Maybe it was what I deserved.
Maybe it was all I deserved.
I went to my bedroom window to look out over the back of our house and our neighbours' houses. It was so still outside. A few birds swooped in the sky and the occasional plane flew in and out of view, but that was all. I went into Mum's bedroom and looked out her window. A number of people walked by over the next thirty-something minutes, Nought and Cross – but not Uncle Jude.
It didn't matter. I didn't have to see him to know he was out there. Somewhere. I wrapped my arms around myself. I was trembling. Actually trembling. Fear tore at me like some carrion bird.
Oh, Tobey, where are you?
I need you.
I need you to tell me that everything will be all right.
I need you to tell me I'm imagining things.
I need you to let me hide in your pocket. Bring me out for birthdays and holidays.
Tobey, where are you?
seventeen. Tobey
'Earlier today, Louise Resnick of Knockworth Park received a gruesome package. It contained the little finger taken from the left hand of a person, thought to be her husband. DNA tests are being carried out to confirm this. Louise Resnick's husband is Ross Resnick, a well-known businessman with alleged links to the Dowd family. Unconfirmed reports state that Ross Resnick has been missing for three days. It is thought that one of Mrs Resnick's three children immediately called the police once the package was opened. Louise Resnick was unavailable for comment . . .'
Ross Resnick's smiling Cross face filled the TV screen. A photograph taken when he didn't have a care in the world. I switched off the TV. The ten o'clock news was making me sick. Physically sick. Icy sweat covered my forehead. The chilli I'd just eaten was bouncing up and down in my stomach. Taking the stairs two and three at a time, I raced for the bathroom and threw up. I mean, I erupted like a volcano. I vomited so hard and for so long, I was bringing up baby food.
That package . . .
There'd been a finger in the package I'd delivered. Omigod! That woman, Louise Resnick, standing at her front door, taking the package from me. Had she opened it in front of her kids? Is that what happened? Did she scream? Drop it? Cry? Did she instantly know what it was? Who the finger belonged to? I knelt on the hard, tiled bathroom floor, my hands gripping the toilet seat. I was cold. When did it get so cold? And yet, sweat was still dripping off me.
A finger. I'd delivered a finger. Frickin' Dan. I was going to kill him. That poor woman. So much for ducking the CCTV cameras in the area. What . . . what if she gave my description to the police? What if the police thought I had something to do with chopping off her husband's little finger. Oh God . . . Suppose I couldn't prove I had nothing to do with it? One package, one delivery, and I might get banged up in prison because of it. What had been in the other package? Something just as bad? I'd assumed . . . what had I assumed? Drugs, I suppose. Or maybe money. But nothing like this.
I got up on auto-pilot to wash my hands and clean my teeth. I kept thinking about the package I'd held in my hands, the package that Louise Resnick had opened, the contents that her kids had seen.
Oh hell . . .
Don't shoot me, I'm only the messenger.
Don't blame me, I'm only the delivery boy.
Don't hurt me. I'm only seventeen. I only did it for the money. I just needed some money.
Shit.
I went back to my bedroom, made sure the door was firmly shut and hit the speed-dial icon on my phone. Dan picked up after the second ring.
'Dan, have you seen the news?' I launched straight in.
'I didn't know what was in the package. I swear I didn't,' Dan protested.
Guess he'd seen the news then.
'You must've had some idea,' I said furiously. 'Louise Resnick knows what I look like. She'll describe me to the police and they'll do a photo-fit ID or something. Once a drawing of me hits the TV and the papers, how long before someone recognizes me and tells the police who I am?'
'Hang on. You're getting a bit ahead of yourself—' Dan began.
But I wasn't having it. 'You don't want to go there, Dan. You really don't.' I was that close to losing it completely. 'You're not in the frame for this. I am.'
Pause.
'Or was that the whole point?' I asked slowly.
'What d'you mean?' I could hear the frown in Dan's voice.
'It just strikes me as strange that suddenly you can't make all your deliveries and are desperately in need of my help. Quite a coincidence that the very first thing I deliver for you could land me in prison for assault or worse.'
'You can't think I set you up?' Dan said.
'All I know is I'm suddenly in a whole world of trouble,' I replied. 'Well I'll tell you something for free, Dan. If the police come knocking, I'm not going down alone. I'm not.'
The silence between us stretched out like razor wire.
'You shouldn't make threats like that,' Dan said slowly.
'It's not a threat. It's a promise,' I told him. 'I'm going to finish school, go to university and get a decent job. My plans for the future do not include a criminal record or getting banged up for something I didn't do.'
'It won't come to that,' Dan insisted.
'Damn right it won't,' I raged. ''Cause I'm not taking the fall for either you or McAuley. Not gonna happen.'
I disconnected the call without saying goodbye. The inferno raging through me during the entire phone conversation with Dan was rapidly burning itself out. And what it left was worse. I shouldn't have said what I had. It was a bluff, full of fury and frustration but a bluff nonetheless. Because if push came to shove, I couldn't turn against my friend – and he knew that. Which meant that if things did blow up in my face, I'd be on my own. I should've listened to my instincts – after all, that's why I had them. But I'd stomped on them instead. I wouldn't make that mistake again. But it was probably already too late.
I was in deep, deep trouble.
The doorbell rang and I shot up like a rocket. Was that the police already? Maybe I could lie low and pretend no one was in. But all the lights in the house were on. Damn it. Physically shaking, I slowly made my way downstairs. Taking a deep breath, I attempted, unsuccessfully, to calm my nerves. I opened the door.
It was Callie. She took one look at me and burst into tears.
eighteen. Callie
It was hard to say who was more shocked, me or Tobey. I never – and I mean never cried, at least not in front of other people. But the moment I saw Tobey, the tears just spilled out of me. After staring at me, Tobey took me by the hand and practically pulled me into his house before kicking the door shut.
'What is it? What's happened?' he asked urgently.
I shook my head, desperately trying to stem my tears. I lowered my gaze. I didn't want Tobey to see into my eyes. He'd seen far too much already. It wasn't fair to expect him to fill all the frightened, empty spaces inside me, and if he knew what was happening, he'd surely try. And probably fail. But try nonetheless. Uncle Jude said tears were a luxury of the weak. I couldn't afford to be weak, not now. But I felt like a dead girl walking and that was the truth.
Tobey pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. He didn't say anything, for which I was grateful. He just let me get all the tears out of my system. When I finally pulled away, I was deeply embarrassed and Tobey's shirt was so wet it was practically transparent. Hesitantly, I looked around.
'Jessica's out. So is my mum,' Tobey told me.
I exhaled with relief, then tried to pull myself together, without much success.
'Callie, talk to me. What's wrong?' Tobey asked.
I shook my head, not yet trusting myself to speak. Tobey took my hand and led me into his kitchen. He made me a cup of coffee, ladling in three sugars even though I never have sugar in my coffee. He pushed the hot mug into my hands, ignoring me when I shook my head.
'Drink it,' he ordered. 'You look like you need it.'
Tentatively, I took a sip, but i
t burned my top lip. Fresh tears filled my eyes. Not because of the coffee – it wasn't that. But now that I'd started crying, I couldn't seem to stop.
'D'you want to talk?' Tobey asked.
I nodded.
'Come on then.' And Tobey led the way upstairs to his bedroom.
nineteen. Tobey
Callie sat on my bed, her fingers lightly tracing the lightning-fork pattern on my dark-blue duvet cover. Her lips were a straight line across her face, her forehead was furrowed. She picked up her coffee from my bedside table and forced herself to drink some more. Her now hazel-coloured eyes were staring straight through my floorboards, through the foundations of the house and down into the planet's core. I opened my mouth to offer her pocket change for her thoughts, then decided against it. I didn't need to be psychic or even terribly astute to know who was on her mind. Nana Jasmine.
How long before the memory of her nana stopped slashing at her? How long before the thought of Nana Jasmine brought a smile to her eyes instead of turning them a shimmering hazel? No one deserved to die the way Jasmine Hadley did. But Callie wore the memory of her death like a hair shirt. It was an accident. Why couldn't she see that? I sighed inwardly, wishing there was some way to lessen the hurt Callie was feeling. After all, we might be something less than lovers, but at least we were something more than friends. And I hated to see Callie this way.
But then there were my own troubles. With each second I expected the police to start hammering at my door. How stupid could one person get? A world of trouble was about to descend on my head and I had no one to blame but myself. And Dan. But mainly myself. I wondered about Ross Resnick, if indeed it had been his finger in that parcel. Where was he? Was he alive or dead? No doubt Louise Resnick's present had been courtesy of Creepy McAuley. The Dowds and McAuley's lot had been trying to wipe each other out for years and the police seemed to be no closer to putting a stop to it. McAuley or the odd Dowd or two occasionally made it to court, but that's as far as it ever went. Witnesses against any of them invariably developed the strangest forms of selective amnesia, or else they just disappeared like a magician's trick. In spite of my best efforts, I was now knee-deep in something I'd fought long and hard to avoid. And if Mum found out . . .
'Tobey, are you OK?'
I sat down beside Callie. ''Course. But you're not, are you?'
Callie looked at me, her eyes momentarily unfocused. A smile, fake as silicon boobs, tugged her mouth upwards.
'I'm fine now.'
'Liar,' I suggested.
A hint of a genuine smile appeared. 'What makes you think something's wrong, apart from my tears showering you earlier?'
I bit back a smile. 'Hard as it is to read your poker face, I can see something's gnawing at you.'
Even without the tears, Callie seriously believed that she could suppress her every thought and feeling, that her face was like one of those classical masks. I didn't bother pointing out the obvious. We sat in silence. A couple of times, Callie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
'Callie, what happened to your nana Jasmine was a tragic accident,' I ventured at last.
'You think so?' Callie whispered. She looked up at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen.
'I know so,' I replied. 'She just had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.'
Callie's gaze skittered away from mine. 'I guess.'
'Callie?' There was something else going on here. I frowned. 'What aren't you telling me?'
Callie looked me in the eye, her watchful gaze never wavering. 'Tobey, d'you remember that morning we spent together on Nana Jasmine's beach, the day of the explosion at the Isis Hotel?'
Callie's birthday and the day Callie's nan died. I nodded. Of course I remembered.
'I wanted to stay on that beach with you for ever. Especially when you kissed me. I was scared to leave you.'
'Why did you then?' I asked.
Callie could no longer look at me. Her gaze bounced off my rug, my painted walls, the navy-blue curtains, anywhere but me. 'D'you remember I had a carrier bag that day?' Her voice was so quiet, I had to move closer to hear her.
I frowned. 'Vaguely.'
Silence.
'Callie . . .'
'The carrier bag had a bomb in it. The same bomb that killed Nana Jasmine.'
I stared at her. Whatever else I'd been expecting, it sure as hell wasn't that.
'Are you sure?' I regretted the inane words the moment they left my mouth. 'I mean, where did you get it from?'
'I made it. Uncle Jude taught me how and he gave me everything I needed to make it.' Callie's fingers twisted relentlessly in her lap. Head bowed, I watched as a tear dropped onto the back of her hand, quickly followed by another, and another.
Jude McGregor . . . The Jude McGregors of this world swept through life, spreading poison like weedkiller over every person who crossed their path. I placed a hand under Callie's chin, turning her face towards my own. 'Who was the target?'
'Grandpa Kamal,' Callie said at last.
I inhaled sharply. 'How did your nana . . . ?' There was no good end to that sentence, so I left it trailing.
'Somehow Nana Jasmine guessed what I was going to do. She took the bomb and went to Jude's hotel to confront him with it. They both died and it was all my fault. But now . . .'
Silence.
'Yes?'
'The Nought killed in the explosion has been identified as some man called Robert Powers. Uncle Jude wasn't killed at all. Tobey, I killed . . . I murdered an innocent man.'
I shook my head, still trying to take it all in. 'Callie, it was an accident.'
'Robert Powers is dead because of me. I'm responsible. And Uncle Jude is still out there . . . He's going to come after me. I just know it.'
I stared at her. 'You haven't heard anything from him since the bomb went off, have you?'
Callie shook her head.
'Suppose, just suppose you're right and it wasn't your uncle who was killed,' I said carefully. 'If you haven't heard from him by now, there's no reason to think he'll come after you.'
Callie sighed. 'Tobey, you don't know him. He won't stop until he's had his revenge. Look at the way he waited years before using me to get back at my mum.'
'He won't get to you, Callie, because I won't let him,' I told her.
Callie smiled faintly, but said nothing. I knew what she was thinking. Much as she might appreciate the sentiment behind my words, she didn't think I'd stand much of a chance against the likes of Jude McGregor.
'Tobey, I think . . . I'm dying inside – all over again. And I can't bear it.'
'I'm here and I won't let that happen,' I told her, my arm slipping round her shoulders. 'Callie, you're not alone, I promise.'
'That's not how it feels, in here.' Callie's finger tapped repeatedly at the place over her heart.
'Callie, don't . . .'
'What, Tobey? Don't what? "Don't say that"? "Don't feel that way"? What useless advice d'you have for me?' Callie glared at me, but I wasn't about to spout platitudes – that was my sister's speciality, not mine. I knew better.
'I'm on your side, babe,' I said softly. 'You know that.'
Callie expression slowly softened. 'I'm sorry.'
She smoothed back her long curly hair with both hands. I watched her lick her lips before she turned back to me. Moments passed as I tried my best to put into words how I felt.
'You're not the only one . . . hurting, Callie,' I said at last.
Callie regarded me, taken aback. I met her gaze unflinchingly. I didn't try to hide anything.
'What's wrong, Tobey?' she asked.
'I . . . I got stopped earlier today on Chancellor Street. Two Noughts in a car . . .'
At once Callie's expression was all concern. I didn't need to say any more. She didn't need to hear any more. She understood.
'Are you all right?'
'I'm still standing,' I said, my pathetic attempt at a joke.
'What did they want?'
/>
'The usual. Wanted to know what side of Meadowview was my spiritual home.'
'And you said?'
'"I don't live here. I'm just visiting a friend" – unquote.'
'What did they do?' asked Callie, her unease growing rather than lessening.
'Drove off. They lost interest.'
'What on earth were you doing round the Chancellor Estate?'
'I had to see someone,' I said reluctantly.
'Tobey, are you sure you're OK?'
'They didn't touch me,' I replied, adding to make a joke of it, 'I'll strip down to my hair follicles and you can check me over very slowly if you like – just to confirm it.'
Callie raised an eyebrow. 'Thanks, but I'll take your word for it.'
We sat still. Silent seconds were batted back and forth between us.
What does it mean when you can't even admit you live in a certain place any more in case you're caught slipping?
'Something is very wrong when your postcode could be the signature on your death warrant,' I said.
'You did the right thing—'
'The cowardly thing,' I interrupted.
'The right thing,' Callie insisted. 'Whatever it takes to survive, Tobey. You know that. And better a lie than a knife in the gut for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can't afford to be stupid – none of us can.'
'I just wish . . .' I began. I didn't finish the rest. It was pointless. Wishes didn't come true, not around Meadowview.
'So do I.' Callie knew what I was trying to say without me having to say it. She shook her head. 'Every time there's a fatal stabbing or shooting and it's Noughts involved, it's in the paper for a day, if that, and the politicians say it's tragic and then it's "as you were, everyone". And the rest of the country breathes a huge sigh of relief that it didn't happen in their back yard.'
Things had changed since my mum's day. Schools could no longer openly discriminate against us Noughts and everyone had to stay in school until they were at least sixteen – Nought or Cross. OK, so the Equal Rights bill currently wending its way through Parliament wouldn't change all attitudes overnight – especially in the blinkered wrinklies over thirty. But it was a start, a step. It's just . . . it was so hard to be patient when patience was taken as a sign of weakness or, worse still, a sign of acquiescence in the status quo. Dan, Alex McAuley, the Liberation Militia and even I had grown sick and tired of being patient. We all wanted our share and we wanted it now. And if we didn't get it, if it was denied us, well, why wait? Just take. The trouble was, everyone was taking. Nought, Cross, it made no difference. When you got right down to it, it was all about territory, for everyone on the planet. If countries could fight over it, then why not individuals? What's mine is mine, what's yours is mine. All together now. Everybody sing.
Double Cross Page 10
