I crept down the stairs. As thirsty as I was, I didn’t relish the prospect of running into Mother. She was so miserable. I couldn’t understand it. I could still remember when Mother had been all smiles and hugs and jokes – but that was long ago and far away now. About three years ago. Since then, there had been a complete change. Her sense of humour had grown old and died before the rest of her and these days her lips were turned down in a frown that was permanently carved into her skin.
I shook my head. If that’s what growing old was about then I never wanted to grow old. At least Dad was still fun – when he was around, which wasn’t often. Every adult I met for the first time loved to tell me how great my dad was – how he was so smart, so funny, so handsome, how he was destined to go all the way to the top. I’d’ve liked to discover those things about my dad for myself. A man with oily hands and a sweaty smell who came to Mother and Dad’s last dinner party had spent his entire time with me talking about how Dad would be Prime Minister one day and how I must be so proud of him. I mean, that man could’ve won a gold medal at the International Games for being the most boring person in the world. Why on earth would I care about Dad becoming the Prime Minister? I saw little enough of him as it was. If he became Prime Minister I’d have to watch the telly just to remember what he looked like.
‘Those bleeding heart liberals in the Pangaean Economic Community make sick! They said we in this country had to open our schools to noughts, so we did. They said we had to open our doors to recruiting noughts into our police and armed forces, so we did. And they’re still not satisfied. And as for the Liberation Militia, I thought letting a few blankers into our schools would spike their guns . . .’
I froze on the bottom step at the sound of Dad’s bitterly angry voice.
‘It wasn’t enough. Now the Liberation Militia have had one of their demands met, they don’t see why they can’t have a few more. And then it’ll be a few more after that.’ Another voice – Dad had a guest.
‘Over my cold and rotting body! I knew granting even one of the Pangaean EC’s demands was a mistake. God spare us from liberals and blankers!’
I winced at the venom in Dad’s voice. And I’d never heard him refer to noughts as blankers before. Blankers . . . What a horrible word! A nasty word. My friend Callum wasn’t a blanker. He wasn’t . . .
‘The Liberation Militia are growing impatient with the rate of change in this country. They want . . .’
‘And just who are “they”?’ Dad demanded. ‘Who’s the head of the Liberation Militia?’
‘I don’t know, sir. It’s been a slow business working my way up the ranks and the Liberation Militia are very careful. Each military group is divided into different cells or units, with multiple drop-off points if they want to communicate with others in the Militia. It’s very hard to find out who’s in charge.’
‘I don’t want excuses. Just do it. That’s what I’m paying you for. I’m not going to lose my place in the government because of some terrorist rabble-rousers.’
‘They call themselves Freedom Fighters,’ Dad’s guest stated.
‘I don’t care if they call themselves descendants of the angel Shaka, they’re scum and I want them wiped out. All of them.’
Silence.
‘I’ll keep working on it.’
Dad’s derisive snort was the only reply the other man got.
‘Sir, about these meetings . . . they’re becoming more and more dangerous. We should find a safer way to communicate.’
‘I still want these face-to-face meetings at least once a month.’
‘But it’s not safe,’ the man with Dad protested. ‘I’m putting my life on the line every time . . .’
‘I don’t want to hear it. You can e-mail me or phone as often as you like but I want to see you at least once a month. Is that understood?’ Dad snapped.
At first I thought the other man wasn’t going to answer. But at last he said, ‘Yes, sir.’
I tiptoed closer to the drawing room. Who was Dad talking to? I could only hear their voices.
‘Blankers going to my daughter’s school . . .’ I could almost hear Dad shaking his head. ‘If my plan doesn’t work, it’ll take a miracle to get re-elected next year. I’ll be crucified.’
‘There are only three or four going to Heathcroft, aren’t there?’ the other man asked.
‘That’s three or four more than I thought would pass the entrance exam,’ Dad said with disgust. ‘If I’d thought any of them stood a chance of passing the test, I would never have amended the education bill in the first place.’
Every word was like a poison dart. An icy shiver shot through me and it was like my heart was being ripped apart. I was so . . . so hurt. Dad . . . My dad . . .
‘Less than two dozen noughts are going to Cross schools nationwide. That’s not so many, surely?’ the other man pointed out.
‘When I want your point of view, I’ll buy it,’ Dad dismissed.
Did he even know that Callum was one of the noughts going to my school? Did he even care? I doubted it. I took another tentative step forward. I glanced across the hall. Dad’s reflection was clearly visible in the long hall mirror opposite the drawing room. I could only see the back of Dad’s guest reflected in the mirror as he had his back to the door, but I was more than a little stunned to see it was a nought. He had blond hair, tied back in
