Double Cross (10 page)

After school, I couldn't bear to face anyone so I hid away
in the library for over half an hour, hoping that by then I'd
be able to walk home in peace. I didn't want to be with
anyone. I just wanted to be left alone, to think. I headed
out of the school gates, every thought finding its way
back to Uncle Jude. What if . . . ? What if he really was
still alive?

'Callie Rose. Wait up.'

I turned round at the sound of my name. Lucas. I glared
at him as he came running up to me, not bothering to
disguise exactly what I thought of him.

'Hi, Callie,' he said diffidently.

'Hello, Lucas,' I replied. My tone could've frozen
water. What did he want?

'I'm having a birthday party next week. Would you like
to come?'

'Why?'

Lucas blinked in surprise at my question. 'What d'you
mean?'

'Why're you inviting me?'

''Cause I'd like you to be there,' said Lucas, as if the
answer was obvious.

But it wasn't, at least not to me.

'I'm not turning up at your party so you and your
friends can make jokes at my expense,' I told him straight.

'We wouldn't do that.'

I raised my eyebrows.

'OK,
I
wouldn't do that. And I wouldn't let my friends
do it either.'

'Yeah, I was very impressed with the way you reined
them in this morning,' I said with contempt.

'I'm sorry about that,' Lucas said. 'I was just . . . I'm
sorry.'

'You were just – what?' I prompted.

'I hate seeing you two together,' said Lucas. 'Tobey is
trouble and you're going to get hurt.'

'What're you on about? Tobey is my friend. And my
next-door neighbour. He wouldn't hurt a fly.'

'He's a Nought.'

Lucas had better not be saying what I thought he was
saying. 'So?'

'Well, you're a Cross. It doesn't hurt Tobey's street cred
to have everyone think of you as his girlfriend.'

I was a Cross now, was I? Funny how my status seemed
to change depending on the eyes of the beholder. To
Drew I was a Nought and would never be anything else.
Lucas called me a Cross. Where did that leave me? On one
side or the other or stuck somewhere in the middle?

'Lucas, what's your point?'

'I'm just trying to warn you to be on your guard. Tobey
isn't the open book you seem to think he is.'

I shook my head, trying to figure out just what Lucas
was playing at. Was it malice? Jealousy? What?

'And you know Tobey is with Misty, don't you?' Lucas
continued. 'Everyone in the school knows those two are
an item.'

Well, Misty had told enough people, so that was hardly
news.

'What's that got to do with me? I told you Tobey and I
are just good friends,' I replied.

'The way you and I used to be "just good friends"?'

I frowned at Lucas. Where was he going with all this?

His eyes slowly narrowed. 'Or maybe Drew was right.
Maybe us Crosses just aren't your thing.'

'Excuse me?'

Us Crosses? Lucas's exclusive club of which I was no
longer a member? It hadn't taken much to get me kicked
out.

'I guess you're more like your mother than I gave you
credit for,' said Lucas.

I straightened up, trying to quash the tidal wave of hurt
rising inside me. 'And that, Lucas, is why you and I
together will never work,' I said quietly. 'Say what you
like about Tobey, but he'd never, ever say something like
that to me.'

Lucas looked genuinely remorseful, but it was far too
little, much too late. He put out his hand to touch my
cheek, but I flinched away from him. 'I'm sorry, Callie.
That was . . . I didn't mean it.'

'Yes, you did,' I replied. 'You always make me feel like
I have to constantly apologize for my mum and dad and
for being who and what I am. Well, I'm not going to, not
any more.'

I stepped round Lucas and this time he didn't try to stop
me. A couple of steps on and I turned back. 'Lucas, you've
never made me feel more than I am. But for your information,
Tobey never makes me feel less. So thanks for
your party invitation, but I think I'll pass.'

I headed home without another backward glance. Why
did life have to be so complicated? Tears pricked at my
eyes. First the news about Uncle Jude, then Lucas. What
would Lucas say if he knew about my uncle? Probably
think he'd had a lucky escape? Judge me as guilty by association?
Or just guilty full stop?

Uncle Jude . . . Was he out there somewhere?
Watching? Waiting? My uncle occupied every thought all
the way home. Much as Lucas's words had hurt, Uncle
Jude had the power to hurt me more. So where was he?
Just waiting for the right moment to do the maximum
amount of damage? He was really good at that.

Where was he?

'Hello, Ann. Is Tobey in?'

Tobey's mum shook her head. 'You've missed him by
about twenty minutes. He went off somewhere with his
friend Dan.'

'D'you know where?'

Ann shook her head again. 'Callie, are you OK? You
look . . . out of sorts.'

My attempted smile slid right off my face. 'I'm fine. I
just wanted . . . to talk to Tobey.'

'D'you want to come in and wait for him?'

I shook my head.

'He'll be back in a couple of hours if you want to come
back then,' Ann told me. 'Jessica's off to a party later and
I've got to go to work.'

Tobey's mum worked all kinds of unsocial hours. She
was used to me coming and going in her house, just as
Tobey treated my house like his second home. That's the
way it had always been. Tobey's dad had gone off years
before to 'find himself ' and he'd stayed lost ever since.
Jessica only mentioned him to curse him to hell and back.
Tobey never mentioned him at all.

'If Tobey isn't in by the time you come round again,
just use the spare key.' Ann lowered her voice even
though there was no one around us. 'It's in its usual place.'
Its usual place being under one of the plant pots in the tiny
front garden.

'Thanks, Ann.'

'No problem. I'd much rather Tobey hung around with
you than Dan. I don't trust Dan.'

'Why not?' I asked.

'Every time he comes into this house, he's always telling
me how much everything cost – as if I didn't know
already. Dan is a boy who knows the cost of everything
and the value of nothing.'

I smiled faintly. I wasn't particularly keen on Dan either.
Every time we met, he looked me up and down like he
was working out how best to dissect me.

'If you see Tobey before I do, tell him I've left him
some chilli in the fridge if he's still hungry. He just needs
to heat it up. That goes for you too, Callie. Help yourself
if you're hungry.'

'Thanks, I will,' I replied.

I turned round to head back home. Usually I would
stand and chat with Ann, but not now, not today. Even
though Tobey and I lived next door to each other, I still
turned my head this way and that to see if I was being
watched. Was Uncle Jude out there somewhere watching
my every move? I shook my head, warning myself not to
be so paranoid. It didn't help.

Usually I didn't mind coming home to an empty house
– not that it happened that often. But today I did. The
silence bounced off the walls and echoed around me.

I went straight up to my room. Sitting on my bed, I
drew my legs up so that I could wrap my arms around
them and rested my head on my knees.

Should I ask Nana Meggie when she got back home?
Surely Uncle Jude would've got in touch with her by
now? She was probably the only one on the planet who
truly knew if Uncle Jude was alive or dead.

The bomb I'd made had killed an innocent man.

Uncle Jude could be out there, somewhere.

And if he was, nothing would be the same again.

Dan took me to a lockup I never realized he owned. It
was secured with a combination-code padlock, opened by
pressing a series of digits. Dan had to input his code three
times before the thing finally clicked open. By his third
frustrated try, accompanied by a lot of swearing and the
muttering of several numbers, I had his code memorized –
not that I'd ever use it. So much for his security then! I
walked into a small, windowless room which was a bit like
a narrow garage. It smelled of damp walls and mould, like
the air in the place was several months old. The only
furniture was an old wooden table covered in packages
and boxes of assorted sizes and shapes. The floor was
strewn with rubbish, more boxes and carrier bags.

'So when did you get this place?' I asked. Thinking
better of it, I raised a hand to ward off Dan's reply. 'You
know what, don't tell me. I don't want to know.'

My two packages were covered in brown paper. Both
were quite small. One was about the size of a bag of sugar,
the other was the shape, size and weight of a pack of
playing cards. Both had been wrapped to within a
millimetre of their lives, with sticky tape covering the
brown paper so that none of it could be peeled back to
take a quick peek at what lay beneath. Dan placed both
my packages in a supermarket carrier bag snatched up off
the concrete floor. He gave me specific instructions.

'Guard those packages with your life. If some bastard
thinks he'll take them off you, you make sure that doesn't
happen. The only time that bag leaves your hand is if the
cops put in an appearance. Then you drop the bag and run
like the wind.'

Like I needed to be told that.

'I thought you said these packages were safe,' I said,
liking this whole idea less and less with each passing
second.

'I never said they were safe. That's your brain telling
you what you want to hear.'

'So what's in them?' I asked again.

'I still don't know,' Dan said, a hint of exasperation in
his voice. 'And asking too many questions in this line of
work can get you into a whole heap of trouble.'

So whatever I was carrying, it wasn't something you'd
pick up in the local supermarket. It was illegal and that
meant dangerous, and dangerous meant I could end up in
a youth detention centre or in prison. Or worse still, dead.

Just this once. Just this once and no more, I promise.

Please let me get away with it just this once.

Dan contemplated me.

'What?' I asked, irritated.

'D'you want some protection?' Dan asked slowly.
'Something to calm your nerves?'

'Like what?'

After giving me a scrutinizing look, Dan struggled to
pick up one of the closed boxes off the floor, before
dumping it on the only clear space on the table. I peered
inside, then recoiled. The box was filled with meanlooking
knives. I mean, double-edged, big-arsed, wickedlooking,
eviscerating combat knives, switchblades, kitchen
knives. In fact, every knife known to man was represented
in that box.

'Godsake, Dan. What's with all the armour?'

'They're for protection.'

'Protection from which invading army?'

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There had to be at
least twenty blades in that box, maybe more. Probably
more.

'Dan, are you off your nut?'

'I have to arm myself. The streets aren't safe,' he
told me.

'Yeah, 'cause tossers like you can't set foot outside your
house without tooling up,' I replied. 'Godsake! Why
d'you need so many knives? You've only got two hands.'

'Carry one of these and no one will mess with you.
D'you want one or not?' asked Dan, peeved at my lack of
appreciation for his hardware.

'One what?'

'A knife? I have knives for every occasion.' Dan
launched into a pseudo sales pitch. He picked up a knife
at random. 'For example, this fine specimen is phosphatetreated
and comes with a polymer sheath which is
available in olive, camouflage and black.'

'Hell, no.'

'Tobey, I promise you, with one of these in your
pocket, you'll—'

My response was heartfelt. 'No frickin' way.'

'Suit yourself.' Dan eyed me speculatively as he closed
the box. 'I've got a couple of items even more effective
than these knives . . .'

'Dan, don't even go there,' I warned. 'I'm not interested.'

'Suit yourself.'

'Thank you. I will,' I replied. I ran a shaky hand over
my sweaty forehead.
Stop the world, I want to get off.
'I
need to get out of here. Just give me the relevant names
and addresses before I see sense and change my mind,' I
said.

Walk away.Walk away now,
I told myself.

The answer? Not without my money. I was already
thinking of it as
my
money.

*

The first stop was a forty-minute train ride out of
Meadowview. The instructions Dan gave me seemed
straightforward enough. Once I got off the train, I pulled
up my hood, kept my head down and started walking. I
thought it'd take me ten minutes max to get to my destination.
Twenty-five minutes later I was only just turning
into the right road. Each house in this area was detached
and about a quarter of a kilometre from its neighbour – at
least, that's what it felt like as I walked along. The front
gardens were massive so I couldn't even begin to imagine
how big the back gardens must've been. I stopped two or
three houses away from my destination and looked up and
down the wide, tree-lined street. Two women passed on
the opposite side of the road, deep in conversation, but
apart from that the road was deserted. My hood still in
place, I cautiously looked up at the surrounding trees and
at the tops of the lamp-posts in the vicinity. No CCTV
cameras. Another glance up and down the road. I
appeared to be alone.

Appeared to be . . .

Stop being paranoid, Tobey.

I headed for the designated house, trying to look a little
less guilty and a little more like I had every reason to be
there. My stomach was tumbling and copious beads of
sweat were making my T-shirt stick uncomfortably to my
back. The late evening hadn't begun to cool down yet. If
anything the air had become more muggy, so that each
breath was like inhaling after lifting a saucepan lid. I hated
the summer.

This house was definitely upmarket. At least, it looked
that way as I approached. But as I turned into the
driveway, the weeds and moss sprouting up from between
the paving stones were more evident. Somewhere overhead
a crow cawed. I looked down at the parcel I was
supposed to deliver. I guess drugs knew no boundaries and
weren't confined to a single postcode or area or country
come to that. One of the world's great levellers – along
with love. And hate. And fear. I took another look
around. It wasn't often that I made it out to the plush
suburbs. Correction. I never made it out here. I tried to
wrap my head around why anyone who lived here would
need to haze their mind with drugs? I guess misery knew
no boundaries either.

I rang the doorbell. I didn't hear any chiming inside. I
pressed on it again. Silence. So I knocked as well, just in
case the bell wasn't working. A baby started bawling its
head off inside. Trying to ignore my racing heartbeat, I
knocked on the door again, a lot harder this time. The
door opened almost at once. The smell of nappies and
toast hit me at once. A harassed Cross woman, in her
mid-thirties, I think, answered the door. She wore white
trousers and a yellow, sleeveless blouse. Her black hair was
dishevelled, her onyx eyes wary.

'Yes?' she asked.

From the back of the house, the baby's crying was
getting louder. She ignored it, her gaze darting nervously
past me up and down the street.

'Are you Louise Resnick?'

'Who wants to know?'

'I have a package for Louise Resnick.'

'It's a little late to be delivering post, isn't it?'

I shrugged.

'Give it here then.' The woman held out her hand.

'I was instructed to only give it to the proper recipient.'

'Huh?'

'I can't give it to anyone but Louise Resnick.'

The unseen screaming baby turned up the bawling
volume by quite a few decibels.

'Charlene' – the woman turned her head to scream
back into the house – 'could you please do your job and
stop Troy crying.' She turned back to me, her expression
fraught, her eyes cold. 'I'm Louise Resnick, so pass it
here,' she said impatiently.

The package stayed in my carrier bag.

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' said the woman. She picked up
her designer handbag from beside the door. Annoyed, she
retrieved her driver's licence and flashed it so close to my
face that I had to pull my head back like a turtle. 'Happy
now?' she asked.

I dug out the smaller package from my carrier bag as the
woman replaced her licence and dropped the handbag
onto the hardwood floor.

'Who's it from?' Louise asked suspiciously. She ran a
shaky hand through her locks, making them even more
untidy.

'I don't know,' I replied truthfully. 'I'm just delivering
it.'

I held it out towards her. She took a half-step back,
suddenly reluctant to touch it. She looked at me, trying to
read my expression. I really didn't know what was in the
package and it must've shown on my face because she
finally stretched out her hand to take it.

'Thanks,' she murmured.

From one of the rooms behind her, the baby was now
shrieking. Louise closed the door in my face without
saying another word. I shrugged and turned away, heading
back towards the train station. But once I reached it, I
couldn't settle. I walked up and down the platform like
my shoes were on fire. I made sure to keep my head down
and my hood in place, just in case. The CCTV cameras
placed at regular intervals along the platform would
capture my jacket, jeans and trainers – and that was it.
Hanging around anywhere near that woman's house was a
really bad idea. I didn't know what was in the package and
I didn't want to know, but every instinct I possessed
screamed at me to get away, to drop my other package and
run. But I couldn't. I'd agreed to help Dan and I had to
see this through.

Focus on the money, Tobey,
I told myself.

The train finally arrived to take me to my next port of
call. Another forty-minute journey back to Meadowview
and a twenty-minute bus ride later, I hopped off. This area
was very different from where Louise Resnick lived. I
looked around. If I ever had to draw Hell, then this was
where I'd come for inspiration. Narrow streets, high-rise
estates, no hint of green or any other colour except
concrete grey. I'd been walking for less than five
minutes when a car pulled up alongside me, matching
my walking speed. The two Nought men inside, around
my age or only slightly older, looked me up and down as
they kerb-crawled beside me. After a swift glance at them,
I looked straight ahead and carried on walking. One hand
tightened around the carrier bag, the other was empty at
my side. No hands in pockets. No sudden moves. No rude
gestures. I forced myself not to speed up and run away or
slow down either.

On the passenger's side of the car, a man with lightbrown
hair and dark-blue eyes looked me up and down,
his expression suspicious and more. 'Which side of
Meadowview d'you live on?' he asked.

'I don't,' I replied, still walking.

I skirted as close to the truth as I could get. I didn't live
in Meadowview, on either side, on any side. I existed. On
whose side were these two guys? Did they work for either
the Dowds or McAuley? Or were they further down the
pecking order than that? Did they claim ownership of a
number of pages in the local map book, or just one page,
or maybe just this street?

'I'm visiting a friend who lives around here,' I told
them, forcing myself to look at both occupants in the car.

The man with the brown hair turned to the driver and
said one word – 'Tourist.'

They drove off. The moment their car was out of sight,
I stopped walking to give my heart time to stop punching
my ribs. Existing was hard work. Existing wasn't much,
but for the moment it was all I had.

A couple of minutes later, I reached my destination.
This time it was a flat on the Chancellor Estate, a high-rise
block that should've been demolished twenty years ago.
Anti-social housing. I climbed up the concrete stairs,
which stank of piss, vomit, disinfectant and paint, to the
third floor.

Flat Eighteen was a third of the way along the walkway.
I took a moment to look out over the balcony. A few
people were milling about below, but no Crosses, so I was
probably safe from the police. Unless they had some
undercover Noughts watching me. I couldn't assume that
the Noughts I saw weren't coppers. The police force was
actively recruiting from 'all sections of society', as they put
it in their ads. And it was working. So I had to be extra
vigilant.