Checkmate

by Malorie Blackman

  I stared at Sonny, my lower jaw hanging like a limp piece of wet lettuce.

  'But that's just crap,' I said, inelegantly when at last I found my voice.

  'Which bit? Her thinking it or my doing it?'

  'Sonny, I'm serious,' I said, with impatience.

  'What makes you think I'm not?' asked Sonny.

  If it wasn't for the amused gleam lighting his eyes, I might've been concerned. I caught myself frowning and had to make a conscious effort to relax the muscles around my mouth. Had Sonny's joking got somewhere close to the truth? Was the cause of Meggie's antipathy towards him the fact that she thought I was looking for Callum's replacement? But that couldn't be right, could it? I mean, why would I wait all this time, almost nine years, if that was what I had in mind? Sonny and me? What a laugh! He didn't even think of me that way any more.

  We entered the back bedroom, which had been my workspace since I'd paid for an extension to the back of the house. It wasn't huge and it'd made the small garden even smaller, but at least I had a place to work now and it'd extended the kitchen downstairs. The room had a digital piano in it, two re-upholstered chairs, a tiny self-assembly pine desk, a music stand and some books on the floor. The desk was scattered with music manuscript paper, notepads and pencils. A CD-radio player sat selfconsciously towards the back of the desk, plugged in but not turned on. I switched on the keyboard and loaded up the last song Sonny and I had been working on.

  I was just about to sit down, but there was something wrong. The room was quiet. Too quiet. I spun round to see Sonny watching me. Lately I'd caught him watching me quite a lot.

  'I meant what I said,' Sonny told me. 'You are the one and only. You've always been the one and only.'

  And the way he said it . . . so solemn, so sincere. So utterly believable. I was really impressed. No wonder he had so many girlfriends. It took a real master of his game to fake that degree of sincerity.

  'Sonny, you have a new girlfriend roughly every three months. You wine 'em, dine 'em, bed 'em and dump 'em – not necessarily in that order.'

  'Safety in numbers,' said Sonny. 'I date lots of girls to stop myself brooding about the only one that matters.'

  And all the while, his eyes never left mine. And all at once I was drowning in his gaze.

  'Sonny, I—'

  But I didn't get any further. Sonny took hold of my arms and kissed me. And to the surprise of both of us, I kissed him back. I closed my eyes and let myself get swept away on this fragment of time. Sonny's arms immediately went around me, holding me almost too tight. I clung to him. I was being kissed.

  Someone wanted me.

  Me.

  After all these years.

  And all I had to do was keep my eyes closed.

  fifteen. Rose is 9

  Hello, Daddy,

  How are you, up in heaven? Mr Brewster, my teacher, said we had to write a letter to someone far away. So I immediately thought of writing to you. Nana Meggie said it was a good idea. I don't think Mum thought so though. Mum said I should write to my cousin Taj or make someone up. I don't see the point in writing to Taj when I could just phone him up or send him an email. Besides he's just a little kid, so it's not like I can have a proper conversation with him. And what's the point of writing a letter to a make-believe someone? That's just writing to waste paper. So I chose you. I had to ask Mum about it first. Can you hear what Mum and me say from up in heaven? Well, just in case you can't, I asked her, 'Mummy, where's my dad – exactly?'

  'Your dad is in heaven. I've already told you.'

  'I mean, where is he buried?'

  Mum got that peculiar look on her face that she always gets when I start asking questions she doesn't want to answer. Her gaze always dances away from mine and her hands start to fidget and she lowers her head and shoulders before she speaks. I wonder what that's about?

  'Your dad was cremated and his ashes were scattered,' she said at last.

  'Scattered where?'

  'I can't remember,' Mum said.

  'How come you can't remember? If I had to scatter your ashes, I'd remember where I'd put them.'

  'It was a long time ago, Rose.'

  'Yes, but it's not like losing an umbrella or a glove, is it? Then I could understand if you couldn't remember where you put them. But these were Dad's ashes and—'

  'Rose, his ashes were scattered in Nana Jasmine's rose garden,' Mum interrupted.

  'But you just said that you couldn't remember where they were.'

  Mum sighed. 'Callie Rose, am I going to need a lawyer?'

  'Don't be sarky,' I told her. 'So how come you didn't remember and then you did?'

  'It slipped my mind – OK. But your incessant nagging brought it back.'

  I decided to ignore Mum's snide comment. 'How old was I when Dad died?'

  'I've already told you. He died before you were born.'

  'Yes, I know. But how old exactly was I?'

  'I don't know. I was about four months pregnant. Maybe five. I can't remember.'

  'But he knew you were pregnant with me?'

  'Of course. I've told you that already.'

  'And he was happy about it?'

  'Yes, dear. Why all the questions?'

  'Just something Tobey said.'

  'What did Tobey say?' Mum's tone was suddenly sharp.

  'Tobey agreed with me that it was a good idea to write to Dad, that's all. He reckoned I should find out a bit more about him so I can write a letter that doesn't ask obvious questions.'

  'Oh, I see.'

  That was what Mummy said. So that's how I got the idea to write to you – 'cause heaven is far away, isn't it? I also thought of writing to you because Nana Meggie says we all need someone to tell our troubles to. Nana Meggie tells all her troubles to God. Mum calls her a God-botherer behind her back. But just between you and me, Nana Meggie knows what Mum calls her. Nana Meggie told me that God likes to be bothered. I asked Mummy who she tells her troubles to? Mummy didn't answer. I don't think Mummy tells her troubles to anyone. Maybe she should write to you too. I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet you. I wish we could've met. Mummy told me that you used to work at Nana Jasmine's house as a gardener after you left school. Mummy told me that Nana Meggie used to work for Nana Jasmine for a while and that's how you and Mum first met. Mummy says you practically grew up together. Did you ever snog Mum? I bet you didn't. Snogging is wet! Nana Meggie has told me loads about you as a child – what you liked to eat, your favourite subjects at school – stuff like that. But every time I ask anything about you and Mum together, Nana Meggie always says, 'Ask your mum.' It's very frustrating.

  Which reminds me, I didn't have a very good day at school yesterday. Lucas from the year above me called me a bad name and tried to kick me but I punched him on the nose. I got into trouble for that because I made his nose bleed. The blood fell like a waterfall all down the front of his shirt. It was gross. He started crying and ran and told Mr Brewster. Mr Brewster shouted at me. I hate Lucas Cheshie – he's a poo-head. He tried to hit me first but Mr Brewster didn't believe that because I didn't have any bruises or marks. Is that fair? I don't think so. Nana Jasmine told me when I started school that if anyone called me a bad name that I shouldn't – what's the word? – retaliate. (I hope I've spelled that right.) She said I should tell a teacher or wait and tell my mum or her.

  'You should show the peppy-traitor of the abuse that you're better than them and above such things,' Nana Jasmine said.

  But Nana Meggie told me, 'If anyone at school calls you horrible names or tries anything worse, give 'em a good smack. Then they won't do it twice!'

  And Nana Meggie goes to church! When I asked Mum a while ago what I should do, she looked at me without blinking and said, 'You come and tell me. Don't lash out or the school will use that as an excuse to give you the boot. Just tell me and I'll sort it out.'

  But I didn't tell her what Lucas did. Mum doesn't like it when I get upset or hurt by other people. She gets a funny look on her
face, kind of fierce and scary. I think if I did tell her about Lucas, she'd probably go straight round the school or Lucas's house. Maybe she'd stuff Lucas's head down the toilet. That would be fun!

  Daddy, did you like snogging? I bet you didn't. I don't understand how anyone could. It's gross. I don't mean kissing – which is bad enough. Nana Meggie gives me a kiss every morning before I leave for school and Nana Jasmine gives me a big kiss every time she sees me. But snogging? Yuk! How can anyone like putting their lips against someone else's? Very unhygienic. Germs galore! Nana Meggie said that you and Mum were best friends and in love for ever. That's really soppy. I asked Mum if she still loves you but she just looked away. She doesn't answer that question any more. Mum doesn't like to talk about you. I think she misses you too much. I'm going to stop writing now. My arm is getting tired. I've written loads. I hope I get a gold star for this letter. D'you think Mr Brewster will give me a gold star? Maybe I should take out the bit about Mr Brewster shouting at me. I think I'll leave it in. After all, it did happen. I'm not making it up. Nana Meggie is helping me with my spellings so hopefully this letter will be one of the best ones in my class. I bet it's the longest. I do hope I get a star. Mummy will be happy if I get a star. Maybe she'll hug me if I get a star. My arm's really aching now.

  Bye, Daddy. See you in heaven one day.

  Love,

  Rose

  sixteen. Rose is 9

  Hello, Daddy,

  I was thinking about you a lot today. I wish I had a photo of you but Mum says she doesn't have any. And Nana Meggie said that she had loads but she put them all in a box and now she can't remember where she put it. I offered to help Nana Meggie search through the house for it but she said it'll turn up one day. I want it to turn up today. I want to see you. Very much. Nana Meggie says you didn't like to have your photo taken anyway. I wish you did. It'd be so cool to see how much I look like you. I want to see how much my eyes or my nose or my lips or my forehead or the shape of my face look like yours. What were you like on the inside? I wonder about that a lot. I don't mean what your blood and your heart and your liver looked like. They probably looked like everyone else's. I mean deep on the inside, the bit that sometimes shows itself and sometimes doesn't. I know you liked the outdoors, you loved trees and flowers and nature and stuff. I guess that's why you became a gardener. And I guess that's why you wanted to call me Rose. Mum says that was your idea. I must admit, I didn't like my name until Mum told me it came from you. I guess that's why she calls me Rose instead of Callie Rose, so that you can almost be with us. You must love being in heaven. I bet it's got lots of fields and flowers and sunshine. Perfect for gardeners. I miss you, Daddy. Very much. Mummy doesn't believe me when I say that.

  'You can't miss something you've never had,' she told me. (Have I wrote that right? Mummy said whenever I write down what someone says, I have to put speech marks around the bits that they say and start each person's bit on a new line. I don't suppose you'll mind much if it's wrong.)

  Daddy, I do miss you. I'll write again soon. You're not my homework any more but I like writing – especially to you. It makes me feel like we're talking – or at least I'm talking and you're listening. I really feel like you're looking over my shoulder or you're in my head or my heart, listening. Nana Jasmine said I can have one of her tidy boxes, the velvety one. I'm going to keep my letters to you and all my other precious things in it. And no one can see them except you because it's got a key. (Don't worry, I'll keep the key in a safe place.) I'm not going to write every day – only when I feel like it. I hope that's OK – because like I said, you're not homework any more. But I will keep talking to you because I love you.

  Toodles, Daddy.

  Love,

  Rose

  seventeen. Sephy

  The night held a silence that only really ocurred in the early hours of the morning. I could hear a police siren somewhere out there in the distance but the sound was easy to block out. I glanced through the window up at the stars, trying to find the familiar ones which Callum had taught me to look out for. I was in Sonny's house, in a downstairs room that had been turned into a mini-studio. Sonny sat at the keyboard across from me as we tried to put the finishing touches on our latest song, Just Ask Me.

  We'd been commissioned to write this for one of the new and happening Cross girl groups. Usually my heart sank when we were commissioned to write for a new pop group, but these girls had been together since school and had been practising for years before landing a recording contract. Designer groups put together by the music companies for the sole purpose of fulfilling a so-called demand or gap in the market usually had a limited shelf-life of about two years. And when they disappeared, their songs usually disappeared with them. Which meant our songs disappeared. In this business, to make money it's longevity that counts.

  In a meeting with Dale Applegate, an executive producer at Sometime-Anytime Music, he told us he wanted a dance track where the words would be easy to remember. Sonny and I had to hide our true feelings from Dale when we heard the brief. I could feel the waves of hostility emanating from Sonny at Dale's words, but luckily the producer was too thick-skinned to feel it. And after all, it wasn't the most inane brief we'd ever been given. Plus Sometime-Anytime Music were excellent, not to mention prompt, payers. We were supposed to deliver the song the following week, so we really had to get it right.

  Except that I was fading and Sonny had faded and was fast asleep! I read through what we'd written so far, singing softly so as not to wake up Sleeping Beauty.

  A pinch of dedication

  A dash of consolation

  Sling in some deep frustration

  Then add a tear or two

  A longing for salvation

  Disguise the revelation

  In a web of conversation

  That's all you have to do

  Chorus:

  Just ask me

  What I need

  To make me laugh

  To make me sigh

  What makes me dance

  What makes me cry Just ask me

  What I'd like to own

  What turns me on

  What brings me home

  Just ask me

  Strokes of stimulation

  Don't believe in simulations

  With a little relaxation

  I'll do what you want me to

  And be swept up by elation

  One kiss for my salvation

  I will give in to temptation

  But the rest is up to you

  Chorus:

  Just ask me

  What I need

  To make me laugh

  To make me sigh

  What makes me dance

  What makes me cry

  Just ask me

  What I'd like to own

  What turns me on

  What brings me home

  Just ask me

  I don't mind if we take for ever

  I don't mind if it's just one night

  I just want the thrill of something new

  To make me feel all right

  Chorus:

  Just ask me

  What I need

  To make me laugh

  To make me cry

  Just ask me

  What I'd like to own

  What turns me on

  What brings me home

  Just ask me

  (Just ask me)

  Why don't you

  Ask me

  (Just ask me)

  You'll never know

  If you won't

  Ask me

  I shook my head. It still wasn't quite right. Now I just had to figure out why. Sonny was usually really good at homing in on why a song or lyric wasn't working but he'd been scribbling away for the last half an hour without coming up with a single new idea. Still, we were both tired. Maybe we should give in and just call it a night, then come back to it fresh in the morning.

  My eyes were so full of sleep-sand, I had to keep rubbing them to
try and get the stuff out. Sleep-sand . . . One of my mother's sayings from when we were children, fighting against drifting off to sleep. I sighed. Life was very strange. Mother and I were getting on so well at the moment. We had the kind of relationship I could only dream of as a teenager. But with Meggie and me it was a different story. Sometimes I felt like Meggie and I stood on different planets playing tug-of-war with my poor daughter. And as for Sonny . . . His head was turned to one side and resting on his folded arms upon the lid of the keyboard as he slept soundlessly. I sat back in my chair and watched him, surprised at how contented I felt to just watch him sleep. We seemed to be getting on so well at the moment. Better than I could've dared to hope. But there was a part of me that stood apart, watching. Sonny made all the running in our relationship, something he'd pointed out more than once. We'd been going out for over six months now, or at least that's what I called it. According to Sonny, we rarely went out. We watched DVDs, or listened to music and had dinner at his place or at my place on the very rare occasions when both Meggie and Rose were somewhere else. But there wasn't an awful lot of 'going out'. And making love was always at Sonny's instigation. I wasn't unwilling. It wasn't that. Sonny was a kind, considerate lover. And I did care about him – as much as I could care about anyone who wasn't my daughter. It was just . . . it was just that—

  My thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt at the sight of the piece of paper almost totally hidden beneath Sonny's arm. I thought at first it was just his notes on the song we'd been trying to write together. Until I saw the beginning of my name at the top of the sheet. The rest was obscured by his forearm, but I was sure the 'Seph' I could see was the beginning of my name.

  Was he writing something to me? Something he didn't feel able to say, even though I was sitting directly opposite him? Surely that could only be one thing . . . ? I leaned forward and slowly pulled at the sheet. Grunting his sleepy protest, Sonny lifted his arm a fraction. I used the opportunity to successfully whip out the piece of paper from under him. He turned his head on his folded forearms, but didn't wake up. My heart hiccupping in my chest, I sat back and read. I was right. My name was at the top of the paper, but Sonny was writing about me, not to me.