Crossfire

by Malorie Blackman

‘Goodnight, Mum,’ I say through gritted teeth, heading back upstairs.

  ‘Don’t I get a hug?’ Mum staggers to the foot of the stairs, her arms open wide. Funny how she only wants to hug me when she’s drunk.

  ‘Mum, you’ve got food down your front,’ I point out.

  She pulls her half-unbuttoned yellow shirt out of her black skirt to peer down at it. Vomit, food remnants or booze, it doesn’t matter. It’s nasty. ‘How did that get there?’ she says, frowning and still swaying with the effort of staying upright.

  I run downstairs to reach her before she topples over, but she manages to right herself. At the disgusted expression on my face, Mum’s lips thin. Mistake. From the moment I heard the front door open, I should’ve broken out my poker face. Shaking my head, I turn and carry on back up the stairs. For once, I’m not close to tears. I’m too angry for that. The words in the letter have seared their way into my skull. Besides, if I confront Mum now, she’ll turn on me for making her feel guilty and we’ll only end up quarrelling again. And then worse. Mum is a mean drunk and meaner when she’s high. Time for me to retreat to my room, but this time I won’t forget to lock the door.

  NOW

  * * *

  thirteen. Libby

  * * *

  Before either of us can speak, the bolts are drawn back and a key turns in the door above us. Troy is already on his feet. I move to stand beside him but he reaches out without looking and pushes me back, partially shielding me with his body. Stunned, I stare at him but he’s looking up at the door, waiting for it to open. His whole body is tense, coiled like a snake about to strike. He’s not even blinking. In spite of where we are and the neck-deep shit we’re in, Troy’s actions unexpectedly make my eyes prickle.

  The door opens. The man wearing the rabbit mask appears at the top of the stairs, a phone in his hand. A moment, then he raises it, centring on Troy and me, and takes a couple of pictures. The flash of his phone dazzles. I blink rapidly. Rabbit Man stands watching us without saying a word. Is it my imagination or does he seem to be studying me in particular?

  Troy sidesteps to stand directly in front of me. So it wasn’t my imagination. I reach out to hold onto Troy’s arm. His muscles are bunched and rock solid but it’s his stillness that’s most unnerving – like he’s poised and waiting for hell to erupt. Peering over Troy’s shoulder, I watch as Rabbit Man turns his attention to Troy, glaring at him with hostile contempt. Even in the half-light of the basement I can see – and feel – the cold in our kidnapper’s eyes. And still no one speaks. Rabbit Man turns and leaves the way he came, bolting the door behind him.

  Moments pass.

  ‘You OK, Libby?’ asks Troy, his eyes still on the door.

  The choking lump of fear in my throat makes any answer impossible. At my silence, Troy turns to face me, a frown pulling his eyebrows close together.

  ‘Libby, it’s all right. He’s gone,’ he says.

  I am glass. One inappropriate word, one wrong gesture and I will shatter into a million pieces. I want – no, I need to scratch at my skin, plant my nails into my forearm and dig deep. Troy moves closer to stand in front of me and takes my hands in his.

  ‘Libby, he’s gone. We’re still standing.’ Troy forces a smile.

  I look up at him.

  ‘Libby, breathe,’ he orders.

  He makes a show of inhaling and exhaling like he’s demonstrating how it should be done to someone who’s never tried it before. But it works. My heart rate begins to slow. The need to claw at my arms doesn’t disappear but it begins to recede. And all I can do is thank whoever, wherever, that I’m not alone. After what happened to Troy at my house all those years ago, I’m lucky he doesn’t spit in my eye.

  Troy smiles. ‘OK?’

  I nod.

  I’m not – neither of us is – but for the moment it’ll do. In this moment, it’s all we’ve got.

  THEN

  * * *

  fourteen. Troy

  * * *

  Callie looks around my room, at the posters she’s seen a thousand times before, at my duvet cover – anywhere but at me.

  ‘Come on, Callie. Spit it out,’ I tell my sister.

  ‘Just remember that I’m your older, more intelligent, prettier, awesome sister and I love you very much.’

  Warning bells begin to peal in my head. Callie is on the verge of being maudlin, and my hard-nosed, hard-headed sister is never soppy.

  ‘Callie, we both know that of the two of us I got all the best genes in this family,’ I state, wishing she’d get to the point.

  Her smile fades.

  Crap! Hadn’t meant it that way. I take hold of her hand and smile to show it was just a joke. The clouds over Callie’s expression clear and she smiles faintly.

  ‘You certainly got more than your fair share of modesty,’ she says. ‘I’ll give you that.’

  The twinkle in her eye is back, thank goodness. My sister already has to put up with enough crap and condescension about her dad being a Nought. She isn’t about to get more of the same from me. My dad, Nathan Ealing, was Mum’s second husband. Well, I say second husband, but technically Mum wasn’t actually married to Callie’s dad. He died before they could get married or even live together. My dad owned a restaurant called Specimens before he died. That’s where he and my mum, Sephy, met. Mum doesn’t like to talk about her past. She says the past is to learn from, not live in. Hell, I only learned when I was nine, almost ten, that Callie’s dad’s full name was Callum Ryan McGregor and exactly who – and what – he was. Before that, I only knew he was called Callum and that Callie was named after him. How messed up is that?

  Callie purses her lips. I know what that means. ‘I need a favour from my favourite brother.’

  ‘I’m your only brother, Callie, so that doesn’t count.’

  ‘Pfft! Details!’

  ‘I thought you were all about the details—’

  ‘Unless I want a favour from you.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Unusually for my sister, she hesitates.

  ‘Get on with it,’ I say, exasperated. The suspense is killing me.

  ‘I took on a case recently, a high-profile case. It hasn’t even been formally announced yet. I’m working to ensure it stays out of the news, but I can’t guarantee that.’ My sister traces the pattern on my duvet cover before taking a breath and looking me in the eye. ‘And I just want to warn you that there may be some fallout in your direction so I need you to be on your guard.’

  I stare. This is a full one hundred and eighty degrees away from what I’d been expecting. ‘On guard? Why? Your cases are nothing to do with me. What kind of high-profile case?’

  Callie sighs. ‘I can’t say until it’s officially announced.’

  ‘Who am I going to tell? Don’t you think I should know, especially if your case is going to have some kind of impact on me?’

  ‘It won’t. I’ll make sure of that.’ Callie’s expression hardens by degrees. Her eyes take on a steely look that is rarely displayed outside court. ‘Anyone wants to take on my family? They’ll have to go through me first.’

  ‘Callie, what’s going on?’

  Silence.

  In that moment, I realize something. Whatever happens now will define our future relationship. Either Callie trusts me or she doesn’t.

  Maybe Callie feels that too because she says, ‘I’m defending Tobey Durbridge on a charge of murder.’

  Staring so hard was putting serious strain on my eyeballs. ‘You what? The politician? That Tobey Durbridge?’

  Callie shrugs. ‘The one and only.’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Who did he kill?’

  She frowns. ‘It’s alleged that he killed Daniel Jeavons.’

  ‘The mobster?’ My mouth falls open. Wow! The shocks just keep on coming.

  Callie’s expression is grim. ‘The one and only.’

  ‘Wait. What? Tobey Durbridge killed Daniel Jeavons and you’re going to defend him? Dan Jeavons
’ lowlife friends aren’t going to be happy about that and they won’t be afraid to show it. Are you nuts?’

  ‘Troy, you have heard of innocent until proven guilty, haven’t you?’ Callie frowns. ‘Tobey didn’t kill Dan.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Because Tobey told me so,’ she says, as if I’d asked a stupid question.

  ‘And if I told you I was the king of the whole of Zafrika, would you believe that too?’ Was my sister serious?

  ‘Tobey and I grew up together. We were close, OK? He wouldn’t lie to me,’ she insists.

  ‘He might if—’

  ‘He wouldn’t.’

  ‘But he would if—’

  ‘Troy, I’m telling you, Tobey wouldn’t lie to me. He just wouldn’t do that.’

  My sister is adamant that Tobey is innocent. He would never lie to her, so how could he possibly be a killer? Usually, my sister keeps all emotion out of her court cases.

  ‘It’s the only way to do my job effectively,’ she’s told me more than once.

  But anyone with half an eye could see that Callie’s emotions are involved. Her past friendship is affecting her current judgement. Her lack of logic when it comes to this guy is troubling.

  ‘If you two are so close, how come you haven’t mentioned him recently?’ I can’t help asking. ‘How many times have you seen him to talk to in the last few years?’

  ‘That’s not the point. Tobey and I were never friends for a reason or a season, but for life. If you must know, we were more than friends, until something happened which exploded our friendship.’

  More than friends? It’s hitting home just how little I know about my own sister. It wasn’t for want of asking either.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  At first I think Callie isn’t going to answer. Either that or she’s going to tell me to mind my own. Instead, she sighs. ‘Beware of jealousy, Troy. It makes you do stupid things. Unforgivable things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like something that burns through you like acid every time you remember it, so you try not to think about it.’ Callie lowers her gaze. ‘Except, as time goes by, you find yourself thinking about it more, not less. When I was your age, Troy, I made a huge mistake. Colossal. Now it’s time to atone.’

  ‘What mistake did you make?’

  ‘Something I have no intention of sharing with you, so don’t even ask,’ Callie replies.

  Worth a try!

  ‘Is that why you’re defending Tobey? As an apology?’

  Callie doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Neither of us have to say it, but her need to atone might just end up rebounding on me and Mum. If what they say about Dan Jeavons and his friends is true, then Callie’s need might end up with someone getting hurt. Or even killed.

  fifteen. Libby

  * * *

  I lie on my bed, curled into a ball, facing the wall. The cotton pillowcase beneath my cheek smells of the lavender perfume Mum bought me over two years ago for my fifteenth birthday. I’m not a fan of lavender, never have been – but it’s one of the few presents Mum has ever given me. My birthday tends to be something Mum remembers after the event. I gave up reminding her round about my ninth or tenth. I read somewhere that moths don’t like lavender and the smell helps you to sleep so I always squirt a little on my pillow whenever I change the pillowcase. The thing is, now I have trouble sleeping without it.

  ‘Liberty? Liberty darling, let me in.’

  ‘Mum, it’s late and I’m tired. Go to bed. We can talk in the morning.’ I clench my fists to stop my hands shaking. I don’t need this. Not tonight.

  Mum, please go away.

  Mum rattles the door handle. ‘Liberty, open the door, please. This is important. I have something to say to you.’

  That was stupid. I shouldn’t have answered. I should’ve just pretended to be already asleep. Now she won’t stop.

  ‘No, Mum. Go back to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  ‘Liberty Jackman, you open this door. NOW!’

  I sit up in bed, pulling down the oversized T-shirt that serves as my nightie. I know from past experience that, if I don’t open the door, Mum will get louder and more belligerent until the neighbours either come knocking or phone the police, who inevitably knock louder. I stand up, my heart thumping.

  ‘Mum, please. I just want to go to sleep. I’m very tired.’

  ‘This won’t take long, Libby. Open the door. Don’t make me repeat myself,’ says Mum.

  Libby, don’t be a damned fool. Don’t open that door.

  The voice of reason lives rent free in my head, but, like an unwanted squatter, I resent and resist it and once again choose to ignore it.

  Libby, don’t—

  My fingers creep towards the lock beneath the door handle.

  ‘Liberty love, please.’ Mum’s voice is soft, caressing, barely above a whisper.

  I turn the lock slowly. The door opens.

  I don’t see it coming. There’s just a sudden impact to the middle of my face, a flash of hot and red, a crash of head-splitting agony. My legs give way beneath me and I crumple into darkness.

  sixteen. Troy

  * * *

  I can’t believe what my sister is telling me. Tobey Durbridge has been charged with killing the most notorious gangster in the country. I may not have been a great follower of current events, but shouldn’t that fact have hit every online news bulletin on the Internet? A story like that would surely have flashed up on my laptop, yet there’d been nothing about Tobey’s arrest.

  ‘Why isn’t this all over the news?’ I ask.

  Callie lifts her chin defiantly. ‘I took out a super-injunction. Until it’s lifted, the press aren’t allowed to mention anything about Tobey being arrested or the charges he’s facing. They can’t even refer to the fact that they can’t mention it.’

  ‘What happens if they do?’

  ‘Go directly to jail. No mitigating circumstances, no appeals, no second chances.’

  ‘So what can they report on?’

  ‘Dan Jeavons is dead. That’s about it. They have to stick to the victim and the crime, not the potential suspects.’

  Wow! Eyebrows raised, I contemplate my sister with a new appreciation. She could do that? Suppress the biggest story in years? I guess she could and she did. So all the hype about her is right. I’ll have to start paying more attention.

  ‘But what about Tobey? Shouldn’t he at least resign from the government or something?’ I ask.

  ‘He’ll announce he’s standing down within the next forty-eight hours, claiming it’s temporary, for personal reasons. As soon as I get the case dismissed, he can pick up where he left off.’

  I feel like I’ve been given a front-row seat from which to watch the wheels of power and privilege work. And my sister is one of the key cogs in the whole mechanism. Justice for all – as long as you have pockets deep enough to pay for it.

  ‘What has Tobey got to do with Daniel Jeavons?’ I ask. ‘How do the two of them even know each other?’

  I would’ve thought their paths were very unlikely to cross.

  ‘They grew up together,’ Callie informs me.

  My eyebrows shoot up. ‘Tobey told you this?’

  ‘No, I have first-hand knowledge,’ she says. ‘I grew up with both of them.’

  By now I’m bug-eyed. ‘What? You know … knew Dan Jeavons?’ The words squeak out of me. ‘What the hell? You never said. How come I’m only finding out about this now?’ Hearing that Callie knew Dan Jeavons is like hearing that my sister was friends with Jack the Ripper.

  ‘Troy, it was no biggie. I grew up with Dan. He got into some things he shouldn’t’ve, went on the run, gave himself up, served his time and came out of prison. And after that he made sure never to get caught again.’

  Well, that says a lot.

  I look at my sister like I’m seeing her for the first time. Never before have I felt our age gap as keenly as I do at this moment. Eighteen
years means a lifetime of experiences for her that were way before my time. Eighteen years of doing and being, living and loving that I know nothing about – unless Callie or Mum chooses to tell me.

  Callie says, ‘I’m surprised you’ve even heard of Dan Jeavons, to be honest. Since when have you taken an interest in criminal lowlifes?’

  Is she kidding? ‘There isn’t a person in the country who hasn’t heard of Daniel Jeavons,’ I reply. ‘You should’ve told me before that you knew him personally.’

  Callie is unrepentant. ‘Like I said, we were sort of friends a long time ago.’

  ‘Sort of?’ Funny sort of friend who my sister labelled a criminal lowlife.

  ‘To tell the truth, Dan gave me the creeps,’ she admits. ‘He was always looking at me like he didn’t need X-ray glasses to see what was beneath my clothes. Take a tip from me, Troy: don’t stare at girls like that. It gets old real fast.’

  As if! Besides, if I stared at anyone in my class like that, I’d get a mouthful of scorching verbal – at the very least.

  ‘If you’re worried about the fallout from this case, can’t you palm it off on someone else?’ I ask.

  Callie scowls like I’ve just insulted her. ‘Tobey is my true friend and I’m not going to turn my back on him. I guarantee a lot of his so-called friends will be doing that in the weeks ahead. I won’t be joining them.’

  Why did Callie have to be so noble all of a sudden? But then I realize something – it wasn’t all of a sudden. Media reports and throwaway gossip about my sister always talk about her integrity, taking on cases that no one else would touch so that justice could be properly served. She’s gained a lot of admirers that way, but has also made some powerful, outspoken enemies.

  ‘Let me guess, you’ve already started receiving threats about taking on Tobey as a client?’