by Teri Terry
‘Broadcast what?’ Aiden’s voice is sceptical. ‘Most of what we had is gone – either stolen from the hacked systems, or destroyed at the college.’
I hold up my camera. ‘I’ve still got witnesses’ testimony: Edie, and three others. There are the photos of the Slated children at the orphanage, the footage of All Souls yesterday, and—’
‘It’s not enough,’ Aiden interrupts. ‘Our view – Florence’s dad’s, then Florence’s – was always that we needed meticulously documented evidence and witnesses. We haven’t got that any more. We can’t back it up.’
‘If we don’t tell their stories, they died for nothing.’
The room is silent.
‘We at least have to try,’ Mac finally says.
Aiden looks between us; does something change in his eyes? Then he shakes his head. ‘I never completely agreed with the careful long game, but is there really enough to—’
‘There’s more. Watch this,’ I say, and point the camera at the wall.
Stella’s face fills it, a nervous smile. ‘Uh, hi. This is Stella Connor. My daughter, Lucy – and Lucy, I will call you that, you will always be the daughter I love to me—’ and she smiles— ‘a short time ago got a confession out of me I thought I’d never tell. She tried to convince me that I had to tell this story, that it had to get out. But I refused.’ She sighs. ‘I’m old, and I’m a coward. I’ve always been one, I’m just starting to see how much. Anyhow. I best get on with it.
‘I’m realising Lucy is going to have to leave my life again, no matter what I do. And on this camera I borrowed from her, I found the reason why. And yes, Lucy, you did password protect the photos so I wouldn’t see them, but I did set up the camera so have the admin override, and I snooped. And there were these very young children, Slated.’ She shudders, sits up straighter. ‘Everything keeps getting worse, so now I have to be brave, and tell my story.
‘My mother is Astrid Connor: Juvenile Control Officer for all of England, and steadily rising in Lorder ranks. Years ago I overheard her speaking to a subordinate about the assassinations of Prime Minister Armstrong and his wife, Linea, before it happened. I was a child, I didn’t really understand what I heard, and when I asked her she said they knew about it before the media did, and I didn’t question it. But years later I worked it out, and confronted her. She admitted – bragged, really – that a hardline Lorder faction she was in deliberately leaked information to the AGT for these assassinations to take place. Our family were friends with the Prime Minister’s family; Linea had confided in my mother that Armstrong was going to resign and expose violent excesses of the enforcement arm of the Lorders that he’d unearthed. It would have toppled the Lorder government.
‘Mother had me locked up to keep me from saying anything. I was pregnant, and my baby died. Months later, she gave me Lucy: the most beautiful baby. I don’t know where she got her from. Once she could see that I loved Lucy completely, Mother let us out. Said if I ever said anything, she’d take Lucy away.
‘I love you so much, Lucy. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything from the start.’ Her hand reaches for the camera. The recording stops.
I’m struggling to keep composure. Stella must have made this when I was in the boathouse. Got Ellie to bring it to me with that cryptic message when she somehow found out Astrid was on her way: brave, at last. I hope, so much, that she is all right.
I blink hard. ‘Well? Is it enough?’
Aiden and Mac are looking at each other in stunned silence. Then Mac grins. ‘We’ve got the bastards, don’t we!’ He holds up a hand in the air to Aiden. After a second’s hesitation, he raises his and high fives.
Aiden’s got his determined look back again. ‘Yes! We can do this.’ He grabs me in a hug, then lets go abruptly. ‘You still have to leave first.’
‘No. I’m the only living witness you’ve got to back anything up. I’m not going anywhere.’ I stare back at Aiden, not wavering, and neither is he.
‘How about we interrupt this staring contest with breakfast?’ Mac says, and fills the kettle, plugs it in. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to record me telling what happened to Robert after the bus bombing.’
Aiden holds up a hand, thinking. ‘There is one other thing. One other witness who’d really help.’ His eyes are on mine, apologetic.
‘Who?’
‘We need Armstrong’s daughter, Sandra Davis. Your mum here.’
‘No. No way.’ I stare at him, horrified. ‘Mum and Amy being safe is one of the things that makes me able to go on. Don’t take that away from me.’
‘Listen to me: people will believe her. They don’t know who Stella is. But if she sees what Stella says, and backs it up, and backs up Mac’s story: well. We’re home.’
Mac slips an arm around my shoulders. ‘He’s right, you know. It’s time to stop being safe, to risk everything.’ I shrug his arm off, go back to the sofa. Murray stares up at me, with a ‘he’s right’ look on his face. I shake my head. Next thing, Skye will lecture me. On cue she jumps up next to me, puts her head on my lap and looks up.
‘Okay. We can ask her, but no pressure.’ She won’t do it, will she? I’m beyond her protection, but she won’t do it if it means putting Amy at risk. ‘How are we going to get word to her?’
The front door bangs open. ‘Hello,’ a cheery voice says. One I know. I turn, and there is Amy’s boyfriend: Jazz.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
* * *
‘I’m seriously not happy,’ Jazz says, but his grin argues against that. His arms seem to have me trapped in a permanent hug since the split second that, changed hair or no, he realised it was me. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was alive?’ he demands of his cousin Mac.
I squirm. ‘Let me go already!’
‘You’re really okay?’
‘All in one piece,’ I say, not being able to think of how I am as okay, exactly, after everything that’s happened.
He loosens his arms but keeps me in front of him with a hand on each shoulder. ‘Amy has been so…Can I tell her?’
‘Need-to-know,’ Aiden interjects.
Jazz glares at him. ‘Yeah, well, whatever: Amy needs to know.’
‘Why not?’ I say. ‘It’ll be out soon enough. What’ll it hurt if he tells her now? She won’t say anything.’ Not after the last time. Amy had, in all innocence, told about drawings I was doing for the AGT, and a snatch-and-grab in a black van and Lorder questioning and blackmail followed.
‘And your mum?’ Jazz asks.
‘She already knows.’
‘No way. She never let on.’
‘Need-to-know,’ we say in unison, and I find myself laughing along with Jazz, some part of me surprised that I still know how.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I say. ‘Now let me go.’ He lets go with one arm but keeps the other around my shoulders, and it feels good: Amy’s boyfriend has always felt like a big brother to me.
‘We need to sort a meeting,’ Aiden says to Jazz. ‘Between Kyla and her mum. And don’t say anything to Amy, not just yet.’
‘Fine. Sure, give me a message. Which reminds me.’ He takes a small box out of his pocket. ‘Mail call.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask, mystified.
Mac takes it, holds it up. ‘The latest from DJ, I’m guessing.’
I stare at Jazz. ‘You mean you’re involved with all this too?’ A big brother with secrets of his own.
He grins. ‘Always was their messenger boy: just extra busy lately with computer communications being out. You didn’t need to know, I guess.’ I smack his arm. To think all that goes on under the surface of people’s lives, right in front of my eyes, and I had no idea. None.
Mac opens the small box. ‘Brilliant; at last.’ He holds his hand open: a com. As if on cue, it buzzes. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s for you,’ Mac
says to Aiden. Aiden straightens his shoulders. Answers it, disappears down the hall and shuts a door.
Mac and I exchange a glance.
‘Does DJ know what happened yet?’ I ask, quietly.
‘I’d be surprised if he doesn’t. But he probably wants to hear a first-hand account.’
‘What’s happened?’ Jazz asks.
‘Need-to-know or not – believe me: you don’t want to know,’ I say.
Mac sorts a plan with Jazz about when and where we can try to meet with Mum, while I drift about the kitchen, making toast. Wondering if DJ will go with our plan. What if he thinks we haven’t got enough to go public? What if he says no? We can’t get it broadcast without his help.
I leave the kitchen, make for the back room. Knock once and go in.
Aiden’s still on the com with DJ. He meets my eyes, gestures for me to be quiet. ‘What is the time frame for that?
‘I’m not sure we can—
‘I see.’
‘Let me talk to him,’ I say.
Aiden mimes pulling his hair out. ‘Fine. Talk to her then.’ He holds the com out to me.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Kyla. Aiden’s been telling me that—’
‘DJ, just listen to me a moment. We need to do this broadcast as soon as we can. No more waiting for more things to go wrong. We’ve got to move before—’
‘Slow down. I agree with you.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. And Kyla, hon, I hear you’ve had a rough time. I’m sorry.’ He pauses, but this time I stay silent. What is there to say? ‘Aiden wants me to ship you out of the country.’
I narrow my eyes at Aiden. ‘I’m not going.’
‘That’s my girl. I think we need you involved in our little movie production. Aiden’s given me the rundown on Stella’s recording, the other things on your camera, the possibility of Sandra Davis’s involvement. You need to make it happen.’
Now I glare at Aiden. ‘We haven’t even asked her yet. She may refuse.’
‘One way or the other, we need to get this wrapped up for transmission tomorrow, or we’ll have to wait months for another opportunity. A bit techy, but all to do with choosing the right moment to interfere with their satellite without detection: we can mask our intrusion as solar activity if it coincides with a geomagnetic storm. And wild weather with thunderstorms later is predicted as well: their satellite and terrestrial communications should be interrupted tomorrow evening if both solar and weather predictions are correct.’
‘Tomorrow? So soon?’ I say, looking at Aiden. He raises his shoulders in a shrug.
‘Can you do it?’
Waiting might give us more to broadcast. But look what happens with waiting: All Souls. That’s what. ‘Yes. We’ll do it.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
‘DJ? I have a question.’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you hear about what Dr Lysander said, about someone high up interfering with my hospital records?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you find out anything else about me? My DNA?’
There is a pause, barely perceptible. ‘Still working on it.’
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
* * *
I’m jittery, nervous. Can’t sit still. Aiden looks at me. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Everything.’ I look at the time. ‘She’s late.’
He glances at the clock. ‘Only about twenty seconds. It’ll be all right.’
‘It’s just I don’t want anything to happen to her. Everyone who gets too close to me seems to pay the price. I don’t want her involved.’
He takes my hand. ‘Because you care. You want her out of harm’s way.’ He doesn’t say anything else, but I know what he is thinking.
‘I couldn’t go.’
‘I know.’ He sighs. ‘It is part of what makes you who you are. But I had to try.’
The door opens.
‘Mum!’ I jump up and run to her. Her arms wrap around me quickly, a tight hug.
She looks over my shoulder at Aiden. ‘Who’s this?’
He stands up. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Aiden.’
She turns to me. Shakes her head. ‘Why are you back? It’s too dangerous.’
‘I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t leave,’ Aiden says. They exchange a look.
‘Stubborn, isn’t she?’ Mum says. ‘Now: why am I here?’
‘We need your help.’
Mum sits down and Aiden explains what we – MIA – are planning to do.
‘So this really will broadcast across the whole country? And in other countries?’
Her eyes turn in, thinking, then meet mine with a spark of excitement. ‘That could work. Though I’m not sure what you think I can do.’
‘I’m really sorry to show you this,’ I say.
‘What?’
I get the camera out. ‘Do you know who Astrid and Stella Connor are?’
She frowns. ‘Astrid Connor went to school with my mother; they were friends. Stella is her daughter. We used to be in touch when we were kids, not lately though. She stopped answering my calls, years ago.’ She shrugs. ‘What do they have to do with anything?’
‘They’re my family. From before I was Slated. I was adopted by Stella; she raised me from when I was a baby, until I was ten. It was her I went off to see.’
‘What?’ Mum’s eyes are round with surprise. She shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe it. But I can’t see what this has to do with me.’
Aiden and I exchange a glance. I’d wanted to warn her what was to come, but he thought it was best for her to see and hear it for herself.
‘Okay. Here’s a recording Stella made. She hid it on my camera, and I only just found it recently. I’m sorry.’
I project it on the wall, hit play. Her face goes pale as she watches and listens, and she grips my hand tight.
After it ends, Mum looks away a moment. Then she meets my eyes. ‘If only I’d known what my parents were planning to do. All these years, I could never understand why my father set up the Lorder government, with all it has led to. I always thought he didn’t know what was really going on, but he did, and he was planning to put a stop to it. Thank you for telling me.’
‘You see,’ Aiden says, ‘this is why we need you. To introduce Stella’s recording in our broadcast: it’ll give it credence. Make people listen.’
‘Also we’ve got a witness who saw your son Robert alive after the bus bombing,’ Aiden says. ‘You could talk about him being missing, also.’
Mum nods. ‘I knew from another source that Robert survived the bombing, but disappeared afterwards. I always assumed he was Slated. If my parents could have said and done what they wanted, would our world be a different place? Would I still have my son. I want to do it for them, to say what they were stopped from saying. Yet this isn’t just about me; things could go wrong. I have Amy’s safety to consider. I need time to think about this.’
‘I’m sorry. That is one thing we haven’t got a lot of,’ Aiden says.
‘When would we need to do this?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. There are technical reasons why the broadcast must happen tomorrow night. Jazz can bring you, if you decide to help us.’
They talk some more about details, but I just hold her hand tight. Imagine the shock: all this time being told one version of why your parents died, and then finding out it was all lies.
‘I should go.’ She hugs me tight. ‘Take care of her,’ she orders Aiden, and then is gone.
‘What do you think she’ll do?’ Aiden asks.
This is so reminiscent of another time, another decision. When she had to decide whether or not to tell the whole country on that live recording
what she thought really happened to her son Robert. Then, she didn’t do it; she wouldn’t do anything to put Amy or me in danger. Will this time be any different?
‘I don’t know.’ And part of me hopes she will be there tomorrow; part of me hopes she stays away.
That evening, Aiden is working in the computer room, and Mac has gone off with Jazz to set up for tomorrow, and to copy the footage and photos from my camera and start putting it all together. DJ wants me to do an introduction, to explain how things I witnessed fit together, and I’m trying to think what I can say so I won’t stare at the camera like an idiot.
What can I say about All Souls that explains what happened in a way that makes any sense? What can I say about Ben?
What can I say – what am I willing to say – about my life. My crazy, confused, Lorder-tainted life, and all those it has damaged or destroyed.
I’m stalking back and forth in the front room; Skye gets under my feet. I almost trip over her and curse.
Aiden’s door opens; he comes in. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Just stage fright,’ I say, but look at my feet. I can’t look him in the eye.
‘It’ll be all right.’
‘Just like everything else has been all right, so far?’ And I’m shaking. I don’t know why; is it a delayed reaction, fear, pain, all three?
I look up and take a step towards him; Aiden takes one towards me. Meeting in the middle. His arms slip around me, just gentle, not holding but comforting, like you would a sister, or a child. I nestle my head against his shoulder. I fit against him different to Ben; Ben is taller. His hand smooths my hair, he’s trying to make me feel better but it’s not enough, nothing can ever be enough to take the emptiness away. And I pull him closer and closer. His heart is beating faster and so is mine. I reach up and pull his head down, kiss him. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t care. All I am is cold, dead, empty; Aiden is feeling, warmth, and life.
