Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman (historical books to read TXT) 📕

The kitchen was dark and silent and strangely comforting. I got myself a glass from one of the cupboards and headed for the fridge. The moment I opened it, I was instantly flooded with light.

What to drink? Warm milk or cold orange juice? In the fridge door was a half-full bottle of Chardonnay. I took out the bottle and swirled around the golden liquid. My mother lived in this bottle – and others like it. She was probably upstairs now, drinking to forget today’s events. Drinking to forget a lot of things. After a moment’s hesitation, I poured myself just enough to cover the bottom of the glass. The first sip almost made me gag. It tasted like refined vinegar. What did Mother see in this stuff? I took another sip. After all, there had to be something to it if Mother liked it so much. Another sip. Then another. And another. I poured out a bit more, half a glassful this time. I drank slowly but steadily. By the time I’d finished, Chardonnay didn’t taste quite so bad. And it made me feel funny, pleasant inside. Sort of warm and squishy. Pouring out a whole glassful, I headed back to my bedroom. I sat up in bed, sipping at my wine, feeling very grown-up as I let it wash over me and through me and into me. My head started to sway from the inside out. Backwards and forwards, rocking me gently.

At last, I put down the empty glass and curled up in bed. This time I didn’t even have to think about trying to sleep. This time I left the world behind the moment my head touched the pillow.

And I slept like a log.

fifty-two. Callum

Mercy Hospital was a sad joke. The rundown accident and emergency department was busting at the seams, and then some. It looked like many of the people there were nought casualties from the shopping centre. The walking, walk-in wounded. There were people crying, shouting, one woman was screaming at regular five-second intervals and no-one was taking the least notice of her. The air smelt of strong, cheap disinfectant. It was so strong I could almost taste it as it caught at the back of my throat, but it still couldn’t quite mask the nastier smells of vomit and blood and urine it was trying to disguise. The whole place reeked of barely organized chaos. All the nurses were noughts and all but one of the doctors. I wondered what a Cross doctor was doing at a nought hospital. Building his stairway to heaven no doubt. I looked at my brother. He’d been involved in all this chaos and carnage around us. How did it make him feel to see the result of his handiwork? But he wasn’t looking around. He was looking down at the ground, like his gaze was permanently stuck there.

‘Are you all right, Mum?’

‘I’ll survive.’

Mum sat on one of the rock-hard benches, her face rigid and set as she cradled her purple-blue, swollen finger. It looked awful. I kept stealing glances at Mum, wondering why she wasn’t crying. It must’ve hurt like blazes.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Mum,’ Jude asked, looking up at last.

‘Yes.’

Ten seconds later. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

I wasn’t surprised when she finally barked at him, ‘No, I’m not all right, Jude. I’ve broken my finger, it hurts like hell and I’m sick of your stupid questions. So just shut up, OK?’

Everyone around us turned to look. Jude lowered his head, his cheeks flaming.

Mum looked at Jude’s bent head and sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, love . . .’ She carefully removed her good hand from underneath her bad and tried to put it on Jude’s shoulder. Jude shrugged her off.

‘Jude, I’m mad at your dad and I’m taking it out on you. I’m sorry. OK?’ Mum put her hand on Jude’s shoulder again. This time he didn’t try to remove it.

‘OK?’ Mum said softly.

Jude shrugged and nodded at the same time.

‘Callum, go and get yourself a drink or something,’ said Mum.

‘Why?’

‘I want to talk to your brother in private. I have something to tell him.’

‘Mum, please . . .’ Jude began.

‘This has nothing to do with the L.M.,’ Mum told him. ‘This is about you and me.’

‘Can’t I stay?’ I asked.

‘No. Do as you’re told,’ Mum ordered.

I walked over to the vending machine on the other side of the waiting room, but I wasn’t thirsty. Besides which, I didn’t have any money. Besides which, it was out of order anyway. It looked like someone had given it a good kicking – or tried to at any rate. I leaned against it, watching Mum speak earnestly to Jude.

Then even from where I was standing, I saw all the colour drain from Jude’s face as he stared at Mum. He leapt up, profoundly shocked. Mum pulled him back down to sit next to her and carried on talking. She leaned forward towards Jude, speaking rapidly with an animation and urgency that showed she was telling Jude something serious. Very serious. I straightened up as I watched them, wondering what on earth was going on. Jude started shaking his head, slowly at first, then more and more quickly. Whatever Mum was telling him, he didn’t like it. He didn’t believe it. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I started walking back to them. By the time I reached them, Jude was looking straight ahead, his face pale, his eyes almost feverishly bright.

‘Mum?’

‘Sit down, Callum.’

I sat down next to my brother. Mum put her hand on Jude’s shoulder. He turned to look at her, still stunned.

‘Jude, darling, I . . .’

‘Excuse me.’ Jude jumped up and headed for the exit without a backwards glance.

‘Where’s he going?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Mum replied unhappily.

‘Is he coming back?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why’s he upset?’

‘Not now, Callum. OK?’

It wasn’t, but I let it drop. Almost half an