Crossfire

by Malorie Blackman

  What should I do?

  Tell Mum. That’s what I should do. Now. Do it now.

  Troy, just open your mouth and tell her.

  What words should I use?

  By the way, Mum, I just thought I’d mention that your new boyfriend might’ve killed my dad. Pass the gravy.

  Yeah, right.

  And what if it is all just a coincidence? Stranger things have happened. I glance up at Sonny again, only to find him watching me, his eyes narrowed and speculative. The exact same way he looked at me when he caught me at the quarry.

  He did it.

  In that moment, I know he did it.

  He killed my dad.

  And he knows that I know.

  ‘Don’t you like your food, Troy?’ asks Sonny.

  I look down at the mess on my plate. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘That’s not what you said in the car on our way here,’ Mum reminds me. ‘In fact, you wanted to stop off for a snack before we got here.’

  ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ I mumble.

  ‘Troy, what on earth is wrong with you?’ Mum frowns. ‘You’ve barely said a word since you got back from your quad-bike ride.’

  Sonny sighs. ‘Troy, should I just tell her? Get it over with?’

  My head jerks up in surprise. My mouth falls open. He’s going to confess? Just like that?

  ‘Sephy, don’t get mad because no harm was done,’ says Sonny, his eyes still on me, ‘but I caught Troy over by the quarry.’

  A moment’s stunned silence, then Mum scowls at me. ‘You went to the quarry after Sonny warned you not to?’

  ‘Mum, I’ve got something to tell you—’

  ‘Sephy, calm down. Troy’s fine. The ground is uneven and liable to cave-ins over there, plus the quarry is filled with wrecked and burnt-out cars, but Troy’s back here in one piece so it’s all good,’ interrupts Sonny with a smile. ‘It’s a shame the previous owner used the quarry as a dumping ground for old cars and bits of machinery. There’s even a Whitman Scorpius and a vintage Wells Phoenix in the pit. Imagine dumping a Wells Phoenix! Those cars were works of art. The cars in the quarry are too wrecked and burnt-out to salvage though, which is a damned shame. But you know what? First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to get someone to clear out the place and make it safe. Troy has convinced me that I’ve put it off long enough.’

  I stare. The fluency and ease of his lies are masterful. At any other time, I’d applaud. Instead my heart flips. By getting in first, Sonny has very effectively spiked my guns.

  ‘Mum, there’s a Whitman Scorpius in the quarry,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yeah, Sonny just said that,’ she says.

  ‘A dark blue Whitman Scorpius,’ I repeat. ‘The same car that killed Dad.’

  ‘Oh my God! Was that the make of car that killed Nathan?’ Sonny turns to Mum, his eyes wide with shock. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’

  I glare at him, not buying his surprised act for a second.

  ‘Mum, don’t you think it’s one hell of a coincidence that Sonny has the same make and model of car as the one that killed Dad?’ I ask. ‘Even the colour is the same.’

  She blinks at me in disbelief. ‘Troy! Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

  ‘Mum, you didn’t see Sonny’s face when he caught me there,’ I blurt out. ‘He was furious. He knew I’d put two and two together.’

  ‘And made thirty-three and three-quarters,’ she says. ‘Troy, have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Troy, are you serious?’ Sonny says with dismay. ‘You really think—?’

  ‘Mum, it’s the same car.’

  ‘And how many Whitman Scorpiuses do you think there are in the country? The police told me over one hundred thousand,’ says Mum.

  ‘But Sonny has one in his quarry. Dad’s gone and he’s here and—’

  ‘Troy, that’s enough.’

  ‘But I saw—’

  ‘I said – ENOUGH.’ The look on Mum’s face … I’ve never seen her so fuming angry.

  ‘Troy, I’m disappointed.’ Sonny shakes his head, morose. ‘I had no idea you resented me quite so much that you’d automatically assume the worst.’

  ‘Mum, he’s hiding something. I know it.’

  ‘That car was in the quarry when I bought this place. Sephy, if you want to call the police and have the car forensically tested, then feel free,’ says Sonny.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mum snaps in his direction, though it’s aimed at me. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing. As if you’d own the car that killed Nathan. Troy, you and I are going to have a serious talk when we get home.’

  Sonny reaches over to place his hand on Mum’s. He shakes his head. ‘It’s OK, Sephy. Let’s just drop it and move on.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ says Mum, glaring at me.

  ‘Please, love,’ says Sonny. ‘For me?’

  There it was again. That word. Love. I scowl at Sonny, my stomach roiling. He’s too busy gazing into Mum’s eyes to even notice. Mum, however, notices enough for both of them. She regards me, her eyes shooting fiery jets like flame-throwers. I immediately look down at my meal. Too late.

  ‘Sonny, let me just have a word with my son.’ She stands up and leaves the dining room, fully expecting me to follow her – which I do. With each step, my heart sinks lower. The moment we’re out in the hall, Mum carefully shuts the door behind us.

  ‘How dare you?’ she bursts out, her voice low, but her tone no less intense for it. ‘How dare you embarrass me like that? Accusing Sonny of all sorts.’

  ‘Mum, the car that killed Dad is in Sonny’s quarry – or don’t you even care how Dad died any more?’

  A stillness descends over Mum. Silent moments pass. I want to reach out with both hands and snatch back the words, but it’s too late.

  ‘Troy, if anyone else had said that to me, my hand would now be decorating their face – and that’s in spite of being a pacifist,’ Mum says stonily. ‘I am seriously disappointed in you. Now get back in there and apologize to Sonny. Then I don’t want to hear another negative comment from you for the rest of the time we’re here. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  Mum glares at me, unblinking, her face a mask. I’ve messed up. I should’ve kept my suspicions to myself – at least until I have proof. And what I just said to Mum … Damn it. Mum still grieves for Dad and I was grossly unfair to say otherwise. An apology sits and withers in my mouth, the moment lost. I’ve messed up big time. We head back into the dining room and sit down. Mum looks at me expectantly.

  ‘Sorry, Sonny,’ I say grudgingly. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. I guess my imagination is doing too much homework.’

  ‘Damned right it is.’ Mum’s lips are pursed, her eyes hard. I’m not used to her looking at me like that.

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Sonny says, with a smile as warm and cosy as a pair of slippers.

  And I hate him all the more for it.

  For the rest of the evening, I keep my head down, my mouth shut and my eyes open, watching Sonny every chance I get. He, on the other hand, is Mr Friendly.

  ‘Troy, can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Troy, have you had enough to eat?’

  ‘Troy, would you like …? Do you have …? Can I get you …?’

  He’s really working it, the butter-wouldn’t-melt act. He’s also working my nerves – as my sister, Callie, would say.

  Sonny offers me the chance to play the latest virtual-reality zombie apocalypse game, and I only say yes ’cause Mum is watching me. It goes some way to placating her and I need all the good will I can get. I win the first two games, but Sonny easily wins the next two, leading me to suspect he was humouring me when we first started playing. At last it’s time to leave. We are at his front door when Mum says, ‘Damn it! I’ll be right back. I left my phone in the kitchen.’

  Muttering to herself, she heads back inside to get it, leaving Sonny and me alone in the hall. We both regard each other, bu
t I look away first, unable to hold his gaze.

  ‘You really do believe that I had something to do with Nathan’s death, don’t you?’ Sonny sounds bemused at the idea. More acting.

  I take a quick look around. Mum is still in the kitchen.

  ‘I know you did,’ I say quietly, deciding to be honest.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything I could say to change your mind?’

  I shake my head.

  Silent moments pass as Sonny studies me. He shrugs, stating steely-soft for my ears alone, ‘Then I guess it’s up to you to prove it.’

  Daily Shouter Online

  Home. News. Politics. Celebs. Entertainment. Sport. Tech. Health. Science. Money. More.

  Tobias Durbridge is the new Prime Minister as the Democratic Alliance sweep to power

  This morning the country woke up to a new governing party – the Democratic Alliance – and its first ever Nought Prime Minister, Tobias Durbridge, as voted for by an overwhelming majority of the public. Speaking to the Daily Shouter after his historic win, Tobey Durbridge proclaimed, ‘This is a great day for our country. No longer will politics be for the benefit of the few and work against the interests of the many. We in the Democratic Alliance will seek to ensure that the rights and freedoms of all in society are protected.’

  Click below for a full analysis of the way the country voted.

  twenty-one. Libby

  * * *

  My chin rests on my upturned palm as I gaze out of the window into the web of lies my mum has spun around me. A web of lies that surrounds my Monday afternoon like a net. I’m still trying to digest the information she fed me the night before.

  My dad …

  My dad is …

  ‘Libby, where is your head today?’ my biology teacher asks, exasperated.

  Blushing, I turn to face her. ‘Sorry, Mrs Baxter.’

  ‘Tell me what I just said?’

  I was afraid she’d ask me that. I haven’t a clue what she’s been chatting on about and my expression says as much. ‘Something about the forthcoming school election?’

  ‘I was saying that as one of the election adjudicators, and one of the teachers who’ll be acting as scrutineer and counting the votes, I want everyone to take this election seriously. This may be just a school election, but it’s important,’ sniffs Mrs Baxter. ‘Politics is important. You’re never too young to understand that. Politics is power. Politics is life.’

  Politics is life? Is she for real? I school my features and say, ‘Yes, Mrs Baxter.’

  Behind me, Meshella snickers. I frown as I contemplate Mrs Baxter, the other Nought staff member. As a Nought, maybe politics means more to her than the average Cross teacher. Maybe it means more to her than it does to most Crosses. Is that what she’s trying to tell me? That, as a Nought, politics matters more to me?

  ‘Mrs Baxter, why has this school never had a Nought head girl or boy?’ I ask.

  Mrs Baxter’s neck and cheeks bloom red. A sudden tension fills the room, so tangible I feel I could reach out and touch it. All eyes are now on our teacher.

  ‘Just because something hasn’t happened in the past doesn’t mean it can’t happen now or in the future,’ says Mrs Baxter, picking her way through the words like she’s in a minefield. ‘There are more Noughts attending Heathcroft High than ever before—’

  Behind me Meshella mutters something to Dina seated next to her.

  ‘And for Noughts in general, throughout the country, there are more opportunities open to them than ever before,’ Mrs Baxter continues. ‘Look at our general election. Tobias Durbridge, a Nought, is now Prime Minister of this great country.’

  More mumblings from behind me about the new prime minister. Now I take them personally. I turn my head to frost Meshella, waiting for her to make another comment. I long for her to say something so I can punch her lights out.

  ‘Face forward, Libby. Our best hope is that the politics of the past, the rhetoric of division and exclusion, stays where it belongs – in the past,’ says Mrs Baxter.

  ‘Are you saying that all Cross politicians were bigots?’ asks Meshella.

  ‘I’m not saying that at all,’ Mrs Baxter replies, frowning. ‘That is the very definition of a straw-man argument, Meshella. I say one thing, you tell me I’m saying another so you can shoot down that straw man. Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m sick of people putting words in my mouth.’

  We sit in stunned silence. Mrs Baxter’s voice doesn’t normally rise above mousy diffidence.

  ‘Has having a Nought prime minister gone to your head, Mrs Baxter?’ sneers Meshella.

  Mrs Baxter draws herself up, her shoulders back, two sharp points of red on her cheeks. ‘Meshella, that piece of rudeness will cost you five demerits. Go and report to the head. NOW!’

  With a huff, Meshella stands up, grabs her rucksack off the floor and heads out of the door, slamming it behind her. Mrs Baxter glares after her. She turns to the rest of us, blood in her eye.

  ‘If anyone else has anything rude and inappropriate to say, go for it. I’d be more than happy to send you to the head as well.’

  No one says a word. I turn in my chair to face forward. Seems I’ve had Mrs Baxter wrong all this time. I’m beginning to realize that I’ve done that a lot – got people wrong. It feels like I’ve spent so much time, too much time, seeking answers to the wrong questions. I raise my hand.

  ‘Yes, Libby?’

  ‘Why d’you think Tobey Durbridge and his party won the election, Mrs Baxter?’

  She looks around the room. ‘Because he got the most votes.’

  Some titters. Mrs Baxter smiles, adding, ‘Because I think people are ready for something new, someone different. A change. Sometimes change is scary, but that’s the only way we grow and move forward. Remember, class, if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always got.’

  Mrs Baxter’s words shoot straight through me like arrows.

  You’ll always get what you’ve always got …

  That described Mum and me exactly. Round and round in our danse macabre. And it would stay that way until one of us broke free – or died. Whichever came first.

  twenty-two. Troy

  * * *

  ‘Mum, what was Callie’s dad like?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Mum starts in surprise. ‘Where has that come from all of a sudden?’

  ‘I’ve been wondering,’ I say. ‘Callum McGregor, what was he like?’

  I’m stirring the cheese sauce for our dinner of macaroni cheese and lamb chops. I continue to stir, even though I can feel Mum’s eyes drilling into my nape. Outside, the sky is almost sepia, a brown-grey haze filling the air. Rain pelts against the kitchen windows, rapping to be let in.

  ‘Callum was … well, he was a warrior. He was fiercely loyal and he fought for what he believed,’ says Mum carefully. ‘I didn’t always agree with his methods, but I understood his need to stand up and be counted. Your dad was the same. When a street rat named Jordy Carson tried to extort money from him, Nathan told him to get lost.’

  ‘What happened to Dad?’ I ask.

  ‘He got beaten up,’ says Mum. ‘But he never backed down. I was so proud of him for that. Even Dan Jeavons tried extorting protection money from your dad and, although he threatened him, he got the same answer. Scumbag! Why the questions?’

  ‘Hang on. Dan Jeavons threatened Dad? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Is there any reason why you should?’ asks Mum.

  ‘Did Dan ever threaten you?’

  Mum shrugs.

  That’s not an answer.

  ‘Mum?’

  Mum’s gaze slides away from mine.

  ‘He did, didn’t he?’ Every muscle in my body tenses.

  ‘Troy, calm down. The man is dead now. He can’t harm anyone any more,’ Mum soothes.

  I force myself to take a deep breath, to calm down. If Jeavons was in front of me now …

  ‘Is that what Sonny is too? A warrior?’ I a
sk when I can trust myself to speak again.

  ‘Troy, what’s going on? Talk to me,’ says Mum. ‘I’m trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of yours, but I’m failing.’

  I shake my head. I hate lying to Mum. I hate lying full stop. I’m no good at it. ‘Mum, you worry too much.’

  ‘I’m worrying about nothing then?’

  ‘Yep, as always. I’m guess I’m just trying to find out if you’re serious about Sonny. Does he make you happy?’

  A moment’s silence. ‘Yes, he does. In fact, I’ve got some news. Sonny has asked me to marry him.’

  The wooden spoon in my hand clatters to the floor. Moments pass and there’s no sound in the world but my heart thumping a stricken tattoo in my chest. Eventually my world stops spinning.

  ‘Did you say yes?’

  ‘I said I needed to talk to you first,’ says Mum. ‘This affects both of us.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So what d’you think?’ she asks.

  The look on her face … So hopeful. So expectant. As far as Mum is concerned, another word for happiness is Sonny. And, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Sonny loves her. I bend to pick up the spoon. It falls out of my sweaty hand. I grip it tighter then toss it into the sink. Grabbing some kitchen towel, I wipe up the sauce on the floor, before heading over to the sink. I don’t look at Mum.

  ‘Troy?’ she prompts.

  ‘Do you love him?’ I scrub at the wooden spoon with the scourer.

  ‘We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t,’ says Mum.

  That’s what I thought. Rinsing the spoon under the hot tap scalds my hands. I don’t make a sound.

  ‘Troy, look at me,’ Mum pleads. ‘D’you really hate the idea that much?’

  ‘It’s just … Dad …’ My voice is weak.

  ‘I know.’ Mum walks up behind me and hugs me round my waist, resting her head on my back. ‘I miss your dad too, love. Every day. When your dad died … well, I swore I’d never even contemplate being with anyone else again. What with Callum and then Nathan, your dad, I figured I was bad luck. Jinxed. I warned Sonny I should come with a health warning, but he finally persuaded me that that was nonsense.’