Stitch-Up (28 page)

Maxine raised her voice. “I promise it wasn't about the money. I came to the house because I wanted to see you. Say sorry. Nothing can change that. I played their game because I had no choice. Everything I said about being pregnant with you, about Zac, about our love for you was true. I wasn't faking, I promise. I love you.”

I ran over to my mother and flung my arms around her as the man who I'd initially thought was my stepfather stormed into the room.

“They forced me. Blackmai—” The goon's hand was over her mouth. My father's hands gripped my shoulders and he was pulling me back. I kept hold of my mother's hand until they wrenched us apart. “No, Mum!” I screamed as the heavy marched her towards the door. She shouted something, but his huge hand smothered her words. It sounded like “I love you,” again but I couldn't be sure.

Next moment, Maxine was gone.

My heart was constricting. I imagined it brown and shrivelled, walnut-sized. I couldn't look at the Golds. Those vampires had sucked me dry. I hated them.

“Quite the drama, eh?” Dad said, with a smile. “You should have stuck with us, precious.”

“You blackmailed her. That's the pits,” I whispered, all punched out.

“Maxine was merely saying what she knew you wanted to hear to ease her money-grabbing conscience. Believe what you want, but she made it very clear to us that she doesn't want you in her life.”

“But you do?” I looked daggers. “Lucky me!”

“So?” Tamara asked pointedly.

“So, what?” I balled my fists, scanning the room for an escape route. The TV crew was in the conservatory. The slaphead was guarding the door. The windows were shuttered. There wasn't a hope in hell of making a break for it.

“What's this about, Dash? Why are you so angry with us?” Tamara asked. “Is it because we didn't tell you that you were adopted? Is that why you ran away?” She was looking at me as if she actually cared. “Darling, we were trying to do the best for you, I promise. We took advice from experts. We were going to tell you everything when you were eighteen. That's normal procedure.” Tamara had slipped into her smooth, brisk chat-show voice.

“Normal procedure? You screened my DNA and you bought me like a must-have accessory. Then you trademarked my name. That's not normal.” My gestures were getting stabby. “It's not just the adoption. It's everything. Finding out about my mother is only part of it. I'd had my doubts ever since I realised the extent of the procedures, and then, when I realised you were going to force me to have surgery even though you knew I was dead set against it, that's when I wanted out big time. Why would you want to change me, anyway? How do you think that makes me feel? Beautiful?
Loved? No, I feel like trash. A disappointment. A loser. I don't understand why you can't you love me for who I am.”

“Of course we love you…”

“Yeah. Right,” I snapped. “Why would you want to change me if you loved me? Parents are meant to love their children.
Whatever
. The fact you don't breaks my heart.”

The room was spinning now. I put my head in my hands. I didn't want them to see how upset I was.

“Come on, Dash. We love you very much. We'd do anything for you.” Tamara's tone was conciliatory. She came over and, crouching down beside me, took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Dad is going to turn you into a superstar. On your birthday we'll launch you as the face of the brand. Next stop – global fame. Every girl's dream. After you've had the procedures your life will be super-fabulous, I promise. Every girl at the Star Academy would kill to be in your shoes.”

“You still don't get it, do you? I don't want to be the face of the brand! I don't want to be famous or a superstar. I just want you to love me for who I am. But you're not capable of doing that because you only care about the freaking brand.” My hand gestures were getting wild. “You're both screwy. Your world is twisted. Everything you value is wrong.” I clasped my hands to stop them windmilling. “That's why I want to get out of the celebrity bubble.”

“To live like a civilian?” Dad exchanged an amused look with Tamara. “How very noble.”

“Yeah, right. Make a joke of it. As usual.” I wanted to smash their smug heads together.

“We only want to do what's best for you,” Dad said.

“Tough! Because I'm going to do my own thing. Find my own way without you dictating everything. I'm sick of having my life run by a couple of control freaks.”

“All teenagers resent their parents at some point.” Tamara was in TV mode again, sympathetic and reasonable. “Think they know best. It's a phase you have to go through. But in ten years' time, you'll look back and thank us, I promise.”

“It's not a phase. It's what I believe. Hanging out with Latif has helped me see things more clearly. He's a million times better than you and your lies. He thinks you're fakes. That your world is shallow. False.” I spoke slowly and calmly, ramming each point home.

“Of course,” Dad said patiently. “That must be why lover boy accepted our bribes and agreed to help us. That's why he brought you here. You were too shallow for his tastes.” His words were like a blow to the head. “One phone call. Total time to change his mind: five minutes.”

“What?”

A terrifying emptiness engulfed me.

“You heard.”

“No way.” Words tumbled out in a panic. “Latif wouldn't do that. He's not a sell-out. I don't believe you. He's just not like that.” Despite my forthright words, doubt nagged at the back of my mind.

“Is that so?” He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“I know you're lying,” I whispered, clutching at my throat. I could barely breathe.

“Everyone has a price, Dash,” Dad said. “I thought you'd know that by now.”

“He wouldn't hand me in for money,” I whispered. “It's not his style.”

“Why are we here if he didn't tip us off? Think about it.” His tone was triumphant. “I said we figured it out, but in fact, we were told”

A long pause while I tried to work things out. But my brain had logged out.

Sensing victory, Tamara said, “Dasha, wake up. He betrayed you, darling.”

I collapsed down onto the sofa. My world was broken. Maxine's rejection had been hard enough to take, but Latif's as well? That was too much. To think I'd believed that Latif was the one person in my life who didn't have a price tag. A tear trickled down my cheek. He'd seemed so completely genuine. But now I realised that he was the biggest fake of them all.

“Is that really true?” I whispered. “Please, for once, I want the truth.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered why I'd bothered.

“People let you down, baby. That's life.”

What a cow
, I thought, eyes smarting. She might as well have gouged her three-inch heels into my eye sockets – it would have been less painful.

But something niggled. Something didn't ring true. For starters, how could Latif have tipped them off? I'd been with him twenty-four/seven, more or less.

“So what was his price?” I asked dubiously. “The million-pound reward?”

“He didn't do it for the money. Come on, Dash, surely you know him better than that. He had a far more
honourable demand
.” Dad paused for effect. “Latif's price? His parents' freedom.”

I took a sharp breath in, remembering Latif's anguished expression as he'd watched the police arresting his parents on the television. That was when everything fell into place. Latif must have called my parents from the motel bedroom when I was in the bathroom.

Dad wasn't bluffing.

I slumped further back into the sofa. My world tilted. I felt as if I were falling into a dark, dark place from which there would be no escape.

A place without hope.

“Where's Latif now?” I whispered, blinking back tears.

“At present jihad-boy is helping the police with their enquiries. He'll be facing charges of kidnap and terrorism, looking at years behind bars.” He flicked a speck of fluff from his suit with manicured fingernails. “But all is not lost for my favourite hood-rat. Luckily I have the ear of the prime minister, so I am in a position to broker a deal.”

“But I thought the
deal
was delivering
me
in return for his parents' freedom.”

“Well, that's the impression we gave Latif. But you know how things change. The truth of the matter is that his freedom is in your hands…” His smile glittered with malice.
“His future rests with you, Dash.”

I felt sick with guilt. I couldn't blame Latif for betraying me. After all, it was thanks to me that his parents had been arrested in the first place. And now he was in prison, too. I pictured him sitting alone in his cell in regulation prison duds.

“So you double-crossed him?”

“Of course. But you can make things right.”

“What do you want?” I spoke robotically. “A happy ending? The Golds reunited?”

“You've got the picture, princess.”

My gaze shifted to the crew. They were setting up angles for the shots. “So what's ‘
the story
'?” I made speech marks with my fingers as I sneered the words.

“Look around you. What do you see?” Tamara asked.

“A dump. Two power-crazy psychos.”

“Try harder, Dasha.” Dad swept his hand around the room, drawing my attention to the bottles and wires. “A bomb factory. Your prison. Latif's lair. We've filmed most of the story already. We've got shots of you holed-up in here, banging on the door and shouting for help. Then there's your rescue and the emotional reunion with your mother –
Tamara
. It's not going to win any awards, but with careful editing we can transmit it, if necessary.” He rubbed his palms together. “Now that's a cracking story, don't you think?”

“So why shoot another?”

“We want a slicker version. The real thing. Emotional truth.”

“But it'll be acted out.”

“Exactly.
Cinéma-vérite
.”

“So if I do it, you'll let him go?”

“You have my word.” He said it with about as much conviction as a shop assistant saying, “Have a nice day!”

“For what it's worth.” I picked up a length of wire from the sofa – part of Latif's supposed bomb paraphernalia – and twisted it around my fingers. “Happy endings, huh?” I whispered, staring into Dad's highly polished shoes; my face, reflected twice over, was long and gloomy, like a reluctant guest viewed through a spy-hole. “So you promise that Latif can go back to his old life?”

“Not exactly. He'll be tried. Found guilty. Sentenced to years in prison.”

“
What?
” I raised my eyes slowly and fixed him with a ferocious stare. “What sort of deal is that?”

“The public wants to see justice done. Good triumph over evil…”

“Yeah, whatever!” I snapped. “Get to the point.”

“After he's been convicted and the furore has died down, I will see that Latif receives a new identity. He will gain his freedom, on the condition that he lives abroad and never returns to England. Disappears.”

“You're too kind. That's no life.”

“It's the only deal I can broker with the prime minister. There's massive public pressure to lock him up and throw away the key. For ever. Amen.”

I twisted the cable around my thumb and watched the tip turn purple.

“It's not much of a get-out-of-jail card, is it?” I eyeballed them both.

“It's the only one on offer.”

I stared into middle distance. Empty. Defeated.

A mournful trilling from outside filled the silence. The bird sounded as sad as I felt. There it was again. A jolt of electricity shot through my body.

Meeting my father's gaze, I said, “Okay. I'll do it.” Although my face was expressionless, my brain was in overdrive.

My parents were bluffing.

The whistle. Latif was outside.

I had to escape.

But how?

“I knew you'd see sense.” Dad clicked his fingers at the director. “Get ready to roll the cameras.”

My mother clapped her hands and shouted for make-up. Instantly the room was filled with a gossip of hair and make-up artists dressed in white overalls, who rushed around the Golds, as if they were Formula One cars in a pit stop. All was chatter and noise. Except for me, who sat perfectly still – the eye of the fragrant storm that whirled around me.

“Can I have make-up too, please?” I asked, stalling for time.

“You're a hostage, darling,” Tamara said, catching my eye in the mirror. “You need to look rough. You're fine as you are.”

“Thanks a bunch!” I said, giving her the evils.

I leaned down and picked up one of the bottles from the floor. “So what's this for?” I unscrewed the lid and sniffed
the liquid; an acrid smell caught in my throat and made me cough. “Heavy duty!” I spluttered.

“Careful, Dasha!” Tamara warned. “It's sulphuric acid. You know how Dad loves to wind up the health and safety department.”

“Terrorist paraphernalia. Brilliant touch, don't you think?” Dad's eyes were shut as a make-up artist applied powder to his face.

“Genius!” I said sarcastically, picking up a second bottle. I unscrewed the cap. Then holding one in each hand like loaded pistols, I stood up and said calmly, “It's show time, folks.”

The Golds swivelled round to face me, their eyes wide and crazy. The make-up artists dropped their brushes, twittered and flitted behind the screen.

“Okay guys, I'm out of here. Get back unless you want your faces burned off.” My eyes flicked around the room, holding eye contact with each one of them for a second, so they knew there were no exceptions.

My mother was backing up behind the screen with her hands over his face, shouting, “No, my face is my life!”