My Side of the Diamond

by Sally Gardner

  I persuaded them that Doubleday was likely to turn up if he knew that Icarus was going to try to leave. I didn’t tell them that he was after a stone. But the fact that Becky was prepared to travel with Icarus intrigued them even more. She would be the first human to make such a journey. That fascinated the scientists at Darkstar. They had observed Skye and Lazarus, had watched them jump, but Skye and Lazarus, they had realised, weren’t human.

  The day I went to fetch Icarus and Becky, I told Alex and Jazmin that I would be back for them in the evening and that on no account were they to leave the flat or let anyone in.

  It was getting dark when Icarus, Becky and me arrived at the Shard. It was unfinished but it was high enough for our purpose. Darkstar had made sure it had been evacuated on the pretence of a suspect package. The whole area had been cordoned off. Police everywhere.

  It was eerily quiet as we made our way up in the lift, the only sound the wind whistling through the unfinished walls.

  Everything went according to plan. We were waiting on the highest platform. There must have been about thirty of us, though it was quite hard to see. Icarus had given us the time his craft was expected. At ten o’clock the countdown began. It was a perfect cloudy night. London lay below us – patches of jewelled light. Then Control at Darkstar spotted the craft on the radar. I was listening through my earpiece to the countdown … ten, nine, eight, seven … when I received the message. Doubleday was on his way up. He had a hostage with him. Six, five, four … We braced ourselves as Doubleday came out of the lift, dragging with him a body. It was Alex. Doubleday was holding him by the arm, as if he was a puppet. Alex appeared to be unconscious, his face bloodied. Doubleday dropped him on the platform.

  The second Doubleday saw Icarus, he shouted at him. ‘How could you have abandoned me? You left me, Icarus, you left me. I will kill you for that.’

  He ran towards Icarus and stopped. Everything stopped. A shadow fell on the platform and then it was there: a huge, silver, triangular-shaped cloud silently hovering over us, its lights blue and red. It lined up just below the platform. I don’t remember how they appeared but, one by one, on the edge of the platform stood a line of the most extraordinarily beautiful beings I have ever seen. Like Icarus and Ishmael, they looked just as you would imagine humans who never age or outgrow their time might, humans whose bodies aren’t broken by gravity. By comparison we looked like uniformed insects, corrupted by the lives we live and the lies we tell.

  Becky turned, perhaps to take a last look at us, I don’t know. It was then she saw Alex. Icarus held her back as one of their number stepped forward. He wore a top hat and dark glasses but I knew I had seen him before …

  Everyone from Darkstar was paralysed, we could do nothing. Even Doubleday was losing his power.

  ‘A stone,’ he said, his voice slurred and faltering. ‘I want a stone, a stone, a stone.’

  The alien in the top hat put his hand out and with one gesture lifted Doubleday and held him suspended about three metres above us.

  The alien said to us, ‘Your people have made too many monsters. Too many monsters have made too much misery for this world. You do not need another one.’

  He left Doubleday suspended and gently picked up Alex. Followed by his people, he carried him onto the craft, leaving Becky and Icarus by themselves.

  They stood on the edge of the building, the craft hovering below them, and Icarus took Becky’s hand.

  I heard him say, ‘Jump, Becky, jump.’

  If she hesitated, I didn’t see it.

  Then they were gone.

  Doubleday fell down onto the platform, a collection of broken parts.

  They say a sonic boom was heard over London that night. Computers crashed, trains stopped, planes failed to take off. Those that were in mid-flight hung in the air, not moving. For half an hour we were shown what would happen if all the plugs were pulled on our electronic lives.

  I don’t know if Alex survived what Doubleday did to him. I can’t tell you that.

  I was granted my freedom from the Darkstar Programme as long as I was prepared to be the scapegoat in court. At the time it seemed a small price to pay. Now I know it cost me everything.

  Mr Jones, I’m pleased I’ve said all those words. Thank you for coming – and thank you for this.

  And, Mr Jones, I know who you are.

  MATRON OF ST MARY’S HOSPICE, CUMBRIA

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mr Jones, I cannot thank you enough for staying with him. He looks very peaceful. What’s that he is holding? Most strange. I’m not exactly sure it’s … You have a point, Mr Jones. If it brings him comfort, what harm can it do?

  Yes, certainly. I’ll give it to him when he wakes up – if he does wake up. Let me see if I can read your writing … ‘Live your life, find love. Start again.’

  Is that correct?

  JAZMIN LITTLE

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Don’t make me do this, Mr Jones, don’t make me remember any more. Especially not the night Becky jumped. Isn’t it better not to remember?

  You’re right, how can I ever forget? Perhaps it would have been better if I had never met Alex, never loved him. Then at least I could have tried to live again. That is the night I died too, you know. My heart may still be ticking but that’s about the sum total of it.

  All right, I will try to reach the end of my story …

  The flat had an eerie sound to it after Icarus and Becky left. Not just the everyday sounds – distant conversation, pipes gurgling, toilets being flushed. No, this was static, crackling, as if a radio wasn’t tuned in right and was trying to find a station. We didn’t have a radio.

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘What is that?’

  Alex said, ‘I don’t know. Weird.’ He went to the side of the window and carefully looked out. In the street light there was nobody there. ‘Why does it all feel so wrong, so … electric?’

  Alex went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Water bubbling away is a comforting noise. I told myself to stop thinking about the static – most probably it was coming from another flat. The walls weren’t that thick. I followed Alex into the kitchen.

  ‘You know all those alien books that Becky has?’ I said, desperate to think about something else. ‘Did you ever read any of them?’

  ‘Yep. Some. Why?’

  ‘I have, and not one of those stories about alien invasions ever talks about a snake-free Garden of Eden planet. Usually in those books, the aliens want humans for their organs, not their emotions.’

  Alex smiled. ‘You think Icarus should have brought a brochure with him, advertising the good life to be lived on the edge of our solar system?’

  ‘Might have helped. You’re making fun of me.’

  ‘No. Just thinking that I love you.’

  I put my arms around his neck. ‘Do you really, really mean it?’

  He took his silver ring – his lucky ring – off his little finger. He looked so serious. He slipped it on my wedding-ring finger.

  ‘Well, that’s done it,’ I said. ‘Though I think we’re a bit young.’

  He laughed. It was good to hear him laugh. It was good to laugh. It didn’t last long.

  The kettle was just about to boil when there was a loud bang and the power went off.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ I said. ‘I don’t like this one little bit.’

  Just then all the lights in the flat started flashing. The television switched itself on and Becky’s laptop rebooted itself.

  We ran into the narrow hall and froze. The wooden front door with a steel panel on the outside had become nothing more than a membrane, thin enough that an outline of a face could be seen peering through. Doubleday materialised, his red eyes wild. Everything in the flat crackled with his power.

  It paralysed us. He forced himself against the membrane until it became liquid and he lurched through it into the flat. He pushed me out of the way and took hold of Alex.

  ‘Any trouble, I will kill her,’ he
said to him.

  Alex tried to punch him in the stomach. He shouldn’t have done that.

  Doubleday threw him across the room, picked him up and threw him again. There was nothing I could do. I screamed for help but no sound came. Alex was unconscious. Doubleday came to me and put his finger hard on my forehead so that my head began to ache. Then he was gone, and so was Alex.

  I tried to open the front door and follow them but I couldn’t. Everything I did felt like it was in slow motion. I managed to get to the window. Outside the main entrance I could see a van with blacked-out windows. Doubleday threw Alex in and the doors shut.

  That was the last time I ever saw Alex. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t do anything, not even call for help. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The feeling of leaden exhaustion overwhelmed me. I was battling to stay awake, to move my limbs.

  I woke up in the Royal Free Hospital. The police questioned me a lot about Alex and all I could tell them was that the last time I’d seen him was when he’d been kidnapped by Doubleday.

  I was accused of taking drugs and of encouraging my best friend to commit suicide. They said I was making it all up about the two creeps, about Doubleday. For a long time I really thought Icarus and Becky had jumped to their deaths. I was finally told no bodies had been found at the foot of the Shard.

  Please, Mr Jones, answer one bloody question: what is the point of remembering any of this shit?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  After Mr Jones left, I wrote a long letter to Mari. I didn’t write with my usual, tentative, ‘I’m sorry’ approach but with the confidence that Mr Jones had given me. If nothing else, this was my story, my side of the diamond, once cloudy, now bright. Taking Becky’s notebook in the playground that day changed everything for me, and I know it did the same for her.

  When such momentous events happen, ones that affect the lives of so many people, each person must be allowed to tell their truth. What makes the diamond shine bright is the way it’s cut. I had the right to my side of the story and I wrote it without regret. The same in my letters to Ruth and Simon but I kept theirs brief. And finally I dropped a line to my Auntie Karen. I didn’t bother with Mum. She’d washed her hands of me long ago.

  I’ve always been tidy. I didn’t want to leave the bedsit in a mess so I hoovered and cleaned it all, then had a bath and put the towels in the washing machine. I ate what was left in the fridge and propped up a note on the table, explaining what I was about to do. I closed the front door and put the keys under the mat. I took the rubbish out with me and posted the four letters. I didn’t want the police losing letters again.

  I decided I would walk to Blackfriars. It’s not far from Dalston. It was one of those beautiful evenings when London can break your heart.

  The William Shakespeare – or WS – Tower had been completed three months earlier. It was built to straddle the entrance to the new London Bridge, which had houses and shops on it. The WS Tower rose higher than the Shard. It was an extraordinary piece of architecture, combining wood and steel with glass. ‘A village in the sky’ was how it was described. At the very top there was to be a garden. I had watched the tower being built and as soon as it opened, I managed to get a job there as a cleaner.

  That evening, I clocked in as usual. I liked working nights. There was hardly anyone about and the guards knew me, no one questioned me. The entrance hall is truly breathtaking. When you walk in you look up at a cathedral ceiling made of wood. I waited for the first of the three lifts. My pass only took me as far as the second lift; after that I would have to hope I could manage the third lift without being detected. I knew that was the only tricky part of my plan.

  When I arrived at the third lift, the doors were open as if waiting for me.

  I looked around. I could see no one so I quickly pressed the button to the top. Perhaps then I should have realised that this wasn’t quite right. I mean, no one had been up to the roof garden apart from those who worked on it. The grand opening was to be the following week.

  I was feeling very calm, incredibly peaceful. I didn’t really give much thought as to why it had all been so easy when it shouldn’t have been. I was concentrating on what I would do when I got up there.

  When people talk of roof gardens, you think, yeah, a couple of trees in pots, lots of wooden decking and a few dismal-looking plants scattered around.

  But this was astonishing. There was an orchard, a small lake – so beautiful – and all around was the City of London. I walked through an arbour to the far side of the garden. My plan was simple, neat. I would keep on walking and be buried and forgotten in the silt of the Thames.

  The sunset made everything golden. I felt no fear, just relief that at last it was all over.

  He was sitting on a folding chair beside a folding table laid with a paper cloth, a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  ‘What are you doing here, Mr Jones? What is this?’

  ‘It’s a scene from a brochure. You said to Alex it would help if there was a brochure. I thought you might like to have a glass of champagne and, if you still wished to jump into the river after all I have to tell you, I wouldn’t stop you.’

  I was so wrong-footed that I sat down.

  ‘How did you know I was coming here?’

  ‘You told me when you said you were going away. You’ve told me from the very beginning that you knew the end, your end. And here you are.’ He popped the cork. ‘You see, I have learned a lot from you about what love is,’ he said. ‘I came to this planet with the naive belief that it would be simple to introduce to our people an emotion that you humans take for granted. What I have learned is that love in all its various guises – maternal love, fraternal love, the love of friends – is far more complicated. True love is a power, perhaps the most powerful thing that the human species possesses. It creates music, art, poetry, but more than that, it can survive through space and time. A strawberry? They came with the champagne.’

  I took one.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  ‘My name is Ishmael. Among my people I am considered a wise man. However, I showed little understanding, let alone wisdom, when I imagined that an emotion as complex as love would be easy to take back to our race. When Icarus led me from imprisonment on the airbase, I told him he was to stay here and return only if he found love and knew it for what it was. Lazarus and Skye were the first to come but Skye was made from clay and Lazarus from a dead boy’s skin, both only given life by our stones. Their emotion was not so much love for each other as a desire to be where they belonged. When Icarus returned with Becky and Alex there was much rejoicing until it became clear that Alex’s unhappiness stemmed from being separated from you. It had never occurred to us that with love came longing.

  ‘I returned to Earth to discover for myself the nature of what we have taken on. When I met Mari, her heartbreak over her son moved me, showed me love doesn’t die, even when the one who is loved is absent. But it is you, Jazmin, who taught me the true power of the emotion. At first, you greatly puzzled me, for your future appeared tied to the past by the loss of love. I found you felt the same as Alex, to such an extent that you would prefer to take your life rather than live without him.’

  ‘Are you telling me Alex is alive?’

  ‘Yes. I cannot show you the brochure but you have my word.’

  ‘He’s waiting for me?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been again to see Mari, to tell her what has happened to her son. I’ve told her where Alex is and that he is well, that he loves her and always will. I don’t know if she believed me. Do you believe me?’

  ‘Wait – say that again – Alex is alive?’

  ‘I could have brought proof – pictures – but I have been told that this emotion we seek is blind and one must learn to fall into the unknown in order to find love waiting there.’

  Mr Jones drained his glass. ‘Shall we go?’

  He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were dark like Icarus’s.

  ‘May I?
’ he said, and, taking my hand, he helped me onto the ledge.

  Below was the Thames, London, the city so small it looked unreal. We waited. Then it was there – a triangular spacecraft hovering a metre below us.

  For the first time, Mr Jones smiled at me.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Jump, Jazmin, jump.’

  Sally Gardner

  Sally Gardner is a multi-award-winning novelist whose work has been translated into more than twenty-two languages. Her novel Maggot Moon (Hot Key Books) won both the Costa Children’s Book Prize and the Carnegie Medal 2013. Sally’s genre-defying novel The Double Shadow (Orion) received great critical acclaim and was also longlisted for the Carnegie Medal 2013. The Red Necklace (shortlisted for 2007 Guardian Book Prize) and The Silver Blade are set during the French Revolution, and the film rights have been purchased by Dominic West. Sally also won the 2005 Nestlé Children’s Book Prize for her debut novel I, Coriander. She is also author of the popular Wings & Co Fairy Detective Agency Series and Tinder, illustrated by David Roberts (Orion). Most recently she has published a novel for adults, An Almond for a Parrot. Follow Sally at www.sallygardner.net or on Twitter: @TheSallyGardner