Knife Edge

by Malorie Blackman

  'I've tried telling her that but she won't listen,' I said. 'Sephy's not listening to much of anything at the moment.'

  'Can I see her?'

  'She's asleep upstairs. I thought maybe we could talk first,' I told her.

  She nodded. 'So what's going on?'

  'You'd better come through.' I ushered her into the living room, then followed her in. As she looked around, I lifted my chin and looked straight at her. The brown carpet was an obvious remnant and most of the furniture was second- or third-hand. But it was my home. Let her dare say anything about it. She sat down on the sofa and looked around again.

  'This is a lovely room,' she smiled. 'Very cosy and inviting.'

  I nodded, unsure of what to say. I decided to continue the pleasantries. 'Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Mrs Hadley?'

  'Won't you call me Jasmine?'

  'It wouldn't be . . . appropriate,' I replied.

  'Very well, Mrs McGregor. No first names for either of us,' said Mrs Hadley.

  I didn't like her calling me Mrs McGregor. No one called me that. Not even Renee in the post office and I only just knew her.

  I smiled. 'Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Jasmine?'

  She smiled back. 'No thank you, Meggie, but I'd love to hold my granddaughter.'

  I handed Callie over and watched as Mrs Hadley fussed over her. In my head she'd always be Mrs Hadley. She looked at me suddenly as if she knew I was thinking about her.

  'Tell me what's been happening with Sephy,' she said.

  So I told her. Everything. Including what it said in the letter Callum was supposed to have written. She didn't interrupt once.

  'I see,' she said at last. I watched as she looked down at Callie, no trace of a smile anywhere on her face. 'Sephy feels things deeply. Too deeply sometimes, in spite of what she might say.'

  I sensed more was coming so I didn't speak. After a long pause, Mrs Hadley looked directly at me. 'Persephone was pretty much left to bring herself up. That was my fault. I wrapped my life around my husband and then around a wine bottle. By the time I was ready to stand on my own two feet, I didn't know my children any more – especially Sephy. And she's more like me than she cares to think. She wrapped her whole life around Callum. He was the reason for almost everything she did, so his letter. . .' Mrs Hadley shook her head. 'She probably doesn't know which way is up at the moment.'

  'Callum didn't write that letter,' I interrupted.

  'Are you sure about that?'

  'It looked like his writing, but Callum wouldn't write that,' I argued. 'He cared too much about Sephy.'

  'But whether he wrote it or not is hardly the point,' said Mrs Hadley. 'What matters is that Sephy thinks he did.'

  'So what should we do?' I asked.

  'The worst thing we could do is badger her,' said Mrs Hadley. 'Take it from me, it doesn't work. Sephy will dig her heels in and always do the exact opposite of what you tell her.'

  'We have to do something. Callie deserves the best we can all give her – and that includes from Sephy,' I said.

  'But you don't believe that's what she's getting?'

  'Not at the moment, no,' I admitted.

  Mrs Hadley shook her head. 'Sephy's just a child herself. And she's been through so much already. There's no way she can cope with raising a baby on her own.'

  'I agree. And I'm worried about the way she's treating Callie,' I confessed.

  'Why?' Mrs Hadley asked sharply. 'What's she doing?'

  'Yes, what am I doing, Meggie?' Sephy's cold voice rang out behind me.

  Dismayed, I spun round in my chair. The look Sephy was giving both of us could've withered concrete.

  'Sephy, I didn't mean—'

  'How dare you both sit there and criticize and condemn me?' Sephy said with quiet fury. 'Neither of you has any idea what I've been through over this last year. Meggie, you keep going on and on about how that letter wasn't written by Callum. Well, I've got news for you. It was. I know his writing better than I know my own. And what's more, deep down I think you know he wrote it. You want to make me out to be a liar or deluded because I've accepted that the letter came from him, but you're the deluded one. And Mother, you're sitting there holding Rose and telling anyone who'll listen that you'll do anything and everything for her. Well, you blew it with me and Minerva, Mother. And Rose isn't your second chance.'

  'Sephy, we weren't—'

  'Sephy, you're not being fair—' Both Mrs Hadley and I tried to protest but Sephy wasn't having it. She was in full flood now.

  'I wish you'd all just back off and leave me alone.' Sephy's voice was getting higher and louder. 'It's like no matter which way I turn I can't please anyone. So that's it. From now on, sod you all. I'm going to please myself. And both of you can go to hell!'

  Sephy stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her with such force that it ricocheted against the frame and bounced open again. I turned to Mrs Hadley and we looked at one another, each, I suspect, mirroring the other's expression. Moments later the front door was opened, then slammed shut with enough force to make the glass in it rattle. And we were left with an atmosphere in the room like nothing I'd ever felt before. Cold, sad and threatening.

  Like something around us had changed for the worse, and with a sense of foreboding I wondered if anything could change it back.

  forty-three. Sephy

  I've been singing with the Midges for over a month now. So far we've played exactly four gigs, which apparently is really good going. We've played two Cross clubs, one Nought club and a birthday party. And when we play at any club we never use the front entrance – Russell's was the exception not the rule in that at least. The clubs insist that all 'artistes' must use the back entrance – with no exceptions. I don't really care. I rehearse, do the gig, then wait for the next one. None of us talk about what happened at Russell's, which is fine with me. I'm trying my best to put that place out of my head – for ever. But I'm not very good at forgetting or letting things go. I wish I was. We played a Cross birthday party last week. A children's birthday party. What a nightmare!

  I came so close to throttling some of the little brats, but I had to bite my tongue and smile when all I wanted to do was give some of the kids what Meggie used to call 'an attitude adjustment clap'! The birthday party was definitely the worst. It was a ten-year-old girl's party. I think her name was Romaine. But she was so vile I've tried to blot her from my memory. As it was a beautifully sunny day, Romaine's parents asked if we'd mind singing outside in their back garden. Well, their back garden was the size of a football pitch so there was no problem there. We had to be close to the house so we could plug in our equipment but it'd all been very efficiently set up beforehand. We even had a raised platform to stand and sing on. Everything would've been fine – if it hadn't been for Romaine herself. She stood in front of me the entire time I was singing, screaming her head off.

  'I wanted Scarletter to sing at my party,' she shrieked, 'hot them. No one's ever heard of the Midges. I wanted Scarletter. I WANTED SCARLETTER.'

  Yeah, right! Like a chart-topping group like Scarletter would be caught dead at a kid's birthday party.

  'Now, darling, Mummy and Daddy have explained that Scarletter weren't available,' her mum tried to explain. 'But the Midges are very good.'

  'No, they're not. They puke!' Romaine insisted, scowling at me in particular. 'I wanted a boy band not a girl singer. She pukes.'

  Just at that moment, I wished I did have a queasy stomach. And that Romaine was standing in just the right position before me. Then I'd show her the true meaning of the word 'puke'. Romaine's mother smiled apologetically but by then I was in no mood to smile back. So I kept singing and the guys kept playing even though none of the kids were taking any notice of us. They were running up and down the immaculately laid out lawn, into their own games and totally not into us. In between numbers I went over to Jaxon, annoyed.

  'Was this your bright idea?' I asked. 'The kids are bored stupid with our musi
c and I can't say I blame them.'

  'I didn't choose the music, Romaine's mum did,' Jaxon replied.

  'But the stuff we're singing is the kind of stuff my mum would like,' I pointed out.

  'Take it up with Mrs Debela, not me,' said Jaxon. 'On second thoughts, don't. I'm trying to impress her husband.'

  'Why?'

  'He's a big-shot music producer,' Sonny informed me. 'Why d'you think Jaxon took this job? Normally he wouldn't be seen dead singing at something like this. It's beneath his dignity.'

  After a swift look around, Jaxon's fingers told Sonny where to go.

  'If you're trying to impress someone, let's try one of Scarletter's songs. How about Dear Diary, the one that's in the charts now,' I suggested.

  'That's not on Mrs Debela's list.'

  'Stuff her ruddy list. I'm putting myself to sleep so God knows what I'm doing to the kids.'

  'She's not going to like it,' Jaxon sighed.

  But he knew me well enough to realize that not much shifted me once I'd made up my mind about something. The band started up and I went over to the mic. A decent song at last! I came in on my cue and Jaxon came over so that we could share the mic as the song was a two-hander. By the time we got to the chorus we actually had all the ankle-biters gathered around us and dancing. By the time we'd finished the song, Mrs Debela was up on stage with us, asking us very politely but firmly not to sing any more 'inappropriate' songs.

  'How is it inappropriate, Mrs Debela?' I asked.

  She came over to me and lowered her voice. 'I don't want my Romaine exposed to nought songs with slack lyrics.'

  'Pardon?' I stared.

  'All noughts ever seem to sing about is s-e-x, if you know what I mean,' she said for my ears only.

  I didn't have a clue what she was talking about. Dear Diary, the Scarletter song, was about love – not sex. And even if it was about sex, what was wrong with that?

  'Romaine is far too young to be exposed to songs with those kinds of sentiments,' sniffed Mrs Debela. 'So if you could just stick to the playlist I gave you.'

  Jaxon and I exchanged a look but we had no choice but to do as we were told – we wanted to get paid. Less than four bars into the next song, the kids had gone. By the time Jaxon announced that we'd be taking a short break but we would be back, no one was around to clap or cheer or boo or jeer. I went into the house to find a toilet. One of the kids was being sick in the downstairs cloakroom so I headed upstairs. The house had at least three or four bathrooms so I wasn't worried. In fact, the first door I opened on the landing just to the right of the stairs was a bathroom. It had black marble-effect tiles from floor to about waist height, finished off with gold, scrollwork edging and golden-yellow coloured walls above. There was a white Jacuzzi bath and a separate walk-in shower cubicle which was big enough for about four or five people to share. The bathroom suite was white with gold-coloured taps and the floor was black and gold. It was a bit too ostentatious for my taste but the Debelas were obviously rolling in money. To be honest, I'd never heard of Mr Debela, but then I was new to this business. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it. Peace at last. For two chocolate biscuits and a ginger beer I would've stayed in there for the rest of the day. But that wasn't going to happen. No need to hurry though.

  Ten minutes later as I washed my hands, I wondered for the umpteenth time what I was doing. There had to be easier ways to make money. I left the bathroom only to bump into Mr Debela. Literally.

  'Oh, I'm sorry,' I mumbled. 'I didn't realize there was a queue.'

  'That's OK,' Mr Debela smiled.

  I went to move past him but he side-stepped in front of me. 'There's no need to rush off,' he told me silkily.

  Uh-oh . . . Warning bells began to ring-a-ding in my head.

  'You've got a great voice. I've been watching you all afternoon,' he said, running his sweaty hand up my arm.

  'Excuse me?' I shrugged away from him with a frown.

  'I'm a producer at a recording company and I think we could work well together. I could do a lot for you, you know.'

  'Thank you,' I said coldly. 'But you'll need to speak to Jaxon. He handles all of our business affairs.'

  'The offer wasn't for the whole band. Musicians are ten a penny. But a singing voice like yours is a real find,' said Mr Debela.

  When I didn't reply, Mr Debela said softly, 'I could make you a star.'

  Yeah, but he'd obviously want to make something else first.

  'No, thank you,' I said, trying to move past him again.

  'Don't dismiss my offer just yet. Take my card,' said Mr Debela, pushing his business card down into my trouser pocket – and taking his time whilst he did it. 'Think about it. Ask around. I'm well known in the industry.'

  'For what?' I asked, but my sarcasm went totally over his head.

  'I'm one of the best producers in the business. And a chance like this comes once in a lifetime, Persephone.'

  'Who's Persephone? My name is Ridan,' I told him.

  He laughed softly. 'Ridan! Was that your idea? Have the nought nit-wits in your band worked out that it's nadir backwards. Is that really how you think of yourself, Persephone? D'you feel you couldn't get any lower, singing with noughts? Because I can soon sort that out.'

  'Ridan is just my name. It doesn't mean anything,' I tried to deny.

  'Nadir isn't how I think of you,' Mr Debela said softly. 'You're very beautiful.'

  And he bent his head to kiss me. I stepped back and slapped his face about a nanosecond afterwards. His whole demeanour changed.

  'What's the matter? D'you only give it up for blankers then?' he asked coldly.

  'You touch me again and you'll be singing soprano on one of your own CDs,' I fumed. 'Now move out of my way.'

  He regarded me and I looked straight back to let him know I meant it.

  'I guess you really are a blanker-lover then,' he shrugged. 'Everyone knows you're sleeping with your guitarist. I guess you're not too fussy. But I meant it about working with you. I really can make you a star, Persephone.'

  'Excuse me please,' I ordered.

  He stepped to one side. Seething, I was about a third of the way down before I realized Sonny was at the bottom of the stairs, in the hall. He'd obviously heard every word. I turned to look at Mr Debela, who was looking at Sonny as if he was daring him to say anything. When I reached him, Sonny turned without a word and escorted me back out into the garden.

  'Did you come inside to find me then?' I asked.

  'No, I went for a loo break, the same as you. I just happened to hear Mr Debela trying it on.'

  'Ruddy creep!' I hissed.

  'But he wasn't flannelling you,' said Sonny with a stillness I'd come to associate with him. 'He's very well known in the music industry and if he says he can make you a star then he probably can. He's in a position to make it all happen for you.'

  'Not interested,' I dismissed. 'And even if I was, I wouldn't be too attracted to the idea of getting there on my back – which is the only position that toad was interested in seeing me in.'

  'Some people would say it was worth it. Whatever it takes and all that,' said Sonny.

  'Yes, but I'm not some people.'

  'So you don't hanker to be rich and famous?'

  'My mother was one and my dad was the other,' I said. 'It didn't make either of them terribly happy.'

  'So what d'you want, Sephy?' asked Sonny. 'We've been singing together for a while now and I still haven't figured that out.'

  'That's a shame.' I smiled without humour. 'I was hoping you'd be able to tell me.'

  'I'm serious,' said Sonny.

  He didn't realize that so was I.

  'What do I want?' I mused. I had to think about it. Hard. 'I think what I'd like more than anything else is peace of mind. Nothing more, nothing less.'

  'And what're you going to do to get it?'

  'When I've worked that out,' I replied, 'I'll let you know.'

  As we walked back to the others, Sonny ask
ed unexpectedly, 'How's your daughter? Rose, isn't it?'

  My face began to get hot.

  'She's fine.'

  'You don't talk about her very much,' said Sonny.

  I regarded him. 'Would you like me to inform you every time I change her nappy?'

  'No, thank you,' Sonny replied instantly. 'But you're not exactly one of those dull, doting parents who breaks out the photo album as soon as their child's name is mentioned, are you?'

  'I can bring in some photos if you're feeling deprived.' I brushed off his comment.

  'Don't put yourself out,' said Sonny.

  'All right then, I won't,' I told him.

  'Everything all right at home?'

  'Why d'you ask?'

  'You don't talk about it much.'

  'I don't want to bore you,' I said. 'What's all this about? Why the sudden interest in my family life?'

  'Just being nosy,' said Sonny. 'Have you got a boyfriend yet?'

  'Are you kidding?' I scoffed. 'I've only just had a baby, for heaven's sake.'

  'Well, someone always tries to chat you up every time we do a gig,' said Sonny.

  'I'm not the slightest bit interested in dating.'

  'Life goes on, Sephy,' said Sonny. 'If you let it. You have to let go of the past and move on.'

  'You think I don't?'

  'I think you won't.'

  'What does that mean?' I frowned.

  'It means—' Sonny's mouth snapped shut. 'It means it's time to mind my own business.'

  'Sonny, I am trying to get on with my life, I promise. But it's far too early for me to even think about getting involved with anyone. And besides, I'm a package deal – remember? Not too many men are interested in that.'

  'I know someone who'd be interested,' said Sonny.

  'Oh yeah?' I scoffed. 'Who?'

  Sonny looked at me pointedly, smiling at my stunned expression as I finally caught on to what he was trying to say.

  'Are you serious?' I still couldn't believe it.

  Sonny looked straight at me, his expression now earnestly serious but his eyes full of something I hadn't seen in a long time. He said softly, 'You could do worse.'

  'And you could do better,' I told him straight out. 'Sonny, I—'