Blood Ties

by Sophie McKenzie

  ‘He’s back early,’ she said. ‘Mum must’ve called him.’

  My heart hammered as heavy footsteps crossed the hall floor. Now Mr Smith was here, I felt terrified. I suddenly couldn’t remember what on earth we’d agreed to say – how I was going to get him to talk about the past.

  The door opened. A shortish, grey-haired man walked in. Like Mrs Smith, he was old. More like a grandad than a dad, really. He stared at me as if he’d never seen a boy before.

  Man, this family were weird.

  I stood up and held out my hand again.

  But Mr Smith didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at my face. ‘What’s your name?’ he said at last.

  ‘Theo.’

  Mr Smith shook my hand and kissed Rachel on the side of the head. He leaned against the kitchen table. ‘My wife tells me you’re helping Rachel with her homework?’

  ‘I’m doing this genetics project,’ I said. My mouth felt dry. ‘The history of genetic research. Where science was and is and where it will be in five years’ time.’

  Mr Smith smiled. ‘Bit ambitious for a Year Ten project, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m Year Eleven,’ I said, feeling uncomfortable. I glanced at Rachel. Surprise, surprise – she was staring down at the floor. She looked like she might be about to cry. I suddenly felt massively sorry for her. Okay, so my mum had her faults, but Rachel’s parents were really weird.

  Mr Smith was staring at me again. I plunged on.

  ‘Rachel said you used to work at a clinic that did genetic research.’

  Mr Smith shook his head. ‘I don’t know why she said that.’ He glanced at Rachel and smiled. ‘I’m a manager not a researcher. I’ve never been involved in actual genetic research.’

  ‘But Dad,’ Rachel muttered. ‘You still worked at research clinics . . .’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Ro.’ Mr Smith rolled his eyes. ‘I might have worked briefly at a couple of the clinics, but I had nothing to do with any of the genetic research they were doing. Look, I’m going to get out of my suit.’ He turned away and strode out of the room.

  Rachel and I stared at each other across the table.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I guess my dad isn’t going to be much help.’

  I nodded. But my mind was whirring away. I was sure Mr Smith knew more than he was letting on.

  Rachel got out her school bag and appeared to be doing some kind of art homework. A weird picture of lots of tiny heart shapes – all red and dripping with blood. I bent over my English comprehension. We worked silently for a while. My mind kept sliding over the words on the page in front of me. I knew I couldn’t leave here without asking Mr Smith about my dad. Somehow, I had to do it. Even if he refused to tell me anything.

  My chance came an hour or so later. Mrs Smith had been bustling about in the kitchen making some kind of stew. It smelled delicious and I was starving. I usually had a couple of sandwiches when I got in from school, then a big tea later. But Rachel hadn’t eaten so much as a biscuit yet – and no one had offered me anything either.

  At last Mrs Smith told us to clear our homework away and set the table. Rachel brought out these shiny knives and forks, then some long-stemmed wine glasses and cloth napkins.

  I was feeling more and more awkward. The last thing I wanted was to sit down with Rachel’s weird parents and have some kind of formal dinner. On the other hand, I had to ask about my dad.

  Plus, I was so hungry now it felt like my stomach lining was eating itself.

  At last Mrs Smith plonked two bowls on the table – one, a steaming bowl of rice, the other full of a meaty mince dish.

  ‘Richard,’ she called. ‘Supper’s ready.’

  She indicated I should sit on one side of the table. ‘So what does your father do, Theo?’ she said in this high, brittle voice.

  ‘Er . . . er . . . my dad died,’ I said. ‘A long time ago,’ I added, embarrassed by the wide-eyed look of concern spreading over Mrs Smith’s face.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she said. Then she shouted ‘Richard’ again.

  Mr Smith appeared grumpily in the door. ‘Bit early, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Well. As you’re home.’ Mrs Smith gave this false-sounding, tinkly little laugh. ‘And as Theo’s here.’

  Mr Smith glared at me as he sat down. ‘When do you have to leave, Theo?’

  The sub-text was obvious. How quickly can I get rid of you?

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll have to go after dinner,’ I said slowly. ‘But I was wondering if I could ask you about the genetic research clinics you worked at again.’

  Rachel’s mum’s mouth dropped open.

  Mr Smith shrugged. ‘I told you, I wasn’t involved in any of the actual research.’

  ‘I just wondered if you knew anyone else who was. Involved, I mean. Like one of the scientists. Maybe I could talk to them about the research they were doing back then.’

  Mr Smith stared at me.

  Crap. Even to my own ears I sounded phoney. I mean, I was good at science. I always had been. But the idea that I might be so into a science project that I’d actually go and interview real-life scientists was beyond ridiculous.

  Still, now I’d started, I might as well go on.

  ‘Did you ever meet that guy called the Gene Genie?’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘I read about him on the internet. I think his real name was Elijah Lazio?’

  Mrs Smith’s shiny fork clattered onto her plate.

  ‘Elijah Lazio?’ Mr Smith shook his head. ‘I know the name, but we never met.’

  I was sure he was lying. He’d worked at the man’s clinic, for goodness’ sake.

  I nodded. ‘Okay. Maybe you remember some of the people he worked with.’ My heart hammered. ‘Er . . . there was one guy, one of the researchers I think.’ I paused, as if trying to remember. ‘James Lawson?’

  Mr Smith pressed his lips together, then stretched them into a completely unconvincing smile. ‘Never heard of him,’ he said.

  Again, I was sure he was lying. But why? And what did I say now?

  I ran my hand through my hair. And then it happened. This look crossed Mr Smith’s face. Immediately he covered it. Turned away and started talking to his wife, who was still sitting rigidly at the end of the table.

  I looked down at my plate. Suddenly my hunger had vanished. Because the look that had crossed Mr Smith’s face was unmistakable.

  Terror.

  Pure, total, terror.

  What the hell was going on?

  14

  Rachel

  Theo left straight after dinner.

  He stood at the front door, staring at me with those serious brown eyes, like he was trying to tell me something but couldn’t because of Dad hovering nearby. Then he pushed a tiny, folded piece of paper into my left hand and squeezed my fingers tightly over it.

  ‘See you,’ he said under his breath. It was half a statement, half a question.

  My heart thumped as he let himself out of the door. My hand where he’d touched it felt branded – like when they stamp animals to say who they belong to. Like Theo had marked me out as his.

  Even if he didn’t realise it.

  I kept my fingers closed over the hard ridge of the paper as I turned round. Dad was behind me, watching – eyes hard, arms folded.

  I was furious with him. Okay, so he didn’t remember Theo’s dad, but I couldn’t believe how rude he’d been. I mean, I know Theo wasn’t telling him the whole truth, but that was just to protect his mum. The poor guy. He just wanted a bit of information and Dad had totally refused to talk.

  I stomped upstairs without a word, still clutching the tiny piece of paper.

  I unfolded it in my bedroom. My heart raced. It had clearly been torn out of some workbook. Next to the printed line of text, Theo had written his phone number. Not a mobile. A home number.

  For a second I let myself imagine he’d given me his number because he wanted to ask me out. But this voice in my head told me not to be so s
tupid. He’d given me his number so I could let him know if Dad said anything about James Lawson.

  I wanted to cry. How sweet that he cared so much. His life must be so hard. His mum in constant misery. Theo, himself, searching, yearning to know more about his father.

  I lay on my bed, picturing his face. Remembering his eyes when he looked at me. But gradually my thoughts turned to how hopeless it was. I’d probably never see him again. And, even if I did, he would never be interested in me. Fat, ugly me.

  And then I remembered how he’d asked about Rebecca. How his face had lit up when he’d seen her picture on the wall. A hole opened up inside my stomach. I was nothing. I was worthless. I was worse even than Jemima and her friends said I was.

  I got off the bed and crept downstairs to the kitchen. I walked quietly, not wanting Mum to see me. I found the cupboard I was looking for and reached inside for the round, steel biscuit tin. I eased the lid off and crammed a chocolate biscuit into my mouth.

  The chocolate melted against my mouth – all rich and creamy. I crunched on the biscuit, letting my saliva smooth out the rough, sugary texture of the wheat. I swallowed it down. Then I took another. And another.

  Five biscuits later, I shut the lid on the tin and slid it back in the cupboard. As I closed the cupboard door I filled up with misery again. Why had I done that? I was only going to get fatter and fatter.

  And Mum would see. She would know what I’d done. Not that she’d say anything directly. She’d just start going on about carbs again.

  I crept out of the kitchen as silently as I’d entered it. But this time as I passed the living-room door on my way to the stairs I heard Mum and Dad talking.

  ‘I don’t think you should do anything.’ Mum’s voice was sharp. ‘He’s just a boy.’

  ‘But it was him. Him. I saw it when he put his hand through his hair.’ Dad sounded terrified. ‘We’ve got to do something or they’ll find out about Rachel too.’

  I paused, frowning. What was he talking about?

  ‘I’m going to email Lewis,’ Dad said firmly. I could hear him pacing across the room. ‘He’ll know what’s going on.’

  ‘No.’ Mum’s voice rose. Now she sounded scared too. ‘No. Email’s too risky.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Dad’s footsteps stopped. ‘I had to get rid of the secure phone, didn’t I? So there’s not any choice. Anyway, not doing anything’s riskier. Didn’t you hear the boy? He was talking about Elijah and he knew about James Lawson.’

  My stomach gave a sickening lurch.

  Mum knew about the secret phone too. Which Dad was now referring to as a secure phone for some reason. Worse, Dad had lied flat out. He did know Theo’s dad. And that Gene Genie guy.

  The footsteps suddenly got louder. Closer to the door. I scurried to the stairs. Raced up to my room. I stood just inside the door, panting, my heart pulsing in my throat.

  Footsteps coming up the stairs. I peered through the crack in my bedroom door. Dad marched past, head down, making for his office.

  I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Then I crept down the landing corridor and peered round the office door.

  Dad was sitting in his big leather office chair, hunched over his laptop. He looked up. Saw me. Smiled, distractedly.

  His hands pulled the lid of the laptop down a fraction, as if he was unconsciously trying to stop me from seeing what he was doing.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ I said, awkwardly.

  He frowned. ‘That boy earlier,’ he said. ‘Theo. Did you really meet him at your school disco?’

  I nodded, feeling myself blush.

  ‘Then you didn’t see him for months and he just turned up today?’ Dad’s eyes bored into mine.

  I looked away, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to betray Theo. ‘I told Mum earlier,’ I said. ‘He came with a friend to the school disco. He was visiting the same person today – we just . . . just bumped into each other.’

  Dad stared at me. ‘I don’t want you to see him again,’ he said.

  My mouth fell open. ‘Why?’

  Dad looked down at his laptop. ‘Sorry, darling, I just think you’re too young.’ He sighed. ‘No discussion. Now, I’ve got some emails to send.’ He jerked his head towards the door, indicating I should leave.

  Something was seriously wrong here. Dad was often preoccupied with work stuff, but he hardly ever got really cross or . . . or dismissive like he was being now. And he never got heavy about boys. Not like some girls’ dads. In fact, he was always encouraging me to go out and be more sociable. Like Rebecca had been.

  I chewed on my lip. Dad definitely knew something about Theo’s father. And he was emailing this guy, Lewis, to tell him that Theo had been in touch. I had no idea why it all mattered so much, or why Dad was hiding what he knew. But I was certain of one thing. Dad was scared. Really scared. I’d heard it in his voice earlier. And now I could see it in his eyes.

  ‘I’m busy, Ro,’ Dad said.

  I nodded and shut the office door. I stumbled back to my bedroom, my head spinning. My eyes fell on the scrap of paper that Theo had written his number on. I had to call him. Not right now. He probably wasn’t even home yet. But later, or tomorrow, I was going to call him and tell him exactly what I’d heard my dad say.

  I lay on my side on the pale-pink duvet. Gradually my heart stopped pounding and I shifted from wondering what Dad knew and hadn’t told us, to thinking about Theo. About his face – about how strong he looked. And yet how vulnerable he must be, inside.

  Maybe he’d want to meet up again, to discuss what I’d overheard. I bent my arm, snuggling down against the pillow.

  Imagine if I looked like Rebecca – all slim and pretty and smiling. Maybe then Theo would want to kiss me.

  This fluttery feeling fizzled up from my stomach, through my chest, into my throat.

  I leaned forwards and pressed my lips against the soft, plump skin just below my wrist, imagining it was Theo’s mouth.

  15

  Theo

  I got home just after nine-thirty that evening.

  Mum was completely hysterical. In my face before I’d even shut the front door.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she shouted. ‘Do you realise that I’ve been out of my mind with worry? What is wrong with you?’

  Across the corridor Roy’s door was slightly open. I hated the idea of him hearing her. Hearing me being shouted at. I moved through the door to our living area, Mum still raging beside me.

  I slumped onto the sofa.

  ‘Roy says you are now on absolutely your last chance,’ she shrieked.

  I looked up. ‘I thought last time was my last chance.’ A grin twitched at the corner of my mouth.

  Big mistake.

  Mum moved into tenth gear. ‘How dare you, Theodore. You think this is funny?’ she spat. ‘You are grounded. You are so grounded. For the rest of this year. For the rest of your life.’

  ‘Hey . . .’

  ‘No, Theodore. You have got to learn. I thought if I explained what was at stake, you would accept the need for protection. And instead you decide to disappear for hours.’ Her lips trembled and her voice suddenly cracked. ‘Don’t you realise how terrified I’ve been?’ she sobbed.

  I stared down at the floor. For the first time, guilt flickered at the edges of my mind. I pushed it away. If Mum had been prepared to tell me more, I wouldn’t have had to run off like that. If she’d been frightened it was her own fault.

  Mum sank down beside me. She suddenly seemed smaller. Like all the energy had drained out of her. She touched my arm.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she said. ‘Why did you run off like that?’

  The patch of carpet at my feet was threadbare. I scuffed at it with my toe. I knew I couldn’t tell her. She’d go even more ballistic if she thought I was trying to find out about Dad.

  ‘There was just something I had to do,’ I mumbled, not looking at her.

  She shook her head at me. ‘What, Theodore? What did you have to do?’r />
  I carried on staring at the worn patch of carpet. Why was it that Dad sent money for a posh school and a bodyguard, but not a big house or nice stuff? I ran my hand through my hair. There was just so much that didn’t make sense. I glanced at Mum’s face. Even if I asked her, she would refuse to tell me anything. Just like she had before.

  ‘I was meeting someone,’ I said. ‘I skipped school so as Roy wouldn’t be there. I hate him always watching what I do.’

  ‘But . . .?’ Mum frowned. ‘Meeting someone?’ Her eyes widened. ‘You don’t . . .? You mean a girl?’

  I looked away, feeling my face growing hot.

  Yes. But no. Not like you mean.

  ‘Oh, Theodore.’

  Oh, man.

  I don’t think I’d ever felt more embarrassed in my life. And yet, as I sat there squirming, it dawned on me that pretending to like Rachel would give me the perfect cover for seeing her again, in case she found out more from her dad.

  Mum sat down beside me and squeezed my hand. ‘So why didn’t you tell me?’ she said. ‘I don’t mind you meeting someone after school, so long as it’s not somewhere open, of course. You could have invited her back here.’

  I stared at her. She was being almost understanding.

  ‘Mu-um,’ I said. ‘You can’t just ask girls you hardly know to come back to your house. It sounds weird.’

  She turned away and pressed her lips together, like she was trying not to smile. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘I didn’t . . . Anyway. So how did you meet this girl? What’s her name?’

  ‘Rachel. She’s sort of a friend of Max’s,’ I lied.

  Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  I could see why she was surprised. Max doesn’t have many friends – of either sex. I nodded anyway.

  ‘I hadn’t realised you were . . . you know . . . you had . . .’ Mum tailed off.

  How embarrassing was this?

  I shrugged, then sighed. ‘Please don’t ground me, Mum. At least, not for too long. I promise I won’t run off again. I’ll apologise to Roy.’ I paused. Then I said it. ‘You see, I’d really like to see her . . . this girl, Rachel, again. Soon.’

  Ugh. Yuck. Puke. My whole face was on fire. I hoped it was worth it. That Mum would fall for my revolting lovesick jerk routine.