by Cat Clarke
I nodded and smiled my way through breakfast then I told Mum I wanted to get to school early to finish off some homework. Normally she’d have given me a lecture about leaving my homework to the last minute but today she told me to give myself a break, that I shouldn’t be worrying about schoolwork at a time like this. She even said she’d have a word with my teachers if I wanted her to.
I didn’t hug her or kiss her goodbye because that would have made her suspicious.
*
A bus arrived almost as soon as I got to the stop, which never happens when you’re in a hurry and actually want to get to where you’re going. On the way into town it seemed like every traffic light went in our favour and all the cars of Edinburgh had stayed home just to make sure I didn’t arrive too late.
The sky was grey and unforgiving; everything and everyone looked miserable. Even the castle looked less majestic than usual – just an old building on a rock. I tried to clear my mind and focus on putting one foot in front of the other on the icy pavement. If I stopped to think about things I’d turn around and get on the first bus home. It helped that I hadn’t actually worked out exactly what I was going to do. There was no grand plan. I just knew I had to be there.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting outside the courtroom. Photographers? A TV van or two? A baying mob with hand-made placards? It was nothing like that at all. A few people were milling around near the door – smokers, mostly. One man had a tattoo on his neck, with orange and red flames creeping up from his shirt collar. I assumed he was a criminal and then instantly told myself off for judging him. Maybe he was a lawyer. Or a judge.
A couple of tourists were taking photos of the statue right outside the courtroom. Someone had put a traffic cone on its head. They asked me to take a picture of them together in front of the statue; I said yes but angled the camera so you couldn’t see the traffic cone.
I checked my phone; I was half an hour early. I couldn’t make myself take the last few steps inside. My legs were rebelling against my brain, and my brain was starting to whisper that I should get back on the bus and go to school. No one would ever have to know I was here.
‘Shit!’ A woman was standing behind the statue, struggling with an enormous orange leather bag, a Starbucks cup and what looked to be a half-eaten bacon roll. She started hopping around on one foot trying to get a look at the bottom of her shoe. Eventually she gave up and looked around helplessly. Her eyes met mine.
‘Sorry, could you possibly …?
‘Do you want me to hold those for you?’
‘Oh, you’re a life saver!’ She started unloading things on to me and I put the bag over my shoulder and ended up holding the cup and the roll. Bright orange yolk started oozing out of the roll on to the napkin and I had to hold it upright to stop it dripping on the ground. The woman took off her shoe and scraped it on the base of the statue. The sight of that coupled with the oozing egg made my mouth flood with saliva – I was sure I was going to vomit there and then. I tried to breathe slowly, through my mouth.
Eventually, the woman turned to me, satisfied that her shiny purple shoe was now clean. She was younger than I’d first thought – maybe twenty-four or twenty-five? Curly red hair and a slash of bright red lipstick. I could see lipstick smeared on her teeth when she smiled as she thanked me. She carefully manoeuvred the handles of the bag off my shoulder and over the cup in my left hand and nodded at me to give her the cup and the roll. ‘Thanks for that. I’m all over the shop this morning. Not enough sleep. I knew I should have had an early night. What kind of moron stays out till two the night before starting a new job?’ I could have sworn she was talking to herself rather than to me, but she looked at me when she finished talking so some kind of response was required. I shrugged but she seemed to expect more so I asked if she was a lawyer. ‘God, no! You couldn’t pay me enough. I’m a reporter.’ She said this around a mouthful of food and I felt bile rise in my throat again.
My heart slam-dunked. ‘A journalist?’
She smiled like she was talking to a simpleton. ‘Yeah, first day covering the courts. Last week it was ladies of Morningside sewing a giant quilt, this week it’s all about the hardened criminals. Bit of a promotion, I suppose.’ She finished the roll in three bites and wiped her mouth on the napkin. Then she gulped down some coffee and winced. ‘Ghastly stuff! Would you mind chucking these in that bin over there?’ For some reason this woman thought I was her personal slave. I did as she asked.
When I returned she was looking at the mirrored surface on the back of her phone. She rubbed her teeth with her index finger and I wondered if any of the dog shit had touched that finger.
‘Kate? What are you doing here?’ I turned towards the voice I vaguely recognized. Sergeant Tanaka. PC Mason was right behind her. Both of them looked unimpressed to see me.
I stepped away from the reporter, who was now looking at me – properly looking at me. Her eyes flickered down to take in my school uniform and that’s the moment when it must have all clicked into place. As soon as her eyes lit up I knew which case she’d been assigned to cover that morning. ‘Wait! Hold on a second … are you Kate McAllister?!’ Her hand was rummaging blindly in her bag because she wouldn’t take her eyes off me. It emerged from the bag grasping a recording device identical to the one Tanaka had used.
Sergeant Tanaka put herself between me and the reporter. She was eyeing the recording device as if it was a lethal weapon. ‘Look, you know you’re dealing with minors here, don’t you? You’re not allowed to publish any names. Kate, please come with me. We can talk inside. George, you stay here and deal with Ms …?’ PC Mason’s name was George? He really didn’t look like a George.
‘Brookmyre. Lara Brookmyre,’ the reporter supplied. ‘And you are?’ Brookmyre’s chin jutted out defiantly.
‘Sergeant Tanaka. You’re new, aren’t you? Well, how about you have a little chat with my colleague here and I’ll see you inside.’
Brookmyre tried to manoeuvre herself round Sergeant Tanaka but PC Mason (George?) stepped in and stood right in her way. Brookmyre wasn’t giving up so easily though. ‘Kate? Is there anything you’d like to say? Off the record, of course.’
I shouldn’t have come. What little courage I’d had disappeared as soon as the police turned up. I shouldn’t be here.
‘Kate! Let me just … Don’t touch me, OK? That’s police brutality right there.’ There was a scuffle as Brookmyre tried to squeeze between the wall and PC Mason. ‘Ow! You’re hurting me!’
PC Mason stepped back with his hands up. ‘I didn’t touch her!’
Tanaka rolled her eyes. ‘She knows full well you didn’t touch her! She’s just trying her luck.’ She stepped in between the reporter and me for a second time. ‘OK, I’m going to have to insist you leave Miss McAllister alone. She has nothing to say to you. Why don’t you go inside and we’ll stay out here for the time being?’ You could tell Tanaka was trying so very hard not to lose it. People were already stopping to watch us. The man with the fire tattoo was leaning against the wall, munching on a chocolate bar and smiling.
Brookmyre’s face now matched her hair and lipstick. She was saying something about knowing her rights and not letting anyone push her around. She was breathing hard, eyes shifting left and right, trying to figure out her next move. Tanaka had her back to me, but I could see her shoulders were tensed up; she was ready to move fast if she had to. PC Mason’s attention was elsewhere – he was staring across the street. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about me. Apart from Tattoo Man – he was still watching, grinning.
‘Um … Sergeant?’ PC Mason’s voice was quiet. Tanaka was busy trying to reason with Brookmyre so she didn’t hear until he said it louder, more urgently. ‘Sergeant!’
Sergeant Tanaka turned to him, clearly annoyed, but then she followed his gaze and swore under her breath. I looked too and the world stopped turning.
*
Jamie Banks was getting out of a taxi on the other side of the road, followed
by Mr and Mrs Banks. Alex was already standing on the pavement. She was staring up at the court building, taking in the grandeur and seriousness of it. And then she was staring at me.
She looked like she was dressed for a funeral – all sombre and black. It seemed appropriate somehow. She was wearing a skirt – the same one she’d worn on New Year’s Eve, it looked like. And that seemed right too, or rather it didn’t seem wrong. It was just a fact.
My eyes locked on to hers and I swear the space between us – the road and the cyclists and the people rushing to work – compressed into nothing and she was right in front of me and if I wanted to I could reach out and touch her. I could whisper in her ear and no one else would hear.
‘Kate? Kate? We’ve got to get you inside. You really shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to see her.’ Tanaka’s hand was gripping my shoulder, trying to steer me towards the door, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I was immovable. I was a statue.
Brookmyre realized who Alex was straightaway – reporter’s instinct, perhaps. Alex and her family hadn’t even made it safely across the road before she started hurling questions at them. Mr and Mrs Banks spotted me and tried to hurry Alex inside. She was in between them, Jamie a couple of paces behind. He wasn’t surprised to see me – after all, he’d been the one who’d told me where to be and when.
I reached in between Tanaka and Mason and grabbed Brookmyre’s arm. ‘I do have something to say … on the record.’ I spoke quietly but for some reason everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me.
‘Yes?’ Brookmyre asked eagerly, sticking the recording device right under my nose. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
Alex was only a few feet away from me now, being swept along by her parents, their faces grim with determination.
I looked at Alex and Alex looked at me and everything that had seemed so confusing before suddenly seemed simple and obvious. I smiled and something changed in Alex’s eyes. She knew what I was about to do. ‘Kate, don’t!’ She shook off her mum’s arm but her dad held firm.
I took a deep breath.
Brookmyre looked ready to interrupt with a question so I cleared my throat and began to speak. ‘I’d like to state, on the record that–’
‘Kate! Please don’t do this!’ Alex was really close now, her eyes pleading with me. Other voices were added into the mix. Alex’s parents, Tanaka, Mason all talking over each other, but I took another deep breath and blocked everything out – everything but her.
‘I would like to state, on the record, that Alex Banks is innocent. She did not assault me. I lied.’
Alex’s shoulders slumped. Mrs Banks looked triumphant (‘I knew it!’). Mr Banks looked confused. Jamie looked relieved. The reporter was trying hard not to smile – trying so hard to be serious and professional and remember what she’d been taught in journalism school or wherever it was she’d learned to be so annoying. Tanaka realized there was nothing she could do. This was going to play out whether she liked it or not.
‘Are you going to go inside and testify to that effect?’ Brookmyre asked.
I looked at Sergeant Tanaka for an answer but she just shook her head. ‘I … I’m not sure. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.’
‘Even if it means facing charges yourself?’
I hadn’t really considered that possibility, but I nodded.
Alex had tears in her eyes; she was close enough to touch.
The reporter asked two more questions. ‘Why did you lie about the assault? And what prompted you to come forward today?’
I looked up to the sky to see the sun starting to peek through the clouds. I closed my eyes. There was warmth there, if you concentrated hard enough.
I opened my eyes and reached out my hand.
‘Because I love her.’
Her hand met mine halfway; her fingers intertwined with mine.
She didn’t let go. She never let go.
Acknowledgements
As always, thanks to the wonderful team at Quercus: Roisin Heycock, Niamh Mulvey, Alice Hill, Talya Baker. Huge thanks to Sarah Lambert for her enthusiasm and help in the early stages of this book.
Thank you to my agent, Julia Churchill, who is utterly brilliant in every way and posts ridiculously cute pictures of donkeys on Twitter.
Thanks to Sarah Stewart for telling me to write this book.
Thank you to Lauren James, for creating the epic playlist I listened to while writing this book.
Thanks to the Sisters: Keris Stainton; Susie Day; Luisa Plaja; Keren David; Tamsyn Murray; and Sophia Bennett.
Thank you to Cate James, Lara Williamson, Nova Ren Suma, James Dawson, Ciara Daly and Tanya Byrne.
Thanks to the awesome UKYA bloggers, whose passion and enthusiasm never fail to amaze me.
Thank you to Rob Clarke.
And finally, merci beaucoup to my wee family for keeping me sane: Caro, Jem, Scout, Griffin and Ruby.
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CAT CLARKE
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