yourself.

I watched with revulsion as horror after inhumane horror was catalogued and reported in the information film. My eyes were burning, my throat was burning, my heart was burning. Each image fuelled the rage inside me until by the time the film had finished, I was filled with a loathing which blazed out in all directions indiscriminately.

That's when it stopped being a game.

And when the instructor started talking this morning about the best places to stab a person to kill them instantly and silently, that's when the fear started. Maybe Uncle Jude knew how I felt because he said very little as he drove me back home. A phrase of Nana Meggie's keeps playing in my head: 'Never stick your head where your bum can't follow.' But that's exactly what I've done.

And I'm stuck.

And I'm so tired. Tired of it all.

I think I would sell my soul for a way out.

Callie came in from her weekend away and dived straight into the bathroom.

No, she didn't want a cup of tea.

And no, she didn't want anything to eat.

And yes, she was all right.

And yes, she was tired.

And for heaven's sake! Couldn't we leave her alone?

I gave up after that. When Sephy asked Callie through the locked bathroom door where she'd been all 'weekend, Callie didn't even bother to answer. Sephy pleaded with Callie to open the door and talk to her. I watched as Sephy wearily leaned her head against the door frame when the only response she received was silence. At least Callie Rose had deigned to answer me, even if her replies had been terse. Sephy gave me a look which found me somewhere beneath contempt and then walked away without a backwards glance. I watched from the top of the stairs as she put on her coat.

'Meggie, Mother would like to see you – if it's not too much trouble. If anything happens, I'll be at Nathan's,' Sephy told me before heading out of the house.

Sephy comes home, Callie leaves. Callie comes home,
Sephy needs to go out. It's like a game of musical chairs, where the chairs are rooms in this house and the music is hatred and it's a game no one's enjoying, but none of us can stop playing.

Sephy and Callie are part of my family, just as much as my son Jude. But Jude's on one side of me and Sephy and Callie Rose are on the other and I'm stuck in the middle. And as far as Sephy was concerned, I've already chosen sides.

But I haven't. Have I . . . ?

I don't know anything any more, except that we can't all go on like this.

Each of us is heading for a confrontation, a showdown. I can feel it. And it's going to be bloody and it's going to be brutal. And I'm not sure how
–
or even if – any of us will survive.

'So what did you think?' asked Nathan. 'Be honest.'

'Nathan, I've already told you! It was lovely,' I smiled.

'If your chef ever gets ill, you can step into his shoes, no

bother!'

'Not in this lifetime!' said Nathan.

I watched as Nathan cleared our dessert bowls away, trying to concentrate on him and not on my problems at home.

'Are you sure you don't want some help?' I called out.

'No, you just relax on the sofa,' Nathan called back.

The kitchen, lounge and dining room in Nathan's apartment were one big open-plan space. The kitchen was sectioned off by a waist-high breakfast bar but otherwise there were no partitions or walls. His flat was lovely – a definite bachelor pad, but tidy and tastefully if rather neutrally furnished. The floors throughout most of the apartment were covered with hardwood maple. The walls were a light cream colour, decorated with post-Impressionist artwork and a few original, contemporary paintings. It was almost like a bachelor show home – except in the master bedroom's en-suite bathroom. The walls in that were black marble, as was the floor, with a walk-in shower cubicle at one end of the room and at the other one of the largest white bathtubs I'd ever seen. The bath was big enough to easily fit at least three people into it. The fittings and mirrors above the two sinks were all gold or gold-plated. It was sumptuously decadent and quite unexpected after seeing how austerely the rest of the apartment was decorated. But Nathan said that's why he'd had it done that way.

I moved from the dining table, sat down on Nathan's white sofa and leaned back, a glass of medium-dry white wine in my hand. The warmth of the fire filled the whole room and after an excellent meal and a glass of good wine, I should've been more relaxed, more content than I was. My mind should've been on Nathan and our relationship. But half my mind and most of my heart were focused elsewhere – on my daughter.

The shouting and the verbal abuse between us was getting worse. And so were the echoing silences in between. Silences so intense, they scared me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Callie smile. Where had my sunny little girl gone? The one who smiled up at the sky and spoke to her dad like he was skipping along beside her. The Callie Rose who inhabits our house is the shell of the girl I remember. There had to be a way to get through to her, to bring the real Callie Rose back to life.

But how?'

'Still worrying about Callie?' Nathan said gently, sitting down beside me.

'Sorry,' I sighed. 'I don't know why you bother with me. I haven't been very good company lately.'

'Is there anything I can do to help?' asked Nathan.

I shook my head and sighed again. 'This is something Callie and I have to sort out ourselves.'

'D'you think a change of environment might help?' asked Nathan.

'Like what?'

'Well,' said Nathan, taking the glass out of my unresisting fingers, 'I was thinking that if you and I got married and the three of us moved into a new house together, that might help to move things forward between the two of you.'

All my senses cranked up a gear. I could hear the coffee-maker in the kitchen bubbling. I could smell Nathan's subtle lemon-musk aftershave and the aroma of the coffee brewing behind us. The white wine lingering on my tongue held a faint sweetness. Nathan's hands in mine were cool, despite the warmth of the fire before us.
And my eyes . . . at that moment my eyes saw nothing but Nathan.

'That's very "league of nations" of you,' I said lightly. 'You'd marry me just to negotiate the peace between me and my daughter?'

'I'd marry you for any reason you'd have me,' said Nathan with uncharacteristic seriousness.

It was exactly the wrong time to remember Sonny and his marriage proposal years before, but they crept unbidden into my head. Fear had spurred me into handling that situation all wrong. I didn't want to make the same mistake again. But the same old fear was gnawing at my heels.

'I don't know what to say,' I said, wincing at my own triteness.

'Say yes then.'

'Nathan, I—'

Nathan placed his finger over my mouth. 'If you're not going to say yes, don't say anything. At least, not until you've had a chance to think about it.'

'I'm not turning you down, Nathan,' I began.

'But you're not jumping for joy either, are you?' said Nathan, pulling his hands away from mine.

'But not for the reason you think,' I tried to explain. 'My life is a confused mess right now. I care about you too much to drag you into the middle of it.'

'I want to be part of your life, Sephy. No dragging required.'

'Nathan, please give me just a little more time. OK?'

'OK,' said Nathan. 'I'll go and get our coffees.'

Nathan jumped up before I could stop him. I opened my mouth to call him back, but then let him go. The easy, jovial mood between us had been fractured. Words would only make things worse. Restless, I got up and wandered round the room. Should I stay or just get my things and leave? Meandering aimlessly around the lounge, I sought something to do with my hands, my thoughts. I sat down at Nathan's desk in the corner of the room and removed a piece of paper from his printer. I grabbed up a pen and started scribbling, almost before I knew what I was doing.

You remind me of a boy I used to know
Same smile, same easy, laid-back style
And man, could he kiss
Blew my mind the very first time
His lips touched mine.
You remind me

You remind me of a boy I used to like.
Same eyes, strong arms, same open mind
And man, could he dance
Arms around me, lost in a trance
I'd hear his heart
You remind me

I'm scared of you
How did you find me?
Turn and walk away
'Cause you remind me

You remind me of a boy I used to love
Same laughter and tears, shared through the years
And man, how he felt
Made my bones more than melt
He touched my soul.
You remind me

I'm scared of you
How did you find me?
Turn and walk away
'Cause you remind me

'What're you writing?' Nathan asked from over my shoulder.

My cheeks were flaming. 'Nothing.' I tried to cover the piece of paper with my hands. Nathan put down the two cups of coffee on his desk and slowly, deliberately removed my hands from the piece of paper. He picked it up and with a questioning look at me, began to read.