Noughts and Crosses, Malorie Blackman [types of ebook readers .txt] 📗

had descended onto his shoulders.

‘Ryan, w-what did you do?’ Mum whispered.

Silence.

‘Ryan . .?’

‘I signed a confession admitting to all the charges . . .’ Dad’s voice trailed off.

‘What?’ Mum breathed. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘They said they had Jude – and proof he was the bomber. They said someone had to take the blame for the Dundale bomb and it was up to me who took the fall.’

‘And you believed them?’ Mum asked furiously.

‘Meggie, they threatened that you and Callum would also go to prison for conspiracy. It was my life or the lives of my entire family.’

‘Did you do it? Did you plant the bomb that killed all those people?’

Dad looked straight at Mum. He didn’t even blink. ‘No.’

‘Then why . .?’

‘I had no choice,’ Dad repeated. Anger held his body tense and rigid. He looked like he was about to snap in half.

Mum blinked, totally bemused. ‘If you put your hand up to the Dundale murders, you’ll hang.’

‘I know,’ said Dad quietly.

I looked at Mr Stanhope, as if his face could tell me what I couldn’t understand on Dad’s.

‘You want to die?’ Mum asked, bewildered.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Mrs McGregor, the moment Detective Inspector Santiago told your husband the identification of the person whose prints were found, your husband confessed to everything. And his dictating and signing of the confession were videotaped. The tape will clearly show his confession was made without duress,’ said Mr Stanhope softly.

Dad lowered his head and lowered his voice to match, until it was barely above a hushed whisper. ‘Meggie, they found two of Jude’s fingerprints on a cola can fragment in the bin where the bomb went off . . .’

‘That doesn’t prove anything . . .’ Mum interrupted, her voice harsh. ‘That just means . . .’

‘A print was also found on part of the bomb casing that survived the explosion,’ Dad cut across her. ‘And the prints match . . .’

The world flipped crazily and I started to fall faster and further away from sanity.

Jude was the bomber . . .

That couldn’t be right. The Crosses had set him up, framed him. My brother wasn’t a bomber. He wouldn’t do anything like that. And he certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave his fingerprints all over the bomb casing – unless he thought there wouldn’t be anything left of the bomb to identify one way or another so why bother to wear gloves? Jude was the bomber . . .

‘I told the police the truth.’ Dad raised his voice to its normal level. ‘I brought the cola from home. I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me if I went into the shops to buy one. That’s the only reason it’s got Jude’s fingerprints on it. He must’ve handled it and put it back and I didn’t realize. And as for the casing, I kept the . . . the necessary equipment around the house. Jude must have handled that as well. He obviously didn’t realize what he was touching, he was just curious.’ Dad raised his head and spun around, shouting into each corner of the room in turn, ‘Jude had nothing to do with this, d’you hear? I’m guilty. No-one else.’

They didn’t believe that, did they? No-one in his or her right mind would believe that ridiculous cock-and-bull story.

‘Ryan . . .’ Tears flowed down Mum’s face.

‘No, Meggie. I’m guilty. That’s the truth and I’m sticking to it. I won’t let them put you and Callum in prison for this. Or Jude,’ Dad interrupted. He lowered his voice again. ‘Just make sure that Jude stays lost so the daggers can’t get their hands on him. If they find him, he’ll rot in prison.’ A tiny, sad smile played over Dad’s face, but it was gone in an instant. ‘But at least my confession means he won’t die.’

sixty-one. Sephy

‘Today, Ryan Callum McGregor of 15, Hugo Yard, Meadowview was formally charged with Political Terrorism and seven counts of murder for the bombing outrage at the Dundale Shopping Centre. He has confessed to all charges so the court case against him will be a mere formality. His family consisting of his wife Margaret and two sons, Jude and Callum, are said to be in hiding.’

Every word was an arrow pinning me to my chair.

But he didn’t do it. I knew that as surely as I knew my own name. Callum’s dad was no more the bomber than I was. Of course, he didn’t do it. I had to help. I had to prove that. But how? There had to be some way. Something I could do. What could I do to help him?

Think. Think . . .

‘Blanker scumbag!’ Minnie hissed from across the room. ‘His whole family should swing, not just him.’

‘Minerva, I won’t have language like that in this house, d’you hear? You don’t live in Meadowview.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ Minnie said, chastened. But it didn’t last long. ‘And to think we’ve had him here, in this very house. And his wife actually used to work here. If the press get hold of that little bit of info, they’re going to have a field day – and Dad’s going to have kittens.’

‘What d’you mean?’ I asked.

‘Oh Sephy, use your brain. If Ryan McGregor gets off, Dad will be accused of favouritism and protecting his own and all sorts, whether or not it has anything to do with him.’

‘But the Dundale bomb had nothing to do with Mr McGregor . . .’

‘Nonsense. He’s confessed, hasn’t he?’

I turned to Mother. She looked very thoughtful.

‘Mother, they won’t really hang him, will they?’

‘If he’s guilty . . .’ Mother shrugged.

‘And Callum goes to our school,’ Minnie continued. ‘Dad’s going to get it in the neck for that as well.’

‘Callum has absolutely nothing to do with this.’

‘An apple never falls far from the tree,’ Minnie nodded.

‘What a pile of . . .’

‘Persephone!’ Mother’s harsh warning had me biting back the rest of what I wanted to say.

‘Even if Ryan McGregor is guilty –