Checkmate (9 page)

'I wish he'd hurry up or I won't get to see him,' Rose complained.

The early afternoon sun was making Rose squint but she refused to budge from the living-room window. I glanced down at my watch. Sonny was late arriving and Meggie was late leaving. And the social forecast for today? Frost, as always.

'He's here!' Rose sprinted out of the room. I'd barely made it out of the living room before Rose had the front door wide open.

'Sonny!'

'Hello, pumpkin!'

Rose leaped straight up into his arms, scarcely giving him time to brace himself first.

'Ooof!' Sonny grinned at my daughter as her flying tackle knocked the wind out of him.

'Rose, don't do that,' I admonished. 'You're too big for that sort of thing.'

'Nonsense! My girl will never be too big. Will you, pumpkin?' said Sonny.

He tried to ruffle Rose's hair whilst her head dipped and ducked away from his hand. Sonny treated Rose like . . . like she was his own. Which was the way Rose had always treated Sonny – like one of the family.

But he wasn't.

My heart tipped as I watched them, totally lost in each other's company, oblivious to everything else around them. Including me.

'Come on, Rose. Down you get.'

Rose took her cue from my tone of voice and jumped down from Sonny's grasp.

'Ready to work, Sonny?' I asked.

'Willing and able,' said Sonny. Which was what he always said.

Meggie appeared from the living room, already wearing her coat and carrying Rose's.

'Hello, Mrs McGregor. How are you?'

'Fine, Sonny,' said Meggie without once looking at him.

'You're looking lovely today,' Sonny smiled.

'Maybe you need to get out more,' Meggie said sourly before turning to me. 'We're off to my sister's. We'll be back after dinner.'

'OK,' I said, careful to keep my tone neutral.

Meggie and I did our usual dance; her eyes on me, my eyes on her, an absence of trust, the absolute presence of suspicion. Meggie looked away first.

'Bye,' said Meggie, the front door already open.

'Bye, Mum.' Rose hugged me round my waist, her head against my shoulder. I could still remember when I was able to hold her to me with one hand, when she was about the same length and not an awful lot heavier than a cereal box. And look at her now. I put my hands on her arms. Not to pull her close, but not to push her away either. I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the red rose scent of her baby shampoo.

'Sonny, you won't go before we get back, will you?'

Sonny shook his head. 'You still owe me a game of chess.'

'What's the point? You always win,' said Rose.

'But not for much longer. You're getting so good, one day soon you'll win and I'll lose,' Sonny promised.

Rose beamed at the thought. 'You really think?'

Sonny nodded.

'Come along, Callie Rose,' said Meggie tersely.

'See you later.' Rose waved to Sonny and me as she skipped out.

Sonny and I didn't speak until I'd closed the front door behind Meggie and my daughter.

'D'you wanna try to finish our
Just Ask Me
song?' I asked.

Sonny nodded.

I led the way upstairs to the back bedroom. But some sixth sense kicked in halfway up the stairs and I spun round
–
to catch Sonny with his gaze firmly fixed on my backside.

'You won't find any musical inspiration there,' I said dryly.

'Oh, I don't know!' Sonny disagreed, his eyes dancing with mischief. 'That sway is poetry in motion!'

'Sonny, behave!' I said, adding pointedly. 'How's Kasha? That is the latest one, isn't it?'

'We've split up.'

'Already?' I asked, aghast then amused.

Kasha had lasted
–
how long? Two months, if that.

'She wasn't the right one.'

'You say that when you dump all your girlfriends.' I shook my head. 'You wouldn't know the right one from a hole in the ground.'

'Oh yes, I would,' Sonny said immediately.

'Then why don't you just go out with the right one and have done with it?' I asked, exasperated.

Sonny regarded me for the longest moment.

'Look, I'm sorry. It's none of my business,' I said quickly. 'The last thing I want is to antagonize one of my best friends.'

'Is that what I am?'

'Of course.'

'Is that all I am?' asked Sonny.

I frowned. 'What else is there?'

Sonny smiled to himself – a smile with no real amusement in it. 'I could be more – if you'd let me . . .' he said softly.

'I have no intention of joining the masses, thank you very much,' I told him, wryly.

'You wouldn't be one of masses.'

'Oh yeah? What would I be?'

'The one and only.'

'Yeah, right!' I scoffed. Now I knew he wasn't serious.

We carried on up the stairs. I didn't know whether to smile or sigh. Sonny was in one of his silly moods. We'd be lucky if we got one new verse written.

'Why doesn't Meggie like me?' asked Sonny unexpectedly.

I stopped abruptly on the landing, my head whipping round to face him. 'I don't think that's particularly true.'

Meggie just didn't like anyone. It was hard to get to know her, really know her. But then the same could be said about me.

'I've been working with you for over five years and I don't think Meggie's said more than five sentences to me at any one time. You and I have written songs together, songs that sell, I might add; we both make a decent living and yet she still treats me like I'm sponging off you.'

'That's just her way,' I replied, wondering why I was making excuses for her. After all, Meggie and I hadn't had much to say to each other for the longest time.

'You know what I think? She's scared of me,' Sonny said slowly.

'What on earth are you talking about?'

'She's afraid of losing you and her granddaughter,' said Sonny. 'She thinks I'm trying to take Callum's place.'

I stared at Sonny, my lower jaw hanging like a limp piece of wet lettuce.

'But that's just crap,' I said, inelegantly when at last I found my voice.

'Which bit? Her thinking it or my doing it?'

'Sonny, I'm serious,' I said, with impatience.

'What makes you think I'm not?' asked Sonny.

If it wasn't for the amused gleam lighting his eyes, I might've been concerned. I caught myself frowning and had to make a conscious effort to relax the muscles around my mouth. Had Sonny's joking got somewhere close to the truth? Was the cause of Meggie's antipathy towards him the fact that she thought I was looking for Callum's replacement? But that couldn't be right, could it? I mean, why would I wait all this time, almost nine years, if that was what I had in mind? Sonny and me? What a laugh! He didn't even think of me that way any more.

We entered the back bedroom, which had been my workspace since I'd paid for an extension to the back of the house. It wasn't huge and it'd made the small garden even smaller, but at least I had a place to work now and it'd extended the kitchen downstairs. The room had a digital piano in it, two re-upholstered chairs, a tiny self-assembly pine desk, a music stand and some books on the floor. The desk was scattered with music manuscript paper, notepads and pencils. A CD-radio player sat selfconsciously towards the back of the desk, plugged in but not turned on. I switched on the keyboard and loaded up the last song Sonny and I had been working on.

I was just about to sit down, but there was something wrong. The room was quiet. Too quiet. I spun round to see Sonny watching me. Lately I'd caught him watching me quite a lot.

'I meant what I said,' Sonny told me. 'You are the one and only. You've always been the one and only.'

And the way he said it . . . so solemn, so sincere. So utterly believable. I was really impressed. No wonder he had so many girlfriends. It took a real master of his game to fake that degree of sincerity.

'Sonny, you have a new girlfriend roughly every three months. You wine 'em, dine 'em, bed 'em and dump 'em
–
not necessarily in that order.'

'Safety in numbers,' said Sonny. 'I date lots of girls to stop myself brooding about the only one that matters.'

And all the while, his eyes never left mine. And all at once I was drowning in his gaze.

'Sonny, I—'

But I didn't get any further. Sonny took hold of my arms and kissed me. And to the surprise of both of us, I kissed him back. I closed my eyes and let myself get swept away on this fragment of time. Sonny's arms immediately went around me, holding me almost too tight. I clung to him. I was being kissed.

Someone wanted me.

Me.

After all these years.

And all I had to do was keep my eyes closed.

Hello, Daddy,

How are you, up in heaven? Mr Brewster, my teacher, said we had to write a letter to someone far away. So I immediately thought of writing to you. Nana Meggie said it was a good idea. I don't think Mum thought so though. Mum said I should write to my cousin Taj or make someone up. I don't see the point in writing to Taj when I could just phone him up or send him an email. Besides he's just a little kid, so it's not like I can have a proper conversation with him. And what's the point of writing a letter to a make-believe someone? That's just writing to waste paper. So I chose you. I had to ask Mum about it first. Can you hear what Mum and me say from up in heaven? Well, just in case you can't, I asked her, 'Mummy, where's my dad – exactly?'

'Your dad is in heaven. I've already told you.'

'I mean, where is he buried?'

Mum got that peculiar look on her face that she always gets when I start asking questions she doesn't want to answer. Her gaze always dances away from mine and her hands start to fidget and she lowers her head and shoulders before she speaks. I wonder what that's about?

'Your dad was cremated and his ashes were scattered,' she said at last.

'Scattered where?'

'I can't remember,' Mum said.

'How come you can't remember? If I had to scatter your ashes, I'd remember where I'd put them.'

'It was a long time ago, Rose.'

'Yes, but it's not like losing an umbrella or a glove, is it? Then I could understand if you couldn't remember where you put them. But these were Dad's ashes and—'

'Rose, his ashes were scattered in Nana Jasmine's rose garden,' Mum interrupted.

'But you just said that you couldn't remember where they were.'

Mum sighed. 'Callie Rose, am I going to need a lawyer?'

'Don't be sarky,' I told her. 'So how come you didn't remember and then you did?'

'It slipped my mind – OK. But your incessant nagging brought it back.'

I decided to ignore Mum's snide comment. 'How old was I when Dad died?'

'I've already told you. He died before you were born.'

'Yes, I know. But how old exactly was I?'

'I don't know. I was about four months pregnant. Maybe five. I can't remember.'

'But he knew you were pregnant with me?'

'Of course. I've told you that already.'

'And he was happy about it?'

'Yes, dear. Why all the questions?'

'Just something Tobey said.'

'What did Tobey say?' Mum's tone was suddenly sharp.

'Tobey agreed with me that it was a good idea to write to Dad, that's all. He reckoned I should find out a bit more about him so I can write a letter that doesn't ask obvious questions.'

'Oh, I see.'

That was what Mummy said. So that's how I got the idea to write to you
–
'cause heaven is far away, isn't it? I also thought of writing to you because Nana Meggie says we all need someone to tell our troubles to. Nana Meggie tells all her troubles to God. Mum calls her a God-botherer behind her back. But just between you and me, Nana Meggie knows what Mum calls her. Nana Meggie told me that God likes to be bothered. I asked Mummy who she tells her troubles to? Mummy didn't answer. I don't think Mummy tells her troubles to anyone. Maybe she should write to you too. I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet you. I wish we could've met. Mummy told me that you used to work at Nana Jasmine's house as a gardener after you left school.
Mummy told me that Nana Meggie used to work for Nana Jasmine for a while and that's how you and Mum first met. Mummy says you practically grew up together. Did you ever snog Mum? I bet you didn't. Snogging is wet! Nana Meggie has told me loads about you as a child
–
what you liked to eat, your favourite subjects at school
–
stuff like that. But every time I ask anything about you and Mum together, Nana Meggie always says, 'Ask your mum.' It's very frustrating.

Which reminds me, I didn't have a very good day at school yesterday. Lucas from the year above me called me a bad name and tried to kick me but I punched him on the nose. I got into trouble for that because I made his nose bleed. The blood fell like a waterfall all down the front of his shirt. It was gross. He started crying and ran and told Mr Brewster. Mr Brewster shouted at me. I hate Lucas Cheshie – he's a poo-head. He tried to hit me first but Mr Brewster didn't believe that because I didn't have any bruises or marks. Is that fair? I don't think so. Nana Jasmine told me when I started school that if anyone called me a bad name that I shouldn't – what's the word? – retaliate. (I hope I've spelled that right.) She said I should tell a teacher or wait and tell my mum or her.

'You should show the peppy-traitor of the abuse that you're better than them and above such things,' Nana Jasmine said.

But Nana Meggie told me, 'If anyone at school calls you horrible names or tries anything worse, give 'em a good smack. Then they won't do it twice!'

And Nana Meggie goes to church! When I asked Mum a while ago what I should do, she looked at me without blinking and said, 'You come and tell me. Don't lash out or the school will use that as an excuse to give you the boot. Just tell me and I'll sort it out.'

But I didn't tell her what Lucas did. Mum doesn't like it when I get upset or hurt by other people. She gets a funny look on her face, kind of fierce and scary. I think if I did tell her about Lucas, she'd probably go straight round the school or Lucas's house. Maybe she'd stuff Lucas's head down the toilet. That would be fun!

Daddy, did you like snogging? I bet you didn't. I don't understand how anyone could. It's gross. I don't mean kissing
–
which is bad enough. Nana Meggie gives me a kiss every morning before I leave for school and Nana Jasmine gives me a big kiss every time she sees me. But snogging? Yuk! How can anyone like putting their lips against someone else's? Very unhygienic. Germs galore! Nana Meggie said that you and Mum were best friends and in love for ever. That's really soppy. I asked Mum if she still loves you but she just looked away. She doesn't answer that question any more. Mum doesn't like to talk about you. I think she misses you too much. I'm going to stop writing now. My arm is getting tired. I've written loads. I hope I get a gold star for this letter. D'you think Mr Brewster will give me a gold star? Maybe I should take out the bit about Mr Brewster shouting at me. I think I'll leave it in. After all, it did happen. I'm not making it up. Nana Meggie is helping me with my spellings so hopefully this letter will be one of the best ones in my class. I bet it's the longest. I do hope I get a star. Mummy will be happy if I get a star. Maybe she'll hug me if I get a star. My arm's really aching now.

Bye, Daddy. See you in heaven one day.

Love,

Rose