Double Cross (7 page)

'Happy birthday, Nana.' Callie kissed Meggie on the
cheek and handed her a birthday card and a gift-wrapped
box. At least, that's what it looked like from where I stood
hovering in the doorway.

'What is it?' Meggie asked, putting the box to her ear
and shaking it.

Callie teased, 'When you open it, you'll find out.'

Meggie smiled and began to carefully peel off the wrapping
paper from one side of her present. Now if that'd
been me, I would've just ripped the paper off. But
according to Meggie, if it was removed with care, then
'the wrapping paper could have a repeat performance.
Maybe several.' Godsake! It was only wrapping paper.
Mind you, my current finances were such that I couldn't
even afford to buy wrapping paper, never mind a present.
I hadn't given Callie a present two months ago when it
was her birthday and I still couldn't afford to buy her one.
That really burned me. I wanted to buy Callie anything
she wanted, but with what?

I looked around the sitting room, trying to find something
to take my mind off the empty state of my pockets.
I'd been in this room countless times before, but it never
ceased to interest me how the room was a strange mix of
old and new, past and present, Nought and Cross. Photos
in frames lined the window sill and any available horizontal
space. Photos of Meggie's family from a long time
ago and another world away. Callie's Aunt Lynette occupied
one photo by herself. I'd never heard anyone but
Callie talk about her. Callie's aunt had died before Callie
was born in some kind of road accident. Another photo
on the side table showed all Meggie's children together –
Lynette, Jude and Callum. They were all sitting right back
on a sofa, none of their legs long enough to reach the
floor. Callum couldn't've been more than two or three. It
was kind of weird to think that that toddler in the photo
was Callie's dad. There was a photo of Meggie and her
husband Ryan together, their arms wrapped around each
other as they both smiled at the camera. They looked so
happy. I didn't know much about Meggie's life, but I
knew she'd been through a lot and lost much – her
husband Ryan and her children Lynette and Callum were
now dead. It showed on every line on her face.

None of the oldies ever wanted to discuss the past, that
was the trouble. Whenever I asked my mum about
anything that happened more than ten years ago, she'd
invariably say, 'Tobey, that was a long time ago. I can't
remember.' But it seemed to me that most oldies remembered
the past better than the present. They just didn't
want to talk about it. Funny how Nought oldies never
wanted to discuss the past and Cross oldies did nothing
but. It seemed to me that the Crosses embraced their
history in a way we Noughts very rarely did.

Callie's mum, Sephy, had her share of photos scattered
around the room as well. Photos of her and Callie mostly.
There was one of Sephy and her older sister, Minerva,
taken when they were both teenagers by the look of it.
And one large photo of Callie's Nana Jasmine and Meggie
sat self-consciously in the middle of the window sill. That
photo was taken when they were young women. They
stood side by side, arms linked as they both smiled at the
camera. Every time I looked at that photo, I wondered
what each of them had been thinking the precise moment
the photo was taken. Callie once told me that her mum
and dad, Sephy and Callum, were just kids when that
photo was taken – certainly no older than nine or ten.
How odd to think that two families with such different
backgrounds could have their lives so intertwined.

At last Meggie got the wrapping paper off, revealing the
dark-blue box underneath. I had never seen anyone take
quite so long to get wrapping paper off. Meggie carefully
removed the lid from the box. The surprise on her face
was transformed to pure delight.

'I'm sorry it's not much,' Callie said apologetically.

'It's beautiful.' Meggie smiled at her before taking out
her present. It was a gold necklace with a pendant shaped
like a golden rose on a thornless stem. Callie had already
shown it to me on the day she bought it, asking for my
opinion.

'It's a rose from Callie Rose,' she told her nan, as if
Meggie hadn't worked that bit out by now. 'It's so you'll
always have something to remind you of me. You don't
think that's too narcissistic, do you?'

Meggie smiled at her granddaughter. 'No, love, just
unnecessary. I don't need a necklace or anything else to
think of you. But thank you anyway. It's really beautiful.'

'And it won't turn your neck green,' I quipped from
the door.

Meggie raised an amused eyebrow.

'Thanks for that, Tobey.' Callie scowled at me before
turning back to Meggie. 'It's real gold, Nana. It's only nine
carats, but it is real gold.'

'Callie, don't let Tobey wind you up, dear. It's lovely.'

'Tobey's got you something as well,' said Callie.

That was my cue to move further into the room.
Reluctantly, I dug into my jacket pocket, pulling out a
crumpled envelope. I handed it over, embarrassed. Meggie
took hold of it and took out the birthday card. The
envelope looked so manky, I wouldn't've blamed her
if she'd held it gingerly by only one corner. But she
didn't.

'It's a birthday card,' I mumbled, stating the obvious.

'That's very kind of you, Tobey.'

'It's not much,' I warned her as she took it out of its
envelope.

Meggie looked at the expressionist vase of flowers on
the front of the card and then read the words on the
inside, which was more than I'd done when I bought it.

'Thank you, Tobey. It's lovely.'

The card was cheap and cheerful and had just about
emptied my pockets. But Meggie was being great about it.
She put it next to Callie's card on the side table.

Callie started chatting about the restaurant her mum
and her nan were going to later and Meggie's face cleared
as she listened. I admit I didn't contribute much to the
conversation. Money was in my head again. It had to be
in my head, I couldn't afford to keep it any other place.
Something had to change. I couldn't spend the next few
years until I graduated from university like this.

Callie popped two lasagne meals into the microwave for
us as we weren't going out to dinner with her mum and
nan. We weren't invited because it was a school night. I
mean, Godsake! Did I look like I went to bed before
Meggie McGregor? But I wasn't going to argue. After all,
it meant Callie and I could be alone together, which suited
me just fine. After our meal, I asked Callie if she fancied
going for a walk? The moment we stepped outside, the
intense evening heat hit us like a slap round the face. We
headed along our road, walking through a shock wave of
rock music blaring out through the open living-room
window of the house five doors along. The air smelled of
chicken nuggets and bad temper. The irresistible urge
to get something off my chest grew stronger with each
step.

'Callie, I will get you something for your birthday. I
promise.'

Callie was surprised. 'My birthday was ages ago.'

'I know. But I never got you anything.'

'It doesn't matter. I just want to forget my last birthday,'
Callie said sombrely. 'Anyway, what brought that on?'

'I just . . .' I eyed the bracelet adorning her left wrist.
The gold link chain set off the semi-precious lime-green
stones that glinted against Callie's brown skin. It was beautiful.
Just the sort of thing I'd've loved to have bought for
her. Lucas and his deep pockets, no doubt.

'Tobey?' Callie prompted.

'I never got you a gift and I just wanted to let you know
that I haven't forgotten. I will get you something.'

'Don't bother.' Callie shrugged.

'But I want to . . .'

'Tobey, it's no big deal. I don't want or need anything
from you,' said Callie. 'At least . . . Never mind.'

'Go on. What were you going to say?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'What is it you want?'

Callie smiled. 'Let me come close to beating you at
chess once in a while. That'll do.'

'Are you mad?' I replied, horror-stricken. 'Chess should
be taken seriously, otherwise why bother?'

'It was just a thought.' Callie's grin broadened.

'Maybe it'll be a thought when it grows up?' I suggested.

Callie shook her head. We carried on walking.

'Are you still playing football this Sunday?' she asked.

'Yeah. You coming?'

'You mean, am I going to stand on a sweaty sideline at
three on Sunday afternoon to watch you and your mates
kick a ball around for ninety minutes?'

I nodded.

'I wouldn't miss it.' Callie smiled. 'See! I must really like
you or something.'

We carried on walking in a companionable silence.
There were all kinds of things I wanted to say, wanted to
ask, but I'm useless at that kind of thing, so I did the same
as usual and said nothing. I stole glances at Callie. Was she
OK just walking beside me? Or did she wish she could be
somewhere else? It was so hard to tell. She turned her
head occasionally to catch me looking at her. Each time
she'd smile like she knew something I didn't and we'd
keep walking.

'Callie . . .' I began at last.

'Yes?'

'Have you . . . have you forgiven me for . . . telling you
about your dad?'

I'd inadvertently revealed to Callie that her dad had
been hanged as a Nought terrorist and for a long, long
time afterwards she wouldn't even speak to me. It was the
most miserable time of my life. After that I vowed that I'd
never do anything to lose Callie's friendship again.

Callie stared at me. 'Tobey, that was a long time ago. Of
course I've forgiven you. Like you said, we're friends.'

'It's just . . . I think about that day a lot. I didn't mean
to hurt you.'

'I know you didn't. Let it go.'

'Easier said than done,' I sighed.

Callie nodded, her expression deadly serious. 'I know.
You're not terribly good at letting things go.'

The sound of sirens split the air. And the sound was
getting closer.

Callie's steps slowed. 'Sounds like we'd better head
back,' she said.

Sirens were more common than birds chirping around
here, especially lately. I was all for carrying on with our
walk when three police cars screeched to a halt at the top
of our road. Mrs Bridges was at it again. Everyone on our
street knew she was dealing drugs. Punters would turn up
and post money through her door, then she'd chuck the
required merchandise out of a first-floor window. Her
downstairs windows were barred and securely fastened,
just in case some druggie fancied his or her chances. Most
didn't, unless they were tired of having two working legs.
Everyone knew Mrs Bridges worked for the Dowds.
Callie and I knew enough not to hang around. I took
Callie's arm and practically frogmarched her back the way
we'd come. For once she didn't argue.

'I hate this place,' Callie muttered from beside me. 'It
never stops.'

She turned back to see what was going on. Even
though the police cars were stationary, their lights were
still flashing. The police were hammering away at Mrs
Bridges's door. Good luck with that! Any drugs on the
premises had been flushed away and were well on their
way to the seaside by now. We quickened our pace away
from all the banging and shouting.

'What d'you think is happening?' Callie asked.

'Who knows? What the cops would call N.H.I., no
doubt.'

'N.H.I.?'

'No humans involved.'

Callie looked so profoundly shocked, I instantly
regretted my cynical outburst. But I remembered the last
time a Nought boy had been stabbed by another Nought
around here. It was about three months ago, maybe four.
I was on my way home from school when I turned a
corner and saw a number of people and the flashing lights
of police cars and an ambulance. Pushing my way forward,
I stood rubber-necking like everyone else before we were
all pushed back away from the scene. Some poor Nought
boy of about my own age lay still on the ground, a slow
pool of blood leaking out from beneath him. His hands
were at his sides and his sightless eyes were staring straight
into the sun. It was the first time I'd seen a dead body. I
waited for some emotion other than sadness to kick in.
What should I be feeling? Rage? Fear? Pity? Nothing
stirred inside me. Taking one last look at the dead boy, I
turned and walked away. I didn't run. I walked, my head
down. I just wanted to get home. As I approached the
street corner, I heard them before I saw them.

'So who got shot this time?' a woman's voice was
asking. She might've been enquiring about the soup of the
day in a restaurant for all the emotion in her voice.

'Not shot. Stabbed,' a younger male voice corrected.
'Just another kid. Some boy.'

'Noughts cleaning house again,' said the woman.