Bang Bang You're Dead (8 page)

This is my father.

The polite, querying expression on Leo Jackson's face had been replaced by a sick, terrified look and the colour drained from his cheeks in a matter of seconds. He had realized who I was straight away. So he
did
know about Jamie and me.

My father and I stood there and stared silently at each other. Twice Leo Jackson cleared his throat, but was unable to speak. He managed it eventually.

'Are you Mia?'

'Yes.'

'Do you mind if we walk away from the house?' Leo, my father, moved to take my arm and then abruptly changed his mind. He didn't want to touch me, and I didn't want him to either. 'You see, my wife – she doesn't know.'

I followed him to the end of the road. I can't remember how I was feeling. All my emotions seemed to have been numbed, encased in a giant block of ice.

We stopped at the corner, out of sight of the house.

'How's your mother?' Leo asked nervously. 'Is she . . . is she any better now?'

Things began to fall into place, and I understood exactly why Leo had left. It was all too likely that Mum's illness had ground him down into misery too, and he'd escaped to find a different life. But what about Jamie and me? He had left us behind without a thought.

'Not really,' I replied. My voice was slightly unsteady, but I was quite calm. I marvelled at my composure, as if I was standing outside my own body, watching myself be polite to this man who just happened to be my father. 'She got better when we moved in with Grandpa because he persuaded her to see the doctor. But then he died . . .'

'So he
did
do something then.' Leo was talking to himself, not me. 'He found her in the end.'

'What do you mean?' I demanded, emotion spilling into my voice at last. I was suddenly hungry for details, eager to know everything my father knew, just to fill in the gaps.

'Your mum and I split up before we knew she was pregnant,' Leo mumbled. He looked immensely awkward and uncomfortable, as if my sudden blast of unguarded emotion had thrown him off-balance. 'She contacted me and said she was having twins. She even told me that she was going to call you Mia and Jamie.'

I was silent.

'The thing was, I'd got this fantastic new job lined up in the States . . .' Leo's voice faltered a little. 'I wanted to go, but I felt bad leaving her—'

'You could have taken us with you,' I broke in, feeling a deep and bitter rage stir within me.

My father shook his head. 'It was over, Mia.'

'Even when you knew that she was having Jamie and me?' I hated him fiercely at that moment. I had never realized that I had the capacity to hate someone so much before now. I suppose everyone has it,
if they are provoked far enough.

'I couldn't go back.' My father's fingers clenched and his knuckles whitened. The long, slender fingers and oval-shaped nails were Jamie's, and mine too. 'But I couldn't just
go
either. I'd never met Annabel's parents because they'd fallen out with her over something or other. They didn't even come to our wedding. I tracked them down and told them what had happened and gave them our address in London. But she'd already moved on.'

'Grandpa never gave up though,' I said softly. 'We moved several times, but he kept on looking and eventually he found us. Meanwhile you dashed off to the States and your fantastic new job.'

I sensed a rush of quick, blazing anger in my father that reminded me of Jamie, even though the expression on his face did not change.

'It wasn't easy, Mia,' he said tightly. 'It might seem that way to you, but it wasn't. These things are
always
complicated, believe me.'

We were both silent.

I had so much inside my head, so many questions, and yet so many things I wanted to go away and think about. I didn't know where to start. There were too many years of neglect, too much misery, too much to say and not enough ways of saying it. I'm not just a physical coward, I'm an emotional one too, and it seemed impossible to begin the long, long task of attempting to forge some kind of relationship.

Anyway, did I really want to?

Did Leo?

'So what made you come looking for me?' Leo asked eventually.

The way I saw it now, I had nothing to lose.

'We need help,' I muttered. This was true – we desperately needed practical help – but I was seriously wondering if the emotional fall-out, the bit I had swept out of sight until this moment, was too big a price to pay. 'Since Grandpa died, Mum's been worse than ever . . .'

It saddened but did not surprise me to see that Leo Jackson was panicking big time before I had even finished speaking.

'What do you mean by
help?
' He had to swallow before he could get the words out. 'If it's a question of money . . .'

I might have guessed he would offer cash. Someone who obviously had a lot of it would assume that a large cheque would be the quickest and easiest way to get rid of us.

'Money would be useful,' I said truthfully, 'but that's not why I'm here. Mum needs to go back to the doctor and be put on her medication again. And she ought to go back to the therapist, the one she was seeing when Grandpa was alive. Maybe if you could come and talk to her—?'

Leo Jackson looked extremely agitated. 'No, absolutely not.' He was so frightened, I would have felt sorry for him in any other circumstances. 'I . . . my wife knows nothing about you and Jamie. I can't tell her. I can't risk her finding out I've lied to her. She might leave me and take the kids . . .'

So I did have stepbrothers or stepsisters. Well, from the look of the house, it seemed that they were having the perfect life, with a mother and a father who loved them.

This time I could not control the cold, hard fury that filled me up and spilled over into my voice. Maybe I was more like Jamie and Leo than I realized.

'Thanks for nothing,' I said, holding the sobs back with a steely effort of will I did not know I possessed. 'Sorry I bothered you.'

I turned and ran off swiftly. Only then did I allow the tears to fall.

'Mia!' I heard my father shouting behind me. 'Stop! We can talk about this. I'll give you money. Just tell me how much . . .'

Blood money,
I thought scornfully. To salve his conscience. Why had I come? I didn't know. There was nothing for me here. Just someone else to let me down.

As I reached the next corner I was vaguely aware of someone sitting on the garden wall there. I couldn't see because my eyes were stinging and blurry, so I almost jumped out of my skin when a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

'Are you all right, Mia?'

It was Jamie.

'What – what are you doing here?' I gabbled, gulping, trying to pretend I wasn't crying and not fooling anyone.

Jamie shrugged. 'Looking out for you, like I've always done.' His eyes strayed past me, searching up the long road. 'He's gone, Mia.'

I looked back towards the corner where I had stood with my father. There was no one there now. Leo hadn't even bothered to come after me. I had never realized that I could feel so bitter, so very let down. But what did I expect? This wasn't the first time that Leo Jackson had abandoned me.

Jamie moved to brush my hair away from my wet face, but then he seemed to think twice about touching me, as our father had done. Abruptly he drew away and shoved both hands deep into his pockets.

'When will you learn, Mia?' he asked wearily. 'Stop looking for people to lean on. The only person you can rely on in this world is
yourself.
Leo Jackson left Mum and he left us, and you might have pricked his conscience now, but maybe he still doesn't give a damn. You can't expect anything from him.'

'He's terrified of his wife finding out.' I felt weary myself, mentally exhausted and longing to lean on Jamie for emotional support. But after that initial moment he had withdrawn from me once again and I didn't want to reach out to him and be rejected. 'He thinks she might leave him and take the kids.'

'That would serve him right.' Jamie's face was coldly unforgiving. 'Let him see what it's like to be deserted and left all alone. He deserves everything he gets.'

These words instantly filled me with dread. They were eerily similar to what Jamie had said after our visit to Dr Zeelander.

A week later, drawn by feelings I did not fully understand and also, if I am honest, because I was fearful of what might happen, I went back to Gladstone Road. I did not tell Jamie, though. Ever since my first visit I had secretly been hoping that Leo Jackson might get in touch. After all, he knew Grandpa's address. But he didn't.

That didn't stop me going back.

The Pines was no longer the beautiful, immaculate house it had once been. One side of it had been blackened by fire, the glass of the windows cracked and sooty. The front garden had been trampled and ravaged and the red and black Japanese bridge lay in eight pieces on the furrowed grass. The Mercedes and the Mini had gone.

I stopped at the gates and stared in disbelief at the scene of devastation before me. But I'm sure you're not surprised and I'll tell you something: I was not surprised either. I put my hands on the railings to steady myself as my head spun, and I
knew.

'Are you ill, my dear?'

I struggled to turn my head to see who was speaking. An elderly woman was on her knees, weeding the elegant flowerbeds of The Beeches next door. She was looking at me with great concern.

'I'm . . . fine.' My throat was parched, my tongue suddenly felt too big for my mouth and I couldn't get the words out coherently. 'Was – was anyone hurt? In the fire?'

'Oh no, they all got out safely, don't worry.' The woman stared compassionately at me. 'They're staying in a hotel while the insurance company cleans up and investigates the cause. Did you know them?'

'No,' I replied, flustered. 'Well, yes. A little. Do they – do they know how the fire started?'

'Not yet.' The woman was clearly unsure whether she should say any more. I didn't blame her. I must have looked like a mad person with my white face and my staring eyes and my hands clutching the gate as if I might fall and break into little pieces if I let go.

But I know that you believe, as I believed, that Jamie took out his anger and frustration violently on people who abused us and let us down. How far would he dare to go? For Jamie, there were no limits.

And now, as I crept away from The Pines that day, my first thoughts were for Mum, and for myself, as I wondered fearfully what dark and dangerous deed Jamie was planning next.

Monday 10 March, 9.50 a.m.

I am panicking like I have never panicked before. I'm lying here on the window ledge, unable to move, my front end inside the toilet cubicle and my back end hanging down into thin air. If any policemen come round the corner of the annexe, they'll see a pair of skinny legs frantically waving about. This would definitely be amusing if it wasn't so scary.

'Oh, God, I can't breathe,' I moan.

I'm beginning to hyperventilate. There is a small space to either side of me, but there is none above or below. The window ledge is digging uncomfortably into my stomach and the bottom of the window is sitting painfully right on top of me, scraping at my back every time I try to move.

Then I have the bright idea of trying to pull myself out of the gap again, back onto the flat roof. So I grip the window ledge and I struggle to push myself backwards but my legs just flap uselessly in the air behind me. The rest of me doesn't move, not one bit.

Now I am out of ideas and I am still stuck.

Stay calm, Mia,
I tell myself shakily.
Let yourself go loose.

It's not easy, but I steady my breathing and force my tensed muscles to relax.

Now breathe in and hold it and then push as hard as you can.

I take a long, deep breath and do not let it out. I contract my stomach muscles so much, it feels as if they are touching my backbone. Then I push, and this time I feel myself inch forward very slightly.

My belt and the thick waistband of my skirt are both adding extra bulk and are catching on the window ledge. Still holding my breath, I reach back through the tiny gap and under my stomach to undo my belt, then feed it through on one side of me, down onto the cistern. Next I fumble for the zip at the side of my skirt and manage to ease it down. Then I wriggle and jiggle about until my skirt slips down to my knees and hangs, trapped there.

Releasing my belt and my skirt gives me the extra millimetre of space I need. This time when I push forward, I move. Painfully, bit by bit, I wriggle myself through the window, lowering the top half of my body down from the cistern to the toilet seat.

I pull my legs in after me, but my skirt slips down over my knees towards my ankles. I lunge back and just manage to grab it before it rolls over my feet and falls back down onto the flat roof.

I have done it. But it was a close, close thing and my insides seem to have turned to water. Well, I'm in the right place for that, at least.

I step back into my skirt and lock the cubicle door so that I can't be surprised by someone creeping up on me while my knickers are around my ankles. Then I sit down on the toilet and empty my bladder. The stream of urine sounds so loud that I stop, terrified, halfway through, straining my ears to make sure that no one has heard me and is coming to find me.

Soon I shall be making my way to Class 9D's form room.

And what in God's name happens when I reach the classroom door?

Automatically, absent-mindedly, I am about to flush when I realize the idiocy of what I am doing and stop myself. I pick up the plastic bag and the tools clink gently.

This makes me stop and think.

As I move closer to 9D's classroom, I have to be sure I don't make a single noise. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Reluctantly I take the tools out of the bag and leave them on top of the cistern. The only one I keep is the hammer, the one that will be most useful if I need to defend myself. I consider carrying it in my hand as I go, but decide this might look too aggressive.

Besides, I won't need to defend myself against Jamie, will I?

So I slip the hammer back into the bag, and I tie the handles to my belt again.

I unlock the cubicle door. I am about to step out – I think I can allow myself not to waste time washing my hands, just this once – when I hear a noise in the corridor outside and my heart booms in my chest.

Footsteps.

Two people.

Are they coming for me?

The footsteps stop at the door of the toilets.

Who are they?

Friend or foe?

I have no way of knowing.

So right here, right now,
everyone
must be considered an enemy.

I make decisions with lightning speed.

I briefly wonder whether to lock myself in the cubicle again, but if they're simply coming to use the toilets, then it will look incredibly suspicious if one door is locked.

Very gently, with the tip of my index finger, I push the door so that it half closes. Then I whip the hammer out of the bag again and hold it ready.

Now I hear one set of footsteps.

Someone is coming in.

A nervous pulse thumping in my head, I pray that whoever it is does not decide to come into my cubicle. Even if this is one of the hostages, and therefore a potential ally, they could still be dangerous if they scream or cry out or in some other way alert the gunman to my presence. Jamie might not realize it's me before he shoots.

And if it's not Jamie, he won't care anyway.

My hand tightens on the handle of the hammer. I shall hit out first and ask questions later.

My cubicle is the third of five. I hear the person stop and glance into the first cubicle. Then he or she moves on to the second.

Bile rises in my throat and I have to swallow silently. I lift the hammer and hold it ready.

Then the footsteps go into the second cubicle and the door closes and whoever is in there bolts it. I dare not even breathe a sigh of relief, but I take advantage of the noise to climb quietly onto the toilet seat so that no one can see my feet in the gaps under the door and the cubicle divider.

I wait, crouched there on the seat like a hunter waiting to pounce. But am I really the hunter or am I the prey? I cannot be certain.

There is silence from the cubicle next door. Whoever is in there is much better at peeing silently than I am. But suddenly I hear the soft
thud
of something hitting the floor, and although the noise isn't loud at all, I almost fall off the toilet seat like a dead budgie off a perch.

I just manage to stop myself from toppling over. Then I realize, with a stab of panic, that the unknown person next door has dropped something. Even as I realize this, a large roll of toilet paper appears under the dividing wall. It rolls smoothly towards me, leaving a trail of unravelled paper behind it, and stops at the bottom of the toilet I'm standing on.

I sweat as I strain to keep still, my eyes fixed on the gap under the wall. I see a hand appear, pulling at the toilet roll, trying to reel it back in, and I have to clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip to stop myself from crying out.

For God's sake, leave the bloody loo roll where it is!

The hand continues to pull and simply succeeds in unravelling yet more of the toilet paper. It's a girl's hand, and that is all I can see. Is she a member of Class 9D? Who is she? I long to know, but I can't take that risk.

Unfortunately I might find out anyway in a moment if this idiot decides that, in the middle of an armed siege, it's vital that she steps into the next-door cubicle to retrieve the toilet roll she's just dropped.

I grip the handle of the hammer with cold yet clammy fingers.

The second person, the one who was waiting outside, is now coming in. I hear footsteps. Instantly the girl next door drops the toilet roll again. I hear her rush out of the cubicle, whispering breathless apologies, and then the murmur of their voices as they leave together.

Quickly I climb down from my perch and put my eye to the narrow gap at the side of my half-closed cubicle door, but I can see nothing. The footsteps die away down the corridor, in the direction of 9D's classroom.

That's where I am heading too.

I leave the cubicle and go over to the doorway that leads out into the corridor. I stand there for a moment, assessing my situation. All the blinds on both sides of the annexe are closed, so I am safe and protected from marksmen outside, at least for the moment.

I understand the need for silence though; why those two people were whispering. There could be someone crouched outside on the flat roof right now, their weapon pointed straight at any one of the windows around me, waiting for the slightest noise.

Quiet as a mouse, light as a cat, silent and watchful as a bird of prey, I slip along the corridor towards Class 9D's form room.