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

and chaos. And I loved it. ’Cause it was just what I needed. A place to shout and kick out, where no-one could stop me because I was just one of many. At that precise moment I felt like I could rip the metal barriers out of the concrete beneath my feet with my bare hands. I was invincible because I was so filled with rage. It was a giddy feeling and I revelled in it. Someone grabbed my arm. I turned, ready to lash out. It was Mum.

‘Callum!’ she shouted. ‘Let’s get out of here. I want to see your dad.’

‘Mum . .?’

And just like that all my anger that was just about to break out subsided. I stood watching Mum, waiting for the pain inside to dampen down, waiting for the world around me to turn multi-coloured again instead of blood red.

‘Come on.’ Mum pulled me after her, in the opposite direction to the crowd. And with an overwhelming sense of regret and frustration, I let her.

seventy-seven. Sephy

‘DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!’

‘Don’t talk to me like that,’ Mother frowned.

But I was too far gone by now. Dad had gone straight back to his office in one of his colleague’s cars, leaving me, Mother and Minerva to go home alone. And with each passing second, the fury in me had dug deeper and deeper. Mother had come home and gone straight to the kitchen. Minnie ran up to her room. I followed Mother.

‘How dare you take me to that . . . that . . . thing? How dare you?’

‘We had to go. It was our duty.’ Mother took a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge.

‘Our duty? To see a man get hanged?’

‘Yes.’ Mum poured out some wine into a tumbler. ‘Because like it or not we have to support your dad, whether or not we agree with what he’s doing.’

‘But that was . . . barbaric. Taking us to watch a man die. Dad’s sick. So are you.’

‘I didn’t like it any more than you did.’ Mother downed her half pint of wine without even gasping.

‘Liar. You couldn’t take your eyes off it. I saw you.’

‘I wasn’t watching,’ Mother said quietly, pouring herself another drink.

I’d had enough by then. I snatched the bottle out of her hand and threw it across the kitchen. It hit one of the cupboards and bounced off to spin around on the floor. But it didn’t break. What little wine there was left, trickled out in a silent puddle.

‘Go to your room,’ Mother stormed at me.

Finally, a reaction. And it left me cold. ‘You really don’t care, do you?’ I said, making no attempt to hide my disgust. ‘You would’ve cared more if they were hanging a wine bottle instead of a person.’

Mother slapped me hard – but I was ready for it this time. I turned back to face her almost immediately.

‘There’s wine spilling out over there. Go and lick it up then. You wouldn’t want to waste any, would you?’

Mother gasped, a sound she tried to smother at once, but she was too late. I heard it.

‘Waiting for me to leave before you get on your hands and knees?’ I sneered. ‘OK then. I’ll leave you to it.’

Mother grabbed my arm and swung me around to face her. ‘You don’t know every damn thing, Persephone,’ she hissed at me. ‘You think you’re the only one hurting here? Ryan McGregor was my friend. So was Meggie McGregor. D’you think I wanted to see him hang?’

‘Why did you go then?’ I shouted at her.

‘One day you’ll realize that you can’t always do what you want to do in this life. And when you realize that, maybe you’ll think of me,’ Mother told me.

‘I want to think of you as little as possible,’ I said bluntly. ‘You say they were your friends? Nothing would make me go to the hanging of one of my friends. Nothing. Not even Dad.’

‘I tried to help . . .’ Mother whispered.

‘How? By getting blind drunk before and afterwards?’

‘You stupid girl. Who d’you think paid for their lawyer and all their legal fees?’ Mother took hold of my shoulders and shook me. ‘I prayed and paid and did everything I could to make sure that Ryan wouldn’t hang. What more could I’ve done? You tell me?’

‘You paid for their lawyer?’

Mother turned away from me. ‘Yes, and that’s not to leave this room. And not for the reason you think either.’

‘That was just your guilty conscience,’ I told Mother. ‘You’ve never done anything for anyone other than yourself in your life. So go back to your bottle. You’ve earned it.’

And I ran out of the room, knowing that Mother was watching. I bolted up the stairs like the devil himself was chasing me.

Strange how much you can cry, don’t you think? Strange how many tears you can hold inside. I lay on my bed and cried until my whole body shook and my head pounded like a pneumatic drill, and even then I couldn’t stop. And I knew no-one would hear me cry either. Minnie’s room was next to mine but our rooms were practically soundproofed. So I didn’t need to bury my head under my pillow, or choke back my sobs. I just cried. For Callum, for his dad, for the day – and for myself, I admit it.

seventy-eight. Callum

Two hours and a lot of arguing from our solicitor later, we were finally allowed in to see Dad. Mr Stanhope, our solicitor, said he’d wait for us outside as we were shown into the visitors’ hall. Mum and I sat in silence, our eyes trained on the door. At last the door opened – and I almost wished it hadn’t. Another anonymous prison officer entered, followed by Dad. And he looked terrible, half-deflated and pale as a ghost. On the scaffold, he’d been tall and straight and in a funny way I’d