changed her mind. 'OK. That's all settled then.' She handed Callie back to me. 'Thank you, Sephy. I'll come and pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.' Meggie beamed at me. 'Having you and my granddaughter in the house will give me a reason for getting up in the mornings again.'
And with that she set off down the ward. I watched Meggie until she disappeared through the double doors at the end and even then, I couldn't tear my gaze away. What on earth had I done?
'I know this is none of my business,' said Roxie from the bed next to mine, 'but I couldn't help overhearing. I thought you were going home with your mother tomorrow?'
'I guess not,' I said, my voice clipped.
'Who was that woman then?' Roxie asked.
'Meggie McGregor. Callie's grandmother.'
'Why did you say you'd go with her?'
'She needs me.'
'What about what you need?' Roxie asked.
I had no answer.
twenty-three. Jude
Cara and I have been going out for a couple of weeks now. I decided to be patient. I'm after more than just a day's takings from the local hairdresser's. I have my eyes on bigger fish now – like the money from the whole Delany hairdressing salon account. There must be hundreds of thousands of pounds in it. I've seen Cara constantly have to turn people away so she has to be raking it in. Getting my hands on all her money shouldn't be too tricky.
For the simple reason that she cares about me. A lot.
I've tested her out. Sometimes, I let two days pass without phoning her. On the third day, like clockwork, she phones me on my mobile and suggests we hook up. And every time I see her, I give her flowers or chocolates or cheap bits of jewellery and she laps it up.
And the questions have started.
'How many brothers and sisters do you have?'
'Steve, what're your mum and dad like?'
'Steve, what exactly d'you do for a living?'
'What did you want to be when you left school?'
'Where d'you see yourself in five years' time?'
All those searching female questions that girls ask when deciding whether or not to get serious about you.
And the funny thing is, I haven't done a single thing to encourage it. Definitely no sex, very few kisses, limited handholding.
But I'll say one thing for Cara – she's intelligent. She knows how to have a proper conversation – unlike Gina. And she has opinions of her own. Gina would always ask me what I thought before venturing an opinion, invariably the same as mine. Cara isn't afraid to disagree with me. It's been a while since I sat down and talked about politics and religion and films and life with someone outside the Liberation Militia. And it's been for ever since I discussed any of those things with a Cross.
'D'you get many noughts in your shop?' I asked over dinner one night.
'Not many – no,' said Cara. 'Not as many as I'd like.'
'I bet some of your Cross patrons don't like you doing nought hair in the same salon,' I said.
'Then they're free to go somewhere else,' said Cara immediately. 'I can't stand that kind of thinking around me. It's such a waste of time.'
'So if I asked you to cornrow my hair, you'd do it?'
'In this restaurant – no!' said Cara dryly. 'But in my salon or at my house? Yes, of course I would. Why wouldn't I?'
'You don't feel we noughts are trying too hard to take over the Cross style?' I said, careful to keep my tone even.
'The Cross style? What's that when it's at home?' Cara asked, leaning in to hear my answer, her expression alert.
'Everything that's you and not us,' I told her.
'For example?'
'Walk into any nought clothes shop and you can buy padded knickers so nought women can have more of a curvaceous bum – like Cross women. Everything about our lives, the style of clothes we wear, even down to the food we eat, it's all dictated by Cross aesthetics, by the way Crosses see the world. Rich nought women aren't dressed without collagen implants to give them fuller top lips and melanin tablets or expensive sun bed treatments to make their skin darker. And what about
And with that she set off down the ward. I watched Meggie until she disappeared through the double doors at the end and even then, I couldn't tear my gaze away. What on earth had I done?
'I know this is none of my business,' said Roxie from the bed next to mine, 'but I couldn't help overhearing. I thought you were going home with your mother tomorrow?'
'I guess not,' I said, my voice clipped.
'Who was that woman then?' Roxie asked.
'Meggie McGregor. Callie's grandmother.'
'Why did you say you'd go with her?'
'She needs me.'
'What about what you need?' Roxie asked.
I had no answer.
twenty-three. Jude
Cara and I have been going out for a couple of weeks now. I decided to be patient. I'm after more than just a day's takings from the local hairdresser's. I have my eyes on bigger fish now – like the money from the whole Delany hairdressing salon account. There must be hundreds of thousands of pounds in it. I've seen Cara constantly have to turn people away so she has to be raking it in. Getting my hands on all her money shouldn't be too tricky.
For the simple reason that she cares about me. A lot.
I've tested her out. Sometimes, I let two days pass without phoning her. On the third day, like clockwork, she phones me on my mobile and suggests we hook up. And every time I see her, I give her flowers or chocolates or cheap bits of jewellery and she laps it up.
And the questions have started.
'How many brothers and sisters do you have?'
'Steve, what're your mum and dad like?'
'Steve, what exactly d'you do for a living?'
'What did you want to be when you left school?'
'Where d'you see yourself in five years' time?'
All those searching female questions that girls ask when deciding whether or not to get serious about you.
And the funny thing is, I haven't done a single thing to encourage it. Definitely no sex, very few kisses, limited handholding.
But I'll say one thing for Cara – she's intelligent. She knows how to have a proper conversation – unlike Gina. And she has opinions of her own. Gina would always ask me what I thought before venturing an opinion, invariably the same as mine. Cara isn't afraid to disagree with me. It's been a while since I sat down and talked about politics and religion and films and life with someone outside the Liberation Militia. And it's been for ever since I discussed any of those things with a Cross.
'D'you get many noughts in your shop?' I asked over dinner one night.
'Not many – no,' said Cara. 'Not as many as I'd like.'
'I bet some of your Cross patrons don't like you doing nought hair in the same salon,' I said.
'Then they're free to go somewhere else,' said Cara immediately. 'I can't stand that kind of thinking around me. It's such a waste of time.'
'So if I asked you to cornrow my hair, you'd do it?'
'In this restaurant – no!' said Cara dryly. 'But in my salon or at my house? Yes, of course I would. Why wouldn't I?'
'You don't feel we noughts are trying too hard to take over the Cross style?' I said, careful to keep my tone even.
'The Cross style? What's that when it's at home?' Cara asked, leaning in to hear my answer, her expression alert.
'Everything that's you and not us,' I told her.
'For example?'
'Walk into any nought clothes shop and you can buy padded knickers so nought women can have more of a curvaceous bum – like Cross women. Everything about our lives, the style of clothes we wear, even down to the food we eat, it's all dictated by Cross aesthetics, by the way Crosses see the world. Rich nought women aren't dressed without collagen implants to give them fuller top lips and melanin tablets or expensive sun bed treatments to make their skin darker. And what about
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