Shattered (28 page)

The door opens.

‘Mum!’ I jump up and run to her. Her arms wrap around me quickly, a tight hug.

She looks over my shoulder at Aiden. ‘Who’s this?’

He stands up. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Aiden.’

She turns to me. Shakes her head. ‘Why are you back? It’s too dangerous.’

‘I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t leave,’ Aiden says. They exchange a look.

‘Stubborn, isn’t she?’ Mum says. ‘Now: why am I here?’

‘We need your help.’

Mum sits down and Aiden explains what we – MIA – are planning to do.

‘So this really will broadcast across the whole country? And in other countries?’

Her eyes turn in, thinking, then meet mine with a spark of excitement. ‘That could work. Though I’m not sure what you think I can do.’

‘I’m really sorry to show you this,’ I say.

‘What?’

I get the camera out. ‘Do you know who Astrid and Stella Connor are?’

She frowns. ‘Astrid Connor went to school with my mother; they were friends. Stella is her daughter. We used to be in touch when we were kids, not lately though. She stopped answering my calls, years ago.’ She shrugs. ‘What do they have to do with anything?’

‘They’re my family. From before I was Slated. I was adopted by Stella; she raised me from when I was a baby, until I was ten. It was her I went off to see.’

‘What?’ Mum’s eyes are round with surprise. She shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe it. But I can’t see what this has to do with me.’

Aiden and I exchange a glance. I’d wanted to warn her what was to come, but he thought it was best for her to see and hear it for herself.

‘Okay. Here’s a recording Stella made. She hid it on my camera, and I only just found it recently. I’m sorry.’

I project it on the wall, hit play. Her face goes pale as she watches and listens, and she grips my hand tight.

After it ends, Mum looks away a moment. Then she meets my eyes. ‘If only I’d known what my parents were planning to do. All these years, I could never understand why my father set up the Lorder government, with all it has led to. I always thought he didn’t know what was really going on, but he did, and he was planning to put a stop to it. Thank you for telling me.’

‘You see,’ Aiden says, ‘this is why we need you. To introduce Stella’s recording in our broadcast: it’ll give it credence. Make people listen.’

‘Also we’ve got a witness who saw your son Robert alive after the bus bombing,’ Aiden says. ‘You could talk about him being missing, also.’

Mum nods. ‘I knew from another source that Robert survived the bombing, but disappeared afterwards. I always assumed he was Slated. If my parents could have said and done what they wanted, would our world be a different place? Would I still have my son. I want to do it for them, to say what they were stopped from saying. Yet this isn’t just about me; things could go wrong. I have Amy’s safety to consider. I need time to think about this.’

‘I’m sorry. That is one thing we haven’t got a lot of,’ Aiden says.

‘When would we need to do this?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. There are technical reasons why the broadcast must happen tomorrow night. Jazz can bring you, if you decide to help us.’

They talk some more about details, but I just hold her hand tight. Imagine the shock: all this time being told one version of why your parents died, and then finding out it was all lies.

‘I should go.’ She hugs me tight. ‘Take care of her,’ she orders Aiden, and then is gone.

‘What do you think she’ll do?’ Aiden asks.

This is so reminiscent of another time, another decision. When she had to decide whether or not to tell the whole country on that live recording what she thought really happened to her son Robert. Then, she didn’t do it; she wouldn’t do anything to put Amy or me in danger. Will this time be any different?

‘I don’t know.’ And part of me hopes she will be there tomorrow; part of me hopes she stays away.

That evening, Aiden is working in the computer room, and Mac has gone off with Jazz to set up for tomorrow, and to copy the footage and photos from my camera and start putting it all together. DJ wants me to do an introduction, to explain how things I witnessed fit together, and I’m trying to think what I can say so I won’t stare at the camera like an idiot.

What can I say about All Souls that explains what happened in a way that makes any sense? What can I say about Ben?

What can I say – what am I
willing
to say – about my life. My crazy, confused, Lorder-tainted life, and all those it has damaged or destroyed.

I’m stalking back and forth in the front room; Skye gets under my feet. I almost trip over her and curse.

Aiden’s door opens; he comes in. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Just stage fright,’ I say, but look at my feet. I can’t look him in the eye.

‘It’ll be all right.’

‘Just like everything else has been all right, so far?’ And I’m shaking. I don’t know why; is it a delayed reaction, fear, pain, all three?

I look up and take a step towards him; Aiden takes one towards me. Meeting in the middle. His arms slip around me, just gentle, not holding but comforting, like you would a sister, or a child. I nestle my head against his shoulder. I fit against him different to Ben; Ben is taller. His hand smooths my hair, he’s trying to make me feel better but it’s not enough, nothing can ever be enough to take the emptiness away. And I pull him closer and closer. His heart is beating faster and so is mine. I reach up and pull his head down, kiss him. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t care. All I am is cold, dead, empty; Aiden is feeling, warmth, and life.

And at first he kisses back. Then gradually, gently, he pushes me away. Shakes his head. ‘Not like this.’

And I start to cry. Why? Another loss, another cold space. He pulls me to the sofa, wraps a blanket around me. ‘Don’t go,’ I say.

‘I’m not going anywhere. Ever. As long as you don’t want me to.’ But he stands up. ‘Back in a sec.’ He goes down the hall, and comes back with a guitar in his hands.

‘I don’t play very often, but it always makes me feel better. Close your eyes, Kyla. Tomorrow will be a long day. But we’ll get through it. And I’ll be there.’

And he plays: he’s good. Some songs I know, some I don’t. And somehow my eyes close. I slip to a dark, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

The promised wild weather has arrived. The cold wind whips branches off trees and swirls dead leaves as I run.

I’d slept late, and said I just needed a run, bolting out, not able to meet Aiden in the eye after last night. Half expecting an argument, or an escort. But they let me go.

My feet fly up the canal path, pushing hard to make everything go away, but it’s not working. I dig deep for
more
: more effort, more speed. And the miles fly by, and it gets closer. This run wasn’t only about escape and release. Will I be able to find it?

Not at first. I know I’m close to where it should be, that there was a particular bend of the path, a climbable tree not far from it. I slow to a jog and retrace my steps until finally I think I see the right one.

The wind is crazy as I climb up the branches, like it’s going to pull me off and throw me to the ground. I squint to avoid getting grit blown in my eyes. How far up was it? I think I’ve come too far, and look back. Anything could have happened to it: a bird or a squirrel with an eye for shiny things could have taken it; the branch it is on could have been victim to the wind. It might be the wrong tree. Now that I’m not running, I’m freezing; I feel around with numb hands, having trouble keeping my footing when I can barely feel my feet. I’m about to give up when my fingers brush something cold, something metal.

I twist to reach it better, and pull it off the branch it is hooked around: Emily’s ring. Clutch it tight in my hand a moment, then start down.

Back on the ground I peer at the inscription:
Emily & David 4ever
. I took it off her hand after they both died, victims of Lorders and Slating like so many others. They were returned as contract breakers when she got pregnant: their only crime was falling in love. I need her ring: I need a reason I can hold on to, to get me through what has to be done today. I start to put it in my pocket, but then slip it on my finger, instead, and start the long run back.

After a shower I come out to the kitchen, where Mac is making sandwiches. ‘Is everything okay?’ he asks. Then retracts. ‘All right, stupid question. Anything not okay that I can do anything about?’

‘No. Thanks.’ I smile at him.

‘At last: a smile. Of sorts. Sit down and eat up, it’s about time to go. Aiden? Lunch,’ he calls.

Aiden comes in, squeezes my shoulder with one hand, sits down opposite. He looks into my eyes, nods once, and his steady gaze says things are okay. A knot of anxiety inside me eases; just a little, but it’s enough.

‘Welcome to our movie studio,’ Mac says, and opens the door to a rundown farm outbuilding. Up a path a few miles from his house, from the outside it looks abandoned, but as I step through, I gasp. Inside is like an Aladdin’s cave for computer geeks: there are bits of kit everywhere.

‘You clearly didn’t just set this up for today,’ I say.

‘No. It’s been one of MIA’s hidden tech centres for ages; there’s all sorts of different stuff to play with out here. Movies are new. But we’ve got the transmitting equipment here to link up with DJ’s relay to the satellite. And Jazz and I cleared a place to do recordings last night.’

Aidan and I follow him around a crammed high row of shelving; behind it, there’s a clear area with a stool, a tarp hung to block equipment behind it. And a camera on a stand in front with lights.

‘That looks a bit more high tech than my little camera,’ I say, touching my pocket where it is once again, returned this morning after they copied the relevant content last night.

‘Nah, it’s easy. I’ll show you, then we can record my part.’

Mac starts to explain the controls to both of us when there is a loud knock.

‘Hello?’ Jazz’s voice. And another: Mum?

I bolt around the shelves, and it’s not just Mum; Amy is here, too.

Amy runs over to me, and grabs me in a hug. ‘You crazy girl. Don’t you ever do that to me again!’

‘You’ve cut your hair,’ I say, shocked. Her gorgeous thick hair is gone: cut to a short pixie.

‘Heh, if I knew where you were to check for fashion advice and that I didn’t need a seance, I’d have done so. Besides, you’re looking a bit different, too.’

‘You’re both here?’ I say to Mum, who has held back, but walks up to us now for a group hug.

Mum smiles. ‘Both my girls together! I realised this was a family decision. I had to let Amy in on what was happening, and then we had a vote.’

‘And?’ Aiden asks.

‘Amy says go for it. I’m still not sure, but there are three of us. Kyla?’

And all eyes are on me.

No. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me decide
.

I swallow. ‘If this goes wrong, it could be a death sentence for everyone involved.’

‘Including you,’ Mum points out.

I shrug. I don’t want to say, out loud, that I don’t care any more about my own life. ‘It’s different for me. They’re already after me, anyhow.’

‘You told me once before that sometimes the most important thing is doing what is right.’

‘The problem is working out what is right, isn’t it?’ Amy says.

And I stare back at Mum and Amy, standing close together. Amy was Slated, assigned to her like I was, but that doesn’t change what they are to each other now. What we are. But we’re not the only ones. ‘This isn’t just about us. It’s about every mother and daughter, every father and son. Now and in the future.’

Mum looks back at me, slowly nods. ‘Okay, then. Let’s get this show on the road.’

Mac goes first while I operate the camera. He tells about the day his school trip went wrong; when stray AGT bombs took out most of a busload of fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds. How he had a minor injury. How his friend Robby – Robert Armstrong – was hauled off the bus, away from his dead girlfriend. Screaming, but unhurt. Then later was on the list of the dead.

Then it is Mum’s turn to tell us about her son Robert. How she’d heard rumours for years that he’d survived and been Slated, but could find no trace of him.

She pauses, looks me in the eye behind the camera. ‘But that’s not the only tragedy in my life. You know who I am: Sandra Armstrong-Davis. My father, Prime Minister William Adam M. Armstrong, and my mother, Linea Armstrong, were murdered by AGT bombs when I was fifteen. But that is not the end of the story. My parents were preparing to expose Lorder atrocities; my dad, to resign as Lorder Prime Minister and dissolve the government. My mother confided in a school friend, Astrid Connor, who deliberately leaked the information of their whereabouts to the AGT to have them assassinated and silenced. You will hear about this from Stella Connor – a childhood friend, and the daughter of the Lorder who did this.’

She pauses. ‘How was that?’

Mac, behind the camera again, gives a thumbs up. ‘Brilliant. Thanks.’

I take a deep breath. ‘Is it my turn now?’

Aiden comes over. ‘I could do the bit on All Souls. I was there also.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m the one who took the footage, and I was looking through the camera zoom and saw what happened, as it happened, in more detail than you could. I have to do it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. And there’s more I can testify about. Mum, can you and Amy stay? I want there to be no more secrets. This is all going to be out there; I want you to hear it from me.’

I settle on the stool under the lights. Amy straightens my hair. ‘It’s not a fashion shoot,’ I say. She sticks out her tongue, and gets out of shot.

‘When you’re ready,’ Mac says.

I stare down the camera, pretend I’m going to talk to myself. That no one else is here; that Edie’s teddy bear is staring at me behind the lens, and no one else can hear a word.

‘Hi. I’d like to introduce myself, but I can’t: I don’t know who I am. Before I was born, a woman you’ll hear from soon was a prisoner. Her name is Stella Connor. She’d found out her mother – a Lorder JCO, Astrid Connor – had engineered the assassinations of Prime Minister Armstrong and his wife. Stella was locked up by her mother to keep her quiet; she was pregnant at the time, and her baby died.