'Hi. A seat! A seat! My kingdom for a seat! Is this seat taken?'
I looked up, then scowled up at the Cross woman standing before me. She wore her hair in thin braids tied up with an orange ribbon. Her silk shirt was also flame orange and her wraparound skirt was dark, either black or blue – it was hard to tell in this light. Couldn't she find somewhere else to sit? I glanced around but it did indeed look like every seat was taken. Tough! I didn't want one of them sitting next to me. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two coppers enter the bar – one a nought, the other a Cross.
'If you'd rather I didn't,' the woman shrugged. And already she was turning away.
'No! No, that's OK. It's all yours,' I said quickly. I even managed to squeeze out a smile.
The Cross gave me another hard look before deciding I wasn't an axe murderer. 'Thanks,' she smiled as she sat down. 'I'm Cara.'
Jeez! What made her think that the invitation to sit down meant I wanted to talk to her? But the coppers were still in the bar and I couldn't afford to take any chances.
'Steve,' I replied without even blinking.
'Hi, Steve,' Cara the Cross continued. 'This place is jammed tonight. It's not usually this busy during the week.'
'I don't really come here that often,' I said.
'I thought I hadn't seen you in here before.'
Shut the bloody hell up! I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to sit next to you. I don't want anything to do with you. But I smiled and was careful to keep my true feelings off my face. I'm good at that. Years of practice around Crosses. I've lost count of the number of times a dagger has told me what he thought of me and 'my kind', usually followed by 'But I don't mean you! You're all right!' And what did I do when daggers spouted their nonsense? I smiled and said nothing. Or at least I used to, when I was younger. No-one's tried to talk to me like that for a while. Now I choose not to hide my feelings unless absolutely necessary – and maybe it shows.
'Those two are enjoying themselves, aren't they?' Cara nodded at the two in front of us, who were still kissing like there was only a minute left before the world ended.
'D'you think if I shouted fire, they'd stop?' I asked wryly.
'I doubt if they'd even hear you. So d'you live around here then?' asked Cara the Curious Cross.
'No. I'm just visiting my sister. She lives a couple of streets away from here.'
'What's her name?'
'Why?'
'Maybe I know her, if she comes in here a lot,' said Cara.
'Lynette,' I replied without hesitation. 'My sister's name is Lynette.'
Cara frowned. 'Doesn't ring a bell.'
I shrugged. Cara smiled. I glanced around the room. The cops each had a couple of sheets of paper in their hands and they were looking around.
'So, Cara,' I smiled, moving closer to her. 'D'you work around here then?'
'Yeah, in Delany's Salon, the hairdresser around the corner,' said Cara.
'Who's Delany?' I asked.
'That's the name of the shop,' Cara explained. 'Delany was the woman who used to own the shop but she packed up and moved on ages ago. It's had two or three different owners since then.'
'Who owns it now then?'
'I do,' Cara smiled. 'In fact . . . I own a chain of Delany's Salons nationwide.'
'How many?' I asked lightly.
Cara sipped at her drink and looked at me almost apologetically. 'Seven at last count. Not many yet, but I'm planning to expand in the future.'
Who did she think she was fooling with the false modesty act? Not me, that was for damned sure. But she owned shops. Going concerns. Money-making propositions. That could be useful.
'That's unusual.' I pointed at the necklace she was wearing. The cops were getting closer and closer.
'It was my mum's,' said Cara.
It was a silver or platinum fine-link chain with two overlapping circles inside an oval.
'Does it mean anything?' I asked.
'Love and peace,' Cara told me. 'They flow into each other and renew each other. Anyway, that's the idea.'
'Sounds deep!' I said sceptically.
Cara smiled. 'It isn't. It just means love and peace – that's all.'
'I'll drink to that,' I said raising my bottle of lager.
The cops were only a table or two away now. They were flashing photos at everyone they passed. Could they be the photos of Morgan and me that the cops in the car park had shown?
'You're very beautiful,' I whispered to Cara.
And I kissed her, feeling sick to my stomach. The cops walked past me. It took every gram of strength I had to stop myself from pulling away until the cops had well and truly gone. Across the bar someone shouted out, 'Oi, you lot! What's with that table? Get a room! Get two!'
I pulled away slowly. Girls like that. It makes it seem like you're reluctant to stop.
'Is this where I get my face slapped?' I asked.
'I dunno. Tell me what that was all about and then I'll decide.' Cara's eyebrows were raised but she had an amused smile on her face.
'I couldn't resist,' I said. 'I hope you don't mind.'
'I should, but I don't,' said Cara, adding melodramatically, 'I'll just tell myself that once again a man found me irresistible!'
I smiled, then took a swig of my lager to wash the taste of her lips off my mouth. 'Can I get you a drink?'
'OK,' Cara smiled. 'I'll have what you're having.'
You wouldn't last five seconds if you had to have what I've got, I thought scornfully. But I smiled and stood up. I knew that she was just being friendly when she chatted to me, but then she'd let me kiss her. She could've pulled back, she could've protested, but she hadn't. Stupid Cross slapper. I turned and headed to the bar. Once my back was towards her, I surreptitiously wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. Two more lagers bought and paid for, I headed back to my table.
'Thanks,' Cara replied, reaching out for it.
'Any time,' I replied. 'After your drink, d'you wanna get out of here?'
'I don't think so . . .'
'Fair enough. It was just an idea . . .'
We both took a sip of our respective drinks.
'Where would we go?' Cara asked at last.
'Anywhere you want,' I said. 'To see a film, for a walk or maybe you could show me your salon – you name it.'
Cara scrutinized me. It was quick but thorough.
'OK,' she said after a moment's hesitation.
'Which of the above d'you fancy then?'
'All of them,' Cara laughed.
I sipped at my lager. Cara finished hers in double quick time. 'Ready?' she smiled.
'Willing and able,' I added, standing up.
Cara might've been a stupid Cross slapper, but she'd fallen into my lap. And I was never one to pass up an opportunity. I needed money and fast, and Cara was going to provide it for me – whether she wanted to or not.
ten. Sephy
Darling Callie,
Please, please don't go. I don't know what I'll do if I lose you too. They've taken you away from me and put you in SCBU, the Special Care Baby Unit. I'm so frightened. But you're having trouble breathing and you're losing too much weight so they've put you in an incubator. I sit in the chair beside your incubator and will you to get well. I have to put my hands through two arm-sized holes in the incubator to touch you and stroke you. I try to pour all the love and hope I can muster out through my fingertips, so that it washes over your skin and through you and around you constantly. I can't even hold you to me and it's killing me.
It's so hard here, tougher than I ever thought it would be. Mercy Community Hospital only has four incubators. Just four. But I don't have the money to take you to a private hospital with better facilities and more resources. The bulk of the money my grandma left me is all tied up until I'm twenty-one and, when I moved out after Callum's death, Dad froze my allowance. I can't ask Dad for help and I won't ask Mother.
I'm being selfish, aren't I?
Callie,
I won't sacrifice you on the altar of my pride. I'll give you a few hours more but if you don't improve, if it looks like you're actually getting worse, I'll call whoever I have to, to make sure you survive. I'll even phone Dad if I have to.
If I absolutely have to.
I feel so helpless, so exactly like the day Callum was killed. No . . . this is worse because although I can't help but hope for the best, I fear the worst.
It's all my fault. After all my fine sentiments, I tried to use you to get back at my family, my so-called friends, at everyone who allowed your dad to die and never said a word, never lifted a finger. Never even phoned me to show they gave a damn. So I put an announcement in the personal ads of all the quality newspapers – because you're quality, you see. I thought by the time the announcement was run, you and I would be back in my flat – but then you got ill and we're still in the hospital. Nurse Fashoda told me that the hospital has already had loads of phone calls, condemning me and the hospital's part in all this. She told me with great relish how there are some people out there who think Callum got off easy by being hanged. They think he should've been boiled in oil and tortured on a rack first. And there are some people who think Callum was a traitor for taking up with me, 'his oppressor'. When did Callum and I become emblems and symbols and all that other rubbish? When did we stop being people, being human? All those people phoning the hospital, full of poison, full of hate – Noughts and Crosses alike. I shouldn't call them people. I should call them coins – people who hold extreme opposite views but who are basically saying the same venomous thing. Noughts and Crosses shouldn't mix. Noughts should go back to where they came from – wherever that is.
I'm not quite sure what I meant to happen with the birth announcements. I guess, I just wanted the notice to be a kick in the teeth for Dad. It hasn't happened that way. Even if Dad does know about you by now, why would he care? He's the one responsible for the death of your father and I mean less than nothing to him now. So why was I stupid enough to think he'd give a damn?
Is all of this happening to you, Callie, because I put that ad in the paper? I can't bear the thought that it might be. Is it because I wanted to use you to stick two fingers up to my dad? It wasn't only that, I swear. I wanted the whole world to know about you and how much Callum loved you and, oh, lots of reasons. It wasn't just to get back at my dad.
Get well, Callie.
Get well and I promise I'll never, ever use you or your birth in that way again.
Just get well.
I couldn't bear to lose both you and Callum. If you die, you'll take me with you. Please, please don't die.
Oh Callum, I wish you were here. I need you so much.
eleven. Jude
On our way to the cinema, we passed a small park with a children's playground. Cara smiled as she watched the kids run around, screaming with laughter. There were brightly painted climbing frames on one side of the playground. One was a huge star shape made up of thick ropes attached to a steel framework, another was a blue and yellow helicopter shape, another was a red rocket shape. There were three swings, a roundabout and a see-saw. Four children were picking sides for an obstacle race around the climbing frames. One was a nought, the other three were Crosses. And they were choosing who would be paired with who for the race. But they couldn't decide.
'I know,' said the nought girl. 'Eenie, meenie, minie, mo. Catch a blanker by the toe. If he squeals, let him go. Eenie, meenie, minie, mo. You're on my side, Michael. Ready, steady, go!'
And the girl and Michael held hands and raced off together, as did the other two. I watched as they all tried to negotiate their way up to the top of the star and back down again, each team still holding hands. And the girl's rhyme kept ringing in my ears. How did she feel saying that rhyme? Did she even know what she was saying? I glanced at Cara. She was looking at the children, a strange expression on her face. She turned to me and gave a tentative smile. I didn't smile back.
'We'd better get going,' Cara told me. 'Or we'll miss the start of the film.'
Cara chose some drippy romance film. I had to fight to keep my eyes open through most of it, then Cara's sniffing and sobbing during the last ten minutes kept me awake. It was bloody awful. This man and woman sighing and yearning and suffering through most of the film before they finally and inevitably got together and they all lived happily ever after. I mean, give me a break! Cara tried to disguise the fact that she was crying but she wasn't doing a very good job. I thought about her seven salons up and down the country, I thought about the money I didn't have but soon could if I got close to her and reluctantly put my arm around her shoulders. She instantly put her head on my shoulder. It really shouldn't've been this easy, but getting every penny from Cara was going to be like taking sweets from a toddler. On our way out of the cinema, Cara kept going on about Daley Mercer, the latest Cross heartthrob.
'I don't think I've seen a single film of his that I haven't liked,' Cara sighed. 'And he's so gorgeous, don't you think?'
'He doesn't do much for me,' I told her honestly.
She laughed. 'I'd be disappointed if he did!'
'He's got another film coming out soon, hasn't he?'
'Destruction,' Cara informed me. 'It's out next week. I can't wait to see it.'
'What's it about?'
'It's a historical ghost story. Daley's character is a wealthy landowner in the eighteenth century who has a secret which will ruin him if it's revealed. And then this rich woman played by Dessi Cherada comes to his mansion to . . .'
I switched off at that point. It sounded even worse than the neck-high drivel we'd just waded through. A few minutes passed before Cara finished telling me the plot.
'Apparently the tickets are selling like patties, so I'll have to wait a while before I see that one,' she sighed.
Personally, I'd rather have had my toenails extracted than watch that dagger rubbish. Yet another film where there wouldn't be a single nought in sight – except possibly as slaves. I hated historical films in particular for that reason. Even in so-called contemporary films, noughts were few and far between.
The meal we had afterwards was curried lamb and rice flavoured with coconut. She wanted to pay, but I insisted. In the end we decided to split the bill in half. I knew when I took her home that she wanted to see me again. She didn't invite me in but I could tell that she was debating with herself whether or not she should. I made up her mind for her by bidding her goodnight.
'Maybe we can meet up again – for another drink or something?' said Careful Cara.
'I'd like that,' I told her.
We stood in silence outside her medium-sized house, with its medium-sized front garden and the medium-sized silver or grey car in the driveway – it was hard to tell in the street-lit night.
'I'll give you my phone number,' said Cara, caving in.
'I'd like that too,' I smiled. Success! She was giving me her phone number. I didn't have to ask for it. The running in this relationship had to be done by her if I was to get a single penny out of her. I watched her dig into her jacket pockets, taking out a pen from one and a napkin from the other. She quickly wrote down her name and number, never once looking at me. I could feel her radiating embarrassment. She handed it to me, then almost ran for her front door.
'Cara?' I called after her.
She slowed, then stopped. Turning slowly she looked directly at me for the first time since we'd arrived at her house.
'I'll see you soon,' I said.
She nodded and I'm sure I saw hope and something more on her face. I watched her go into her house before I turned and walked back the way I'd come. I was aware of a face at the window in the next house along. Pretending that I didn't know I was being watched, I carried on walking at an unhurried pace, my face slightly averted from the voyeur's gaze. I still had to be careful. I couldn't help wondering why Cara didn't seem the least bit self-conscious about being seen with me. I mean, even when paying for the cinema tickets, I'd been aware of the looks we were ge
tting. But I'd looked at Cara, and she'd smiled at me like, at that precise moment, I was the only thing that mattered. So I swallowed my embarrassment and smiled back because Cash Cow Cara was going to help me get back on top. I just had to play my cards right. But I wasn't worried.
Playing cards has always been one of my favourite pastimes.
And as Jude's law number six says: Do unto others as they would do unto you – only do it first.
twelve. Sephy
Darling Callie,
The doctors tell me that you're holding your own. They try to suggest that I'm not doing myself any good by not resting and eating properly, but I hardly hear them.
You've been in the incubator for almost three days now. I sat down next to your bed this morning, my arms through the holes in the incubator. I was so exhausted, I dozed off in my chair. The next thing I knew, I was being gently shaken awake.
'Miss Hadley? Miss Hadley?' The gentle but insistent voice finally got through to me.
I opened my eyes and gazed up at a male nurse and two female doctors, one a Nought, the other a Cross. I was instantly awake.
'What is it? What's happened?'
'It's OK, Miss Hadley,' said Dr Aldener, the Cross doctor. She gave what was obviously meant to be a reassuring smile, but it only served to make me feel that she was hiding something. 'We have good news. Your daughter is getting stronger. We'll keep her in the incubator for today and if she continues to breathe on her own without any problems, she can go back to the ward with you either later this evening or some time tomorrow.'
The bubble burst of joy inside me quickly subsided and doubt took over. 'Shouldn't Callie try breathing by herself for longer than a day before she's moved?' I asked.
Did they really believe you were fit to be moved, Callie, or was it that at the first sign of recovery they were going to move you so some other baby could have the incubator?
Knife Edge Page 4
