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

doctor finally gave Mum two injections at the base of her finger to numb any pain she might feel whilst he reset her bone, but he wriggled the needle around so much each time, that poor Mum was almost biting a chunk out of her lip by the time he’d finished. He prodded it a few times.

‘Does that hurt?’ the doctor asked.

‘No.’

‘You’re sure.’

‘Of course I’m sure. I’m hardly going to say no otherwise, am I?’

The doctor acknowledged Mum had a point with a nod of his head. He carefully manipulated her finger, feeling along it on both sides before giving it a hard tug. Jude and I winced and I for one closed my eyes. He should’ve given us some warning. I didn’t realize he was going to just yank it.

‘Did that hurt?’ he asked, immediately.

Mum shook her head. ‘The injections did,’ she said. ‘That didn’t.’

‘Good,’ the doctor smiled. He took a bandage out of his pocket and started binding Mum’s index finger to her middle finger. ‘You’ll need to keep this out of water and bandaged for the next three weeks.’

‘Three weeks! I can’t keep my fingers bandaged up for that long. I’m a housemaid. How can I clean anything with my fingers like this?’

‘You either keep them bandaged for three weeks or you can forget about being able to use them at all,’ the doctor warned. ‘You must give your finger a chance to heal.’

‘But, Doctor . . .’

‘I mean it, Mrs McGregor. If you don’t take my advice, you’ll regret it.’

Mum scowled at him, but she got the message.

‘You OK, now Mum?’ I asked as we left our curtained cubicle.

‘I’ll live.’ Mum’s voice was clipped with worry. She headed straight back to Nurse Carter’s station. Using her left hand, she knocked on the door – three smart taps that signalled business. The door opened almost immediately.

‘I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning with my ID and I’m going to trust you to delete my sons’ ID info from your database,’ Mum said.

‘Which son?’ Nurse Carter asked.

‘Both of them,’ Mum declared.

‘Don’t worry,’ Nurse Carter smiled gently. ‘It’s as good as done already. You have nothing to worry about.’

Mum visibly relaxed. ‘Good. Good! Thanks for all your help.’

‘My pleasure.’ Nurse Carter shut the door as Mum turned to leave.

Moments later we were out of A&E – thank goodness – and on our way home. It was a good forty-minute walk back home, but the early April night wasn’t too chilly. I looked up and made a wish on the first star I saw – something Sephy had taught me. The same wish made on every star I saw.

‘Is your finger still OK?’ Jude asked Mum.

‘Yes. The injections haven’t worn off yet.’ Mum smiled.

They walked side by side back home, with me trailing behind them.

Our IDs were on the hospital database. Why did that worry me so much?

Don’t be silly, I told myself. You’re agonizing over nothing.

How did the saying go? If you go looking for trouble, you will surely find it.

fifty-three. Sephy

I limit myself to a glass a night, just enough to warm me up and chill me out. Waking up the following morning after my first night’s drinking had taught me not to overdo it. Each minute sound, each tiny movement had set off a series of massive explosions in my head like nothing I’d ever experienced before – and I never wanted to go through that again either. All things in moderation. I’m not a drunk, not like Mother. I just drink because . . . Well, because.

I don’t like the taste of this stuff particularly. And God knows it still gives me the worst morning headaches I’ve ever had in my life. But it makes me feel OK when I’m drinking it. Kind of warm and careless. It smooths out the rough edges – as Mother says. I don’t mind so much about Mother any more. I don’t even mind so much about Callum. A couple of drinks and I don’t mind about anything.

Isn’t that cool?

fifty-four. Callum

Mum went back and had our information deleted off the hospital database but she’s still not happy. The slightest noise outside, the lightest knock at the door and we have to scrape her off the ceiling.

‘Why don’t you just walk around with an “I am guilty!” sign wrapped around you?’ Dad snapped.

I winced the moment he said it, as did Mum.

‘I’m sorry, Meggie,’ Dad sighed.

Mum turned and walked away from him, without saying a word. Dad slammed out of the house. Jude turned up the telly volume, even though it was fine as it was before. I bent my head and carried on with my homework.

But we couldn’t go on like that.

We were all sitting down for Sunday lunch of mince and spaghetti when Mum suddenly threw down her fork.

‘Ryan, I want you out of this house,’ Mum declared.

The floor beneath my chair disappeared and I started free falling.

‘W-what?’ Dad frowned.

‘I want you out of this house by morning. I’ve thought about it and this is the only way,’ said Mum. ‘It’s too late for you and me, but it’s not too late for Jude. I’m not going to let you drag a noose around his neck. I love him too much to let you do that.’

‘I love him too,’ Dad stared at her.

‘I don’t like the way you show it,’ Mum told him. ‘So you must leave.’

‘I’m damned if I’ll leave my own house,’ Dad declared.

‘You will if you love any of us as much as you say you do,’ Mum said.

I looked from Dad to Mum and back again, horrified. I wasn’t the only one at the table who knew that Mum meant every word.

‘You’ve never understood why I’m doing this,’ Dad said bitterly. ‘I want something more for my sons. Something better.’

‘And the end justifies the means?’

‘Yes. In this case it does. Especially when the daggers haven’t left us with any other option.’

‘I’m not arguing