Checkmate

by Malorie Blackman

  'Callie, what's wrong?' I asked.

  The pretence over, Callie turned her face towards me. And even in the half-light of the bedroom I could see that she'd been crying for quite some time. I sat down, feeling my way so that I didn't sit on her.

  'What's wrong, angel?'

  'I . . . I went to see Grandad today . . .' Callie Rose whispered.

  No . . . Please, no.

  I stared at her. 'Why did you do that?'

  'He hates me,' said Callie.

  I shook my head. 'He doesn't.'

  'Mum, he hates me. He told me not to come back and slammed the door in my face.'

  My blood began to bubble inside me, hot and hotter. My teeth were clamped together so hard they instantly began to hurt. I was shaking, actually shaking. I took a deep breath, then another to stop myself from trembling with a rage I hadn't felt since I was a teenager.

  'He slammed the door in your face?'

  Callie nodded, her tears running faster. She struggled to sit up.

  'Why does he hate me? What've I done?'

  'Nothing, Callie Rose. Your grandad is angry with me and he's taking it out on you.'

  'Why is he angry with you?'

  I shook my head. No way did I want to go into that now. I wanted to tuck Callie into bed and watch over her until she fell asleep and then jump in my car and go and see my dad – and rip his heart out. God knows that was what he was doing to mine. How dare he treat my daughter like that? How dare he?

  'Callie, your Grandad and I quarrelled a long time ago and we haven't spoken since.'

  'What did you quarrel about? Was it about you and Dad?'

  'Yes, dear.'

  'Didn't he want you to be with my dad?'

  I shook my head.

  'Because Dad worked as a gardener at Grandad's house?'

  Sephy, tell her the truth. Now's your chance to share your past, to share something real with your daughter. Tell her . . .

  'Yes, love. Because your dad was a gardener at Nana Jasmine's house.'

  'Did Grandad like Dad when you were both at Heathcroft High?' said Callie.

  'My dad didn't really know Callum. And Callum didn't stay at school for very long. And after that he . . . he . . .'

  Tell her the truth . . .

  'He became a gardener,' I finished, despising my own weakness.

  'What's wrong with that?' asked Callie.

  I sighed. 'Your grandad is a politician. He didn't like the idea of me and Callum together partly because he thought it wouldn't look good for him in government.'

  'Because Dad was a Nought?'

  'Yes, dear.'

  'That's what Unc—'

  'Pardon?'

  'It doesn't matter. You know the way Grandad felt about you and my dad, is that like Nana Meggie not wanting me to hang around with Tobey?'

  I couldn't answer that.

  'Is Grandad upset because you didn't marry my dad?' asked Callie.

  'No. Marrying Callum wouldn't've made any difference to your grandad.'

  'So he's just a snob.'

  Amongst other things.

  'Is Nana Meggie a snob too?' Callie asked.

  'Your Nana Meggie wants what's best for you.' I had to pick through the words before presenting them to my daughter. 'Your grandad was only interested in what was best for himself

  'Well, I hate him,' said Callie vehemently.

  'Callie Rose—'

  'I do, Mum. I hate him. And I'll never forget the way he treated me. Never, ever.'

  'Darling, don't let him poison—'

  'Goodnight, Mum.' Callie slid down in her bed and turned her back on me.

  What should I do now? It wasn't too late to tell her some of the truth. Maybe not all of it but some of it. But with each second, the opportunity slipped further away from me. I stood up and bent to kiss Callie's cheek.

  'Goodnight, love.'

  'Goodnight, Mum,' said Callie.

  The tears had stopped but that was no comfort. Callie was staring wide-eyed at the wall.

  'Callie

  'Goodnight, Mum,' Callie repeated.

  With a sigh, I took the hint and left her in peace. But I wasn't going to leave it there. Shutting Callie's door quietly behind me, I leaned against it. I needed to make a couple of phone calls. The first one would be to my sister, Minerva, to get my dad's address and phone number.

  No way was he going to get away with this one. No way.

  sixty-two. Jude

  I hated winter. Dark and damp and too damned cold. And the rain was pitching down outside, which didn't help. I watched as Callie picked at her chocolate ice cream. For the last few months, we had met up at least every six weeks after school. And I usually brought her here to the Cuckoo's Egg café in the Dundale Centre for a quick meal or an ice cream. It had become our ritual, a place where I could drip-feed Callie the realities of life. And the Cuckoo's Egg café was ironically appropriate.

  'What's wrong, Callie?' I asked.

  I knew damn well what was going on in Callie's head. I can read her like a picture book. Kamal Hadley had slammed the door in Callie's face almost half a year ago, but she still felt it as keenly as if it were a mere half an hour before. Sometimes she'd be talking or laughing or joking and then the memory would come slashing back. And then her ready smile would die and she'd get a hurt, haunted look on her face that was easy to recognize because I used to see it on my own face so many times as a child. But that was before I took the power the Crosses had to hurt me away from them and back into my own hands. I told myself, Why should you care what any of them thinks? The Crosses mean nothing to you. After that I was free.

  'What is it about me, Uncle Jude?' said Callie, her voice soft with sadness. 'Why can't I get anyone to . . . to like me?'

  'Is that true?' I asked.

  'My grandad hates me and Mum can't bear to be around me.'

  Take it slow, Jude. Don't blow it.

  'I don't know about your mum, but I remember Kamal Hadley as being a very rigid, blinkered man. He's a man who's not prepared to tolerate any other view but his own. He doesn't like Noughts and with you being half-Nought . . .' I shrugged, leaving the rest deliberately unsaid. 'But Callie, remember this, he only has the power to hurt you if you give him that power.'

  'But I can't help being half-Nought. Any more than I can help being half-Cross,' said Callie. 'Isn't anyone ever going to like me just for me? Even Nana Meggie never—'

  'Hello, Jude.'

  My head snapped up. Mum stood beside our table, her expression rigid.

  'Hello, Mum.'

  'Nana Meggie!' said Callie. 'What're you doing here?'

  'Meeting a friend for coffee and finding you, Callie,' said my mum.

  And although she was talking to Callie, she was looking straight at me. So it'd come at last. I suppose it was inevitable. But Mum was too late on one score at least. Callie Rose trusted me to tell her what no one else would.

  'Callie, go and wait for me outside.'

  'But Nana—'

  'Callie Rose, outside. NOW!'

  Mum shouting like that made Callie jump. It was obviously something which just didn't happen, from Callie's stunned response. And we were attracting attention, the very last thing I could afford.

  'Go on, Callie. It's OK.' I smiled.

  Callie stood up reluctantly. 'I'll phone you, Uncle. OK?'

  'You do that,' I agreed.

  My mum and I both watched Callie leave the café. Mum ensured Callie was out of earshot before she sat down, though poised for flight, on the chair Callie had just vacated.

  'How long have you been meeting up with my granddaughter?'

  A lie? The truth? 'A few months

  Mum inhaled sharply. 'Jude, what've you been doing?'

  'Nothing, Mum. I've just been getting to know Callum's child. That's what you've wanted all these years, isn't it?'

  'Don't play games with me, Jude,' Mum said quietly.

  I smiled. 'What're you panicking about? I knew you and . . . Se
phy would have . . . reservations about my meeting my niece and I wanted to get to know her. That's why I had to go behind your backs.'

  'So it's our fault?'

  'That's not what I said.'

  'And what have you been telling Callie in all the months you've been seeing her?'

  'I didn't keep a diary, Mum.'

  'Jude, I want a straight answer. What've you been up to all this time?'

  'Mum, what d'you think I've been doing?' I asked, exasperated. 'What's going on in that suspicious mind of yours? Maybe you've been living with a Cross too long if it makes you suspicious of your own flesh and blood.'

  'So it's like that,' said Mum quietly.

  'It's like what, Mum?' I said, not even trying to hide my irritation.

  'If you're not up to anything, why the big secret?'

  'Because I knew this was exactly how you'd react. I can't go blabbing about my whereabouts to everyone, you know that. And I just wanted to get to know my niece a little better.'

  'So you encouraged her to lie to her mum and me about meeting you?'

  'I didn't tell her to lie. I just told her not to volunteer the information.' This conversation was getting on my nerves. 'What's the big deal, Mum? After all, d'you tell Sephy about all your meetings with me?'

  Mum's face flushed red. My point was made.

  'So what's the harm if Callie does the same. You can keep a secret? Well, so can she.'

  Mum shook her head. 'Jude, I know you—'

  'You don't know a damned thing about me,' I flared up. 'And you stopped caring when your granddaughter was born.'

  'That's not true. And you still haven't answered my question,' said Mum.

  'I haven't said, done or shown anything to Callie that she wouldn't've found out for herself eventually,' I said.

  Mum regarded me. 'Jude, why are you doing this? I can't believe all this is just—?' She broke off abruptly to stare at me, realization radiating from her. 'It was you . . . You're the one who took Callie to see Kamal.'

  'I was just trying to help. I thought it was time for Callie to meet her grandfather.'

  'How could you?' Mum breathed, appalled.

  'Did I know the bastard would slam the door in her face? Did I know that would happen?'

  'You knew exactly what would happen,' said Mum stonily. 'In fact, I bet that's what you were counting on.'

  'Mum, you're giving me way too much credit.'

  Careful, Jude. Careful. She's your mum. She knows things about you, she can guess things about you. You can't let her know for sure . . .

  Mum shook her head and stood up. 'Jude, you're to stay away from Callie. D'you hear me?'

  'Don't you trust me, Mum?'

  Mum's eyes narrowed, almost in pain. 'Stay away from her, Jude. I'm not going to tell you again.'

  And she walked away from me without a backwards glance. The weird thing was that deep down inside, I felt . . . nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no elation, no satisfaction. Nothing. Just a hollow, echoing emptiness where no emotions would ever take root again. And there was nothing inside me to even feel glad about it.

  Jude versus Jasmine

  sixty-three. Jasmine

  This hotel room was beginning to feel oppressive. It almost felt like Jude and I had been swallowed whole and could do nothing but watch each other and wait to see who dissolved first. So here we both sat, bathed in a silence so stony it was bruising my nerves. And I was hurting. I had to concentrate on not moving a muscle each time the next wave of pain crested inside my body. To move would be to cry out, to scream out against this invader, devouring me from the inside out.

  So I did nothing but blink. One blink for each wave of pain.

  Blink. Blink.

  Focus on Jude.

  Don't say a word.

  Don't move a muscle.

  Except to blink.

  I watched without interest as Jude scratched at his calf. The man had tied his shoelaces twice and scratched and rubbed his calf at least three times. What was his problem? He was watching me watching him. I had no intention of taking my eyes off him for a single second. He really was too creepy for words.

  'What the hell are we waiting for?' Jude suddenly leaped to his feet to shout at me.

  I admit it, he made me jump. I started to my feet, only to change my mind. The less I moved the better. I was hurting too much.

  'Sit down, Jude.'

  'You know what, I've had enough of this.'

  'I said, sit down,' I ordered.

  'Suppose I told you to do your worst?' Jude challenged. 'Suppose I don't think you'll really press that switch?'

  I regarded him. 'Suppose you don't try your luck, then who knows, you might just make it out of here alive.'

  'I thought the outcome of this . . . this farce was a foregone conclusion,' said Jude, through narrowed eyes.

  'In my experience, there's no such thing,' I told him.

  He flopped down in his chair and sat back, frustration at not having the upper hand gnawing away at him like a ravenous rat.

  'When is this company you were talking about going to arrive?'

  'Soon,' I replied.

  With perfect timing, there came a sharp rap at the door. In the silence of the room, it resounded like machine-gun fire. I almost turned my head to look in the direction of the door.

  Almost.

  Three sharp taps, followed by two, then one. The prearranged signal. I struggled to my feet, my finger never leaving the switch.

  'Jude, could you get that please?'

  Eyeing me carefully, Jude got to his feet. I kept half an eye on his face and one and a half eyes on what his hands were doing.

  'Put your hands on your head please until you reach the door.' I was most polite – which was more than this creature deserved.

  Jude complied. He walked before me, his hands on his head. With his back towards me, I slipped my free hand into my left jacket pocket and fished out a couple of the morphine sulphate painkillers I'd emptied into my pocket earlier. I wasn't due to take one for at least another hour, but what the hell! As he reached the door, I said, 'Keep one hand on your head and use the other to open the door. When the door is open, put your free hand back on your head. And no funny business. I'm really not in the mood.'

  Jude did as I asked but his free hand slowed and stilled on its way back to the top of his head when he saw who was at the door.

  'Hello, son,' said Meggie.

  sixty-four. Jude

  'Mum?'

  What was she doing here? Very rarely did she turn up at my hotel room unannounced. What a moment to break the habits of a lifetime.

  'Hello, Meggie,' Jasmine said from behind me. 'Jude, could you move back to your previous seat please?'

  But I hardly heard her. Mum was standing in the doorway. And though I hadn't seen her in a while, she'd hardly changed. A few more lines around her eyes, a few more white hairs perhaps.

  'Jude, could you return to your chair please?' said Jasmine.

  'Let me in, Jude,' said Mum.

  My hands still on the top of my head, I returned to my seat. Now what? What was Mum doing here? Whatever the reason, she was more than welcome. No way would Mum let mad-cow Jasmine harm me. No way. Mum was a McGregor. And when it came to the McGregors against the Hadleys, there were no grey areas, no blurred lines. Mum knew that. She might dote on Callie Rose, but Callie Rose wasn't here – and I was.

  Now I just had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself. I'd strike and Mum would be right behind me. Letting Mum in was the first mistake Jasmine had made. It might very well prove to be her last.

  sixty-five.

  Callie Rose is 13

  The noise in the food hall was cacophonous. And I loved it. I loved the sound of busy and bustling. I let it wash through me as I picked at my soggy cabbage and overcooked potatoes. I loved loud. At home, when I was doing my homework, I played my music just as loud as I could get away with. Loud enough to drown out any unwelcome thoughts that might try to swim
to the surface. And there were a lot of those at the moment.

  'The article in the Science Today journal said that the military tried to develop a chemical agent they could spray into the air which would cause Noughts to have nose bleeds but nothing would happen to Crosses . . .' Tobey was droning on and on about the latest edition of his monthly science magazine.

  I sighed inwardly. I was beginning to dread the arrival of Tobey's ruddy magazine. He'd spend a day reading it, followed by a week of discussing each and every article with me like I gave a monkey's fart what the thing said. I looked around. Amyas was at the front of the food queue. He was so tall now. I couldn't believe how much he'd shot up in the summer holidays. His face was leaner and longer and it suited him, and the rest of his body wasn't too bad either. He was certainly tastier than the washed-out cabbage I was pushing round my plate.

  'Rose, are you listening to me?' said Tobey.

  'Don't you think Amyas is lush?' I asked Tobey, my eyes still on the food queue.

  'Can't see it myself,' Tobey said sourly.

  'That's 'cause you're not looking,' I told him, still studying his lushness.

  'How many fingers am I holding up, Rose?' asked Tobey. For the first time since I'd spotted Amyas, I looked at Tobey, only to instantly regret it. He was using his fingers to be his usual charming self.

  'What's your problem?' I asked.

  'Oh, for God's sake!' Tobey snapped. 'If you could tear your eyes away from Mr Bumface for two seconds you might discover what time of day it is.'

  I glanced down at my watch. 'It's one forty or thirteen forty hours.'

  'What's happened to you?' asked Tobey. 'You never used to be all "girlie"!'

  'It's called growing up, Tobey. It's called hormones,' I told him loftily.

  It's called needing something, someone, anyone to dream about.

  'Stuff this!' Tobey sprang up. 'If you think I'm going to sit here and watch you bat your eyelashes at that cretin, then you've got another think coming.'