Knife Edge (6 page)

I had trouble sleeping last night. Three o'clock in the morning came and went and I was still wide awake. And it was so cold and still in my room. It's cold and still in my world. Where did my childhood go? What happened to all the things I wanted to do and wanted to be? I can't even remember. The way I live now is the only life I know.

But last night was one of the bad ones.

Some nights I sleep just as soon as my head touches the pillow. Some nights, sleep and me are strangers. Those are the nights when I can't get my brother out of my head. Maybe Cara had something to do with it. Me and a dagger – who would've thought it? But she's just a means to an end. And don't we all do what we have to, to survive? Callum, I don't understand why I'm still here and yet you couldn't make it. Maybe I never will. You were always so much brighter and bolder than I was. But thinking of you through the night brought me no joy, no comfort. My body tensed. My fists clenched. My eyes burned into the darkness around me. Not just my body but my whole soul was swallowed by rage. Rage enough to consume the whole world. Just thinking of you, Callum, made all the hatred inside me swell and explode like napalm fireworks. A feeling so intense that I scared even myself. So I lay on my bed and stared into the darkness and plotted and schemed until I fell asleep, exhausted.

My room was cold.

But my heart was colder.

I phoned my girlfriend, Gina, in the evening. She didn't sound too pleased to hear from me. Or maybe what I mean is, she didn't sound happy to hear from me. Not impatient or indifferent, but not happy either. I don't know what I was expecting. Our on-again, off-again relationship had been off for quite some time now. But I was alone and thought she'd be as good as anyone to talk to.

'Jude, I'm a bit busy at the moment,' she said, less than two minutes into the conversation.

In the background I could hear music softly playing. A love song. I had no doubt it was from the Gibson Dell CD she always played when we were together.

'I haven't seen you in a long time, Gina. I thought we could have a chat,' I said.

'I really haven't got time at the moment,' Gina said again, her tone more clipped, her voice getting higher. A definite sign of stress. I'd phoned her at home. She obviously wasn't alone.

'Who's there with you?' I asked silkily.

'No one,' Gina replied quickly. Too quickly.

So I'd been right.

'Who's there with you?' I repeated.

'Jude, I don't own you and you certainly don't own me. I haven't seen or heard from you in months. I'm not some kind of machine that only comes to life when you can be bothered to get off your backside and call me.' Gina's words were spilling out now, tripping over each other in their haste to be heard. And her tone was getting more shrill. She was with someone and she was feeling guilty about it.

'I thought we were together – an item,' I told her. 'My mistake.'

'Don't you dare!' she shouted at me. 'Don't you dare blame me. You don't talk to me for weeks at a time and when you are with me, you make me feel like you could quite happily be somewhere else.'

Gina's words didn't shock me and, truth to tell, I was a bit surprised to find that I wasn't the least bit upset that she was seeing someone else. But her total over-reaction to what I'd said told me that there was more to this than met the eye. And then it clicked. Took me a couple of seconds but it was late and I was tired.

'Let me speak to Morgan,' I told her.

There was a deathly hush which spoke more than volumes.

'Gina, put Morgan on the phone,' I ordered. I sensed that the slightest hesitation on my part would result in her shrieking her denial at me. A dull ache was beginning to form behind my eyes. I closed my eyes and groaned inwardly. I had the beginnings of a killer migraine.

'Hello, Jude.'

Even though I was expecting his voice, it still made me start. Suspecting something, no matter how strongly, is never the same as having your suspicions confirmed.

'Hello, old friend,' I said deliberately.

'You weren't interested, I was,' said Morgan at once.

There was no apology, no remorse in his voice. Just a belligerent challenge.

I was too tired and my head was throbbing too much to care. 'You can have her, Morgan – but believe me, you can do better.'

'Is that all you wanted to say to me?' asked Morgan, icily.

'No, but I can't talk to you now. We'll talk tomorrow. Call me from a phone box on my mobile.' And I slammed the phone down.

Alone again.

Naturally.

I flung myself down on my bed, groaning as my headache kicked in with a vengeance.

Darling Callie,

You did it! You made it! We've both survived the last few days. I never want to go through that again. But you're out of
SCBU
and back on the ward with me now and you're breathing fine and your weight has stopped dropping. They won't let me out of here until you weigh at least ten per cent more than your birth weight though, just to be on the safe side. I don't mind that. To be honest, I'm not in a rush to get back to my flat. I didn't go home when Callum died. I never will either. That's my old life. You are my new, the future. But Callum is my ever-present. It's like where he's concerned, time is just standing still. And I can't believe I'll ever feel any different.

I tell myself to grieve and let it go, but with each breath I just seem to hold onto him tighter. I don't want to let him go. He was more me than I am. I know that doesn't make sense, but that's how I feel.

But you're safe now and getting better and I'll focus on that.

I stood at the side of my window, watching the world pass by. The sky was a blanket of grey, tarmac-coloured clouds with no hint of the blue beyond them. The air hung heavy and still, even managing to muffle the sound of the traffic outside my window.

Monday morning.

A man and a woman walked by below me, hand in hand. The man stopped abruptly before turning to his partner, a smile on his face. He said a few words to her. I couldn't see her face as her back was towards me, but I could see his. And he only had eyes for the woman before him. He smiled at her then, cupping her face with his hands, he kissed her. I watched, the seconds ticking by, and still neither of them came up for air. I wanted to open the window and shout out, but I didn't. I wanted to walk away from the window and leave them to it – but I couldn't. I watched as they pressed their bodies closer together. I watched as the man finally, reluctantly, let go of his woman, only to stroke her face before taking her hand. And then they started walking again. I stared at the couple, willing them, daring them to look up at my window. But they didn't. The woman was a skank. She had to be to go with a Cross man like that. She wasn't even trying to hide the fact that they were together. But I knew what she was. The only nought women who went with daggers were skanks.

Unbidden, the image of Sephy's face came into my head. Sephy and my brother, Callum. What were they like when they were together? Well, that was easy. Callum was . . . misguided – to say the least. And as for her? She was his nemesis, dressed up in a mantle of wealth and false friendship. I watched as the nought woman and the dagger man turned the corner, playing at being lovers in an unloving world.

Time to do a little playing of my own.

THE DAILY SHOUTER Wednesday 26th May Page 5

Yesterday, it was announced that Wasp Sting's invitation to sing at the Party in the Park has been withdrawn. A spokeswoman for the Heritage Charitable Trust, who stage the concert each year, told the
Daily Shouter,
'Since announcing that Wasp Sting were due to appear, we've been inundated with complaints. Although they are a very popular nought rock band, many have protested at the type of lyrics this group expound. Their song,
Behind the Flag,
has been called a blatant incitement to violence against the police. Others have called them a group full of hate. We have therefore taken the difficult decision not to include them in this year's programme of events.'

When Aidan Doyle of Wasp Sting was told of the news, he is reported to have said, The *!£%*@# Heritage Charitable Trust can kiss my a***. If they're afraid of us, then we'll play to those who *!£%*@# aren't.' One woman who regularly attends the Party in the Park told us, 'No way would I ever take my family to a concert where Wasp Sting are playing. They are a foul-mouthed so-called rock group who shout obscenities and stir up trouble. Not the sort of thing I want my children listening to, thank you very much.'

Darling Callie,

Guess who visited me today? My sister Minerva. I was reading a newspaper and didn't even realize she'd arrived until her shadow fell across my bed. I haven't had any visitors since you were born, you see. Wasn't expecting any either. Don't need any. But here was my sister, standing over me, her face as solemn as a church engraving.

'Hello, Sephy'

'Hello, Minerva.' I put down my paper.

Several seconds passed as we regarded each other.

'How's your arm?' I asked at last.

I guess I should let you know that your Aunt Minerva was shot in the arm when I was six months pregnant with you. Should I tell you who did it? I guess by the time I'm ready to give you this journal and you're old enough to understand what's in it, you'll be old enough to know – so here goes. Your Uncle Jude shot her. Jude is your dad's brother – and he hates my entire family, but especially me. Waiting in the hospital after my sister had been shot was awful. I didn't know whether she was going to lose the use of her arm, or lose her arm altogether – or her life. It's one of those memories you squash down and try and sit on to hide it away like one of those squishy, foamy cushions. But it just explodes and bounces you off it and refuses to stay hidden. When Minerva woke up, I begged her not to report Jude to the police. I asked her to say that an unknown, hooded intruder had burst his way into my flat and when I refused to give him any money, had shot Minerva before running away. Minerva didn't want to. She wanted Jude to pay for what he did. So did I.

But I knew it wouldn't happen that way.

I was being selfish – I admit it. But I was desperate not to drag up the whole business of the McGregors and the Hadleys again. I didn't want the press camped on my doorstep and hounding me everywhere I went for an interview. I didn't want photographers' flashbulbs stinging my eyes at all hours. I didn't want to reopen old wounds for Jude's mum or for myself. But mainly for myself. I was almost hysterically selfish. I begged and pleaded with Minerva until I wore her down and she promised me she'd do as I asked. But after that, our relationship shifted again – irrevocably, I think.

Stay away from Jude, Callie. He'll stop at nothing and use anyone to get what he wants. And what he wants more than anything else is my heart on a platter and my head on a pike. I'm not the least bit scared of him. If it were just me and him then I'd stand before him and tell him to Bring It On. Do his worst. But that's not the way it'll happen. Whatever else Jude may be, he's not a fool. He wants me to suffer. And he knows the only way to do that is through you.

'My arm's fine now.' Minerva flexed her fingers to show me. 'It aches occasionally when it rains but at least it still works.'

'Minerva, I'm sorry about . . . what happened to you,' I said, for probably the thousandth time.

'Could you please stop apologizing?' Minerva said wearily. 'And stop calling me Minerva.'

'What am I supposed to call you then? You hate it when I call you Minnie.'

'Minnie is fine.'

'You've spent years telling me the exact opposite,' I reminded her.

'Yeah, but Minnie is what my sister calls me,' said Minerva pointedly.

I knew what she was saying, but she wasn't Minnie any more and probably never would be again. Plus it was hard to get past the fact that because of me, my own sister had been shot.

'Can I sit down?' she asked at last.

I waved at the visitor's chair next to my bed. Its upholstery had faded away to a sorrowful, stained, pale blue and the seat of the chair was lumpy and uneven. Minerva sat down, her bum sinking into it like a toddler sitting on an empty potty. Hoisting herself up, she sat at the edge of the chair where it was firmer.

I waited for the snide comment or the whining complaint, but none came. Minerva looked around the ward. I did the same. A quick glance told me we had the attention of most of the people – visitors and patients alike. I suppose they were wondering why I hadn't had you in a private hospital, Callie, but the truth is I wanted to have you at the Mercy Community Hospital. It was important to me. I think Callum would've wanted it that way. But I was very aware that I was only one of two Cross patients in the maternity unit and I was certainly the most. . . shall we say – known. Known is the polite way to put it. Notorious is closer to the mark. The other Cross woman, who had only come in yesterday as an emergency, lay in the bed directly opposite mine. She was watching us too. She was only here – as she'd been at great pains to tell me – because her baby had been in the breech position when she'd gone into labour and Mercy was her nearest hospital. Now that her baby had been delivered, she's getting transferred to County General Hospital later on this evening or first thing tomorrow morning at the latest. I turned to my sister.

'How did you find me?' I couldn't help asking. Then I realized. 'The ad in the paper.'

Minerva nodded. 'We saw it.
All
of us.'

'It wasn't an invitation for any of you to come and visit me,' I told her. 'I pre-paid for the ad and told them to run it when I thought we were about to leave this place, but Callie got ill. If I'd known we'd be in hospital this long, I would've delayed the announcement until we were out of here.'

'Serves you right then,' said Minerva evenly.

My lips fused together at that. It didn't take her long to get mean – but then again, I'd started it.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be bitchy and I didn't come here to start a fight,' sighed Minerva. 'Do you have everything you need? Can I get you anything?'

'Yes to the first question, no to the second,' I said.

I waited.

'So can I have a look at my niece then?'

'She's down there.' I pointed to the transparent, plastic cot at the bottom of the bed.

Minerva stood up and went to have a look at you. She gazed down at you without saying a word. She neither moved nor spoke. Then at last she slowly stroked your cheek with one finger.

'Are you really going to call her Callie?'

'Callie Rose,' I told her. 'Like it said in the newspaper ad.'

'Hello, baby,' said Minerva.

'She has a name. Why're you here, Minerva?'

'I wanted to see you.'

I let that one slide.

'How long have you been in this place then?' asked my sister.

'Just under two weeks.'

'Why so long?'

'Callie had respiratory problems. She only came up from the special care baby unit yesterday.'

'Oh, I see. Is she all right now?'

Holding myself on a tight rein, I answered, 'Yes, though she's still a bit underweight so they're going to keep her in until she starts to put more weight on.'

Minerva regarded me. 'You look tired, Sephy.'

'I
am
tired,' I replied. 'I've just had a baby.'

Minerva nodded – like she'd know anything about it. 'So who's feeding her?'

I frowned. 'I am.'

'Aren't you afraid of your boobs drooping?'

I gave her a look which apparently spoke volumes because she smiled and said, 'You don't really give a damn, do you?'

'Minerva, if you can work "rat's arse" into that sentence, you'll just about have it,' I added.

'Fair enough,' Minerva laughed, but her smile quickly faded. 'Not Minnie any more, eh?'

'I think we've both grown out of that,' I said at last.

Minerva regarded me but, as I stared right back at her, she dropped her gaze. The days when she could intimidate me with just one look were long gone.

'Why're you here?' I asked again. 'I mean, why now?'

'I wanted to see you,' Minerva told me, her tone defensive.

'You've already said that. But you didn't want to see me after you'd been shot, so why now?'

'I was angry and blamed you for what happened to me – especially after you persuaded me to let Jude off the hook,' Minerva explained. 'And I'm really sorry about that. It was unfair.'

I shrugged. 'I understood.'

'Once I'd come out of the hospital, I did want to see you,' Minerva said. 'You're the one who disappeared. You moved out of your flat and no one knew where you were. It was like you'd vanished in a puff of smoke.'

'I was around.'

'Where?'

I shrugged, unwilling to say more. What was there to say? Well, actually, Minerva, if you think my old flat was bad, wait until you see this one. I'm now living in a poky, icy box of a bedsit, with not even a separate bedroom. Just a two-ring, countertop cooker, a sofa bed and a tiny, freezer-like bathroom.

And it's not funny how quickly money disappears when you have to pay bills and rent and buy essentials, like food and a baby carry-cot and nappies and a buggy and all the other stuff that babies need. I had about a month's money left and then I was going to be stony broke.

'Why didn't you come home after . . . after what happened with Jude?' Minerva asked.

'It isn't my home any more,' I told her.

'Yes, it is. We all want you to come back.'

'Minerva, after you were shot, you hardly spoke to me, so don't pretend I would've been welcomed home by you with open arms.'

'I told you, I was angry, but I soon got over it.'

I didn't.

'Mother and I miss you,' Minerva continued.

There wasn't much I could say to that, so I kept silent.

'I mean that,' Minerva said earnestly.

'How is Mother?' I asked.

'Fine. At least, she pretends to be.'

'Is she still drinking?'

'No,' Minerva surprised me by saying. 'Now that Dad has packed up and gone for good, I was more than worried that she might start again. But I doubt if she's even missing him. She's too busy regretting all the things that went wrong between the two of you.'

'I doubt it.'

'She is.'

'Have you left home yet?' I asked.

'No. I don't want to leave Mother all alone but she wouldn't be too cut up if I did. You were always her favourite,' said Minerva evenly.

I narrowed my eyes. 'What're you talking about? My entire life, all Mother ever did was wish I could be more like you.'

'Just talk,' Minerva dismissed. 'You answered back. You never did as you were told. Mother loved that. I'm the boring, obedient one. You're the free spirit.'

'You're talking crap,' I snapped. I had enough journeys of my own to make, without Minerva trying to take me on a guilt trip.

'Sephy, I'd been asking Mother if I could go to Chivers boarding school since I was at primary school. I never made it past Heathcroft High.'

'And it didn't occur to you that Mother was just happy to be rid of me?'

'Didn't it occur to
you
that Mother just can't say no to you? You wore her down after a few weeks. I couldn't do it even after five years.'

I wasn't about to jump onto the 'who had it the toughest' bandwagon. I lowered my gaze. Minerva sighed again, then smiled. 'What is it about you and me that means we always end up arguing?'

'Just lucky, I guess!'

Minerva started to laugh but it didn't last long. I so wanted her to be Minnie again, I really did. My sister glanced down at her watch.

'I have to go now,' she said. 'Sephy, is it . . . is it OK for Mother to visit?'

Ah! Now we had it.

'And no, before you ask – I'm not here just to ask if Mother can come and see you,' Minerva leapt in. 'I wanted to see you and meet my niece.'

'Fair enough,' I shrugged.

'So is it OK?'

I shrugged again. 'If she wants to visit, I can't stop her.'

'She won't come if it's going to upset you.'

'Tell her not to say a word against Callum and then I won't get upset,' I told my sister.

'Fair enough.' Minerva glanced down at her watch again.

'Where're you rushing off to then?' I asked.

'Job interview,' said Minerva.

'Where?'

'The
Daily Shouter.
'

'To do what?'

'Journalism,' said Minerva. 'I'm going to be a star reporter.'

'Well, excuse me all over the place!' There was no denying that I was impressed.

'I haven't got the job yet,' Minerva pointed out. 'But if I don't make it on to the
Daily Shouter,
I'll get on another national newspaper. It's just a matter of time. I'm very ambitious.'

'I didn't know you were interested in that kind of thing.'

'I was editor of the Heathcroft newsletter for two years – remember?'

'No,' I frowned. 'I don't actually.'

'That's because all you had eyes for back then was Callum. If he wasn't involved, you weren't interested.'

Which stung. But was nothing less than the truth.

'So you really want to be a journalist?' I asked.

'Yeah, I've been thinking about it more and more recently,' said Minerva.

'Print the truth or be damned, eh?'

'It's "print the truth
and
be damned",' Minerva corrected.

'But the truth will get a look in?'

'Another typical Sephy statement,' said Minerva.

'Sorry. That was snide,' I replied.

'Yes, it was.' Minerva smiled. 'But I'm a bitch to you and you're snide to me and that's the way we'll always be.'

I didn't deny it, but now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem so relentlessly awful any more. It was just the way we were with each other. But I did care about her. And in spite of everything, I think she cared about me.