Noughts and Crosses (28 page)

‘Oh, Persephone. Grow up.’ The rebuke didn’t come from my sister. Mother shook her head at me before she stood up and left the room.

‘You haven’t a clue about the real world, have you?’ Minnie said, her voice dripping with contempt.

‘Congratulations! You sound just like Mother,’ I took malicious delight in telling her.

Minnie said something incredibly unladylike and flounced out of the room. I smirked at her disappearing back until the door was shut. Then my smile faded. I stared at the closed door, feeling totally alone. What was it about me that made everyone do that? Walk out. Leave. Abandon me. After dismissing me. Why did what I said and did invariably drive everyone away.

Mother. Minnie. Even Callum.

But I was right about this one. Callum’s dad wasn’t the Dundale bomber.

Mother and Minnie were wrong. And I was going to prove it. I just had to figure out how.

After only about five minutes of waiting, Mum and I were shown in to Mr Stanhope’s plush office. His secretary had told Mum that it was ‘urgent’ and ‘about the case’ but that was all she said. Mum and I both had the same question – ‘What case?’ The last time we’d seen Mr Stanhope, which was three days ago now, he’d told us quite categorically that he wasn’t going to take the case.

‘Mrs McGregor, Callum, please take a seat.’ Mr Stanhope was all smiles from the moment we set foot inside his hallowed walls. One look at his face and my heart began to thump with painfully suppressed hope.

‘You have some news?’ Mum asked eagerly. ‘Are they going to let Ryan go?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Mr Stanhope’s smile faded slightly, his voice full of regret. ‘Your husband still insists that he’s guilty.’

And just like that the hope inside was all but snuffed out. Again. Why had he asked us here then?

‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you at your home address but there’s been no reply,’ Mr Stanhope told us.

‘We’re not at our house any more,’ Mum glanced at me. ‘We’re staying with my sister, Charlotte, on the other side of Meadowview.’

‘You’ve been getting hate letters?’ Mr Stanhope asked sharply.

‘Amongst other things,’ I scoffed. Like bricks through the window and death threats.

‘Well, I’m happy to tell you that I will now be able to take on your husband’s case,’ Mr Stanhope told Mum. ‘And the really good news is, I’ve persuaded Kelani Adams QC to take the case – not that she took much persuading.’

‘Kelani Adams!’ Mum was astounded. And she wasn’t the only one. Kelani Adams was not just a nationally renowned but a world-renowned barrister. A Cross barrister. Why would any Cross take on Dad’s case? ‘I can’t afford a lawyer like Kelani Adams.’ She shook her head.

‘Don’t worry about that. That’s all taken care of.’

‘What does that mean?’ I asked, before Mum could.

‘It means, it’s all taken care of,’ Mr Stanhope frowned at me.

Mum and I exchanged a long look.

‘I’d appreciate it if you answered my son’s question properly,’ Mum said.

‘An anonymous benefactor has stepped forward with a very generous sum of money, and a promise of however much more is necessary to ensure that your husband gets the fairest trial possible.’ Mr McGregor picked his way carefully through the words.

‘We don’t take charity, Mr Stanhope,’ Mum said, tightlipped.

‘It’s not charity,’ Mr Stanhope shot back. ‘I was told to inform you of that in the strongest possible terms.’

‘By who?’ Mum asked.

‘As I said, I received a banker’s cheque and a typewritten, unsigned note with certain instructions,’ said Mr Stanhope.

‘May I see the note?’

‘I’m afraid not. One of the conditions on it was that you shouldn’t be allowed to see it.’

‘I see.’

I’m glad she did, ’cause I sure as hell didn’t.

‘Mrs McGregor, this is your husband’s one and only chance to emerge from this case a free man. I would strongly advise you to take it.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ Mum said slowly. ‘The only reason you’re still involved in this case is because someone has paid you to stay involved – is that right?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that . . .’

‘And the only reason Kelani Adams is involved is because she’s being paid a great deal of money – is that right?’

‘No,’ Mr Stanhope said at once. ‘The money allowed me to approach the best and she’s it. The best does not come cheaply. Once she’d read your husband’s file, she was more than prepared to take the case.’

‘And I’m meant to be grateful for that, am I?’

‘If gratitude is too much to ask, then your acceptance of the situation is all that will be required,’ said Mr Stanhope.

Mum turned to me. ‘Callum?’

It was hard to be asked for my opinion. Part of me wanted to leave it all down to Mum. Lynette was gone, Jude had disappeared, Dad was in prison and Mum and I
were left floundering on our own. I wanted Mum to turn to me and tell me that everything would be OK again. I wanted her to make all the decisions, even the wrong ones. Especially the wrong ones.

‘Mum, I think we should do whatever it takes to get Dad out of prison,’ I said at last.

‘OK then,’ Mum said to the solicitor. ‘I’ll go ahead with whatever you and Ms Adams suggest. But first of all I’d like to speak to my husband as soon as possible.’ She looked from me to Mr Stanhope. ‘Alone.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ came the solicitor’s reply.

And all I could do was hope that Mum and I weren’t making a big, big mistake. Not just for our sakes – but for Dad’s as well.

But for me the most sickeningly humbling thing of all was I knew who had sent the money to Mr Stanhope.

Sephy.

I had no idea how she’d done it. And I had even less idea how I was ever going to thank her, never mind repay her. But I would. I sat in Mr Stanhope’s office, on his expensive brown leather chair and swore an oath before God that I would pay her back. If it took me every penny I earned for the rest of my life, I would repay her.

I came home from school and got the shock of my life. Dad’s suitcases were in our hallway.

‘Dad?
DAD
?’

‘I’m in here, Princess.’

I raced into the family room, following Dad’s voice like I was tied to it.

I leapt into his arms.

‘Dad! I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’ Dad swung me around – at least he tried to. ‘Good grief! What have you been eating?’ he exclaimed, dropping me. ‘You weigh a ton!’

‘Thanks!’ I giggled with pure joy. Dad was home. Dad was
back
. ‘Are you staying for good?’

‘For a while at least,’ Dad nodded.

But not in my direction. For the first time I saw that we weren’t alone.

Mother was sitting in her rocking-chair, moving slowly backwards and forwards as she watched us.

‘What . . . what’s going on?’ I asked.

‘Ask your father. He has all the answers,’ Mother replied.

I clicked then. Clicked on and died inside. Dad wasn’t back for Mother. He wasn’t back for any of us. Ryan
McGregor and politics were the ones who’d brought him home – nothing else.

‘You’re only here until after the trial, aren’t you?’ I asked Dad.

‘The trial of the century’ was what the newspapers and the telly were calling it. They should call it the miracle trial of the millennium if it managed to bring Dad back home.

‘It’s all up in the air,’ Dad smiled, stroking my cheek. ‘Nothing’s decided.’

I took one look at Mother and I knew that was a lie. At least, she believed it was a lie, which was probably the same thing.

‘Ah, Callum. Come in.’

I was seeing a lot of plush offices this week. First Mr Stanhope, now Mr Costa, our headmaster. It was only the second time I’d been in Mr Costa’s office. Crosses seemed to be big on mahogany! And his carpet was like walking on spring grass, soft and bouncy and lush. Mr Costa sat down behind his mahogany desk and leaned back, then leaned forward, his elbows on his table as he tried to figure out which would be the most favourable position. His chair was more like a throne than otherwise, making the headmaster seem even more imposing. The sunshine
shone through his crystal-clear windows behind him, making him even darker, like he was a powerful silhouette.

‘Sit down please.’

I sat down in one of his squeaky leather chairs.

‘Callum, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m going to get right to the point.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Until the matter regarding your father is satisfactorily resolved . . .’

The alarm bells now pealing in my head were deafening.

‘The governors and I have decided that it would serve everyone’s best interests if you were suspended for a while.’

So that was that. I was out.

‘I’m guilty until my dad’s proven innocent? Is that the way it works?’

‘Callum, I do hope you’re going to be reasonable about this.’

‘Should I empty my locker now or will the end of the day be soon enough?’

‘That’s entirely up to you.’ Mr Costa folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

‘You must be so thrilled,’ I told him bitterly. ‘Three down, only one more to go.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning Colin has gone and you couldn’t wait to get rid of Shania and now it’s my turn.’

‘Shania was expelled for gross misconduct,’ Mr Costa said haughtily.

‘Shania only slapped Gardner Wilson because he hit her
first,’ I shouted at him. ‘And everyone knows that, including you. How come Shania gets expelled and Gardner gets away with a telling off? Why isn’t it gross misconduct when a Cross does it?’

It was the same story up and down the country. In the few schools into which us noughts had been allowed, we were dropping like flies. Expelled, or what the authorities euphemistically called ‘excluded’, for those things which would get Crosses detention or a severe telling off. The odd Cross or two may even have got suspended once in a while. But they certainly weren’t being expelled with anything like the frequency we were.

‘I have no intention of justifying school policy to you.’ Mr Costa stood up. Our meeting was at an end. ‘We’ll be happy to review your situation once the dust from all this clears.’

But the dust was never going to clear, was it? And we both knew that.

‘Good luck to you, Callum.’ Mr Costa held out his hand.

‘Yeah, right!’ I looked at his hand with disdain.

Good luck to me, as long as it was somewhere else. The further away the better. As far as Mr Costa was concerned, I had already gone. I stood up and marched out of the room. I wanted to slam the door shut behind me, bring it off its hinges, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying, ‘See! I was right about him. Behaved just as I thought he would.’

And then I thought better of it. I turned back and slammed the door as hard as I could. I only just got my fingers out of the way in time but it was worth it. It was
a futile gesture, but it made me feel good.

I strode down the corridor. Mr Costa came thundering out of his room.

‘Callum, come here.’

I carried on walking.

‘I said, come back here,’ Mr Costa called after me, furiously.