'OK, Meggie. What d'you think of this?' Sephy asked.
I suppressed a smile as she cleared her throat. A fragile peace had broken out between us at last and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that. Sephy was talking to me again. We were talking to each other. It wasn't much, but we had to start somewhere.
She began to read:
'Above the wide blue nowhere
I dance upon clouds of dreams
And when the music fades away
My world is only beams
Of light.
The endless night
Stretches on
Lost in a heart
Of words...'
'Er... what does it mean?' I interrupted, unable to take any more drivel in my ear holes.
Sephy was obviously startled by my question. I saw her frown down at the piece of paper in her hand. Silence. This time I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud. How should I say it? What was the kindest way to put it? Sephy's first attempt at songwriting needed a lot of work.
'It's about... it's about dreams.'
'Is it?' I asked. 'I'm afraid I wouldn't've guessed that if you hadn't told me.'
'Well, what did you think it was about then?' Sephy asked.
'I wasn't sure. But surely the point of a piece of music or a song is to communicate a thought or a feeling or an emotion to the person listening?'
'Yeah? So?'
'What d'you think your poem, song, whatever is saying to me?' I asked.
Sephy looked down at it again. 'It's saying I'm a pretentious twat,' she sighed before scrunching it up in her hands.
'It's not that bad, Sephy,' I tried.
'Yes, it is. In fact it's worse. I'll try again.'
Sephy picked up her pen from the floor and her notepad from her lap and started writing. I watched her with a smile. There it was again. That will not to give up. My smile faded. Sephy hadn't given up on anything in her life – except my son, Callum. Not a day passed when I didn't think about that hateful letter he was supposed to have written. But I would go to my grave, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that Callum loved Sephy more than logic, reason or life itself. If only I could convince her of that.
She looked up and caught me smiling at her. She tentatively smiled back, looking suddenly shy.
'What's the matter?'
'I... I have written some other poems,' Sephy began, almost reluctantly. 'Private poems. About me and... Callum.'
I felt like someone trying to feed a timid bird or a doe. One wrong word on my part and she'd skitter away and close up like a telescopic umbrella. I kept my mouth shut.
'I haven't shown them to anyone. Not even Jaxon,' said Sephy.
'D'you want to show them?'
'Yes and no. I want to but I'm a bit... anxious about doing it.'
'Well, Sephy, you have to make a decision. Show them and the rest of the world be damned. Or keep them to yourself but then never get any feedback and never share them.'
'It's not that simple,' Sephy sighed.
'Yes it is. It's entirely that simple. Sephy, you have to make up your mind which one you want to do – and then do it. Either poo or get off the pot!'
Sephy started laughing. After a moment, I joined her.
'The things you come out with, Meggie,' said Sephy. 'You always could make me laugh.'
'How d'you confuse a nought? Lean three shovels against the wall and tell him to take his pick.'
The studio audience cracked up at that one. I turned to look at the TV. So did Sephy. The so-called comedian Willy Wonty (what a ridiculous name! Whose idea was that?) stood like a damn fool basking in the audience's laughter. The nought arse was too stupid to realize that the studio audience were laughing at him, not with him. I shook my head as he grinned into the camera like a complete imbecile.
'D'you know, a good friend of mine came up to me yesterday, really sad and down in the dumps. "What's wrong with you?" I asked. "My family is a mess," he told me. "My wife has left me for another woman, my dad has gone senile, my youngest son is in prison, my daughter has just had a mixed-race child and my eldest son has just become a Member of Parliament. How will I live with the shame?" So I told him, "Tell everyone your eldest son is a bank robber instead."'
'Why are you watching this crap?' Sephy said, glaring at me, then at the TV. 'And I don't appreciate having my daughter equated to being in prison or someone going senile. And I certainly don't appreciate having her likened to being an MP. Was that joke meant to be funny then?'
'I didn't write the joke, Sephy,' I told her. 'I think the man is just as big an arse as you do.'
'I doubt it,' Sephy sniffed.
'I can guarantee it,' I told her firmly. 'Hearing jokes like that from a Cross is one thing. Having a nought tell jokes like that is something else again. He makes it seem like it's OK to poke fun at us and it's not.'
'Can we turn it over then?' Sephy asked. 'That moron is turning my stomach.'
I pressed the button on the remote to change the channel. The news was on. And then I got the shock of my life.
'Earlier today, the police announced a significant breakthrough in their hunt for the murderer of hairdressing salon owner, Cara Imega. They are now looking for this man, Jude McGregor, to help with their inquiries. The public are asked to keep their eyes open for this man. If he is seen, please contact the police immediately. The police warn that he should not be approached under any circumstances as he is known to be dangerous and possibly armed.'
The photo of Jude when he was eighteen seemed to burn its way through the TV screen and head straight for me.
'Oh my God...' Sephy breathed.
I couldn't say a word. Jude. My son. Wanted for murder. It couldn't be true. Jude was a freedom fighter, not a stone-cold killer. He wouldn't do something like that. Beat a poor girl to death. No one in their right mind would do a thing like that. Jude didn't do it. Did he..? Did he?
Sephy's looking at me. Well, let her look. My boy may have done lots of things I'm not proud of. I know he's not a saint. He's in the Liberation Militia and calls himself a freedom fighter. Freedom first – that's their motto. And as a member of the L.M. he must've done some things, terrible things. But that was and is for a cause. And I know that doesn't excuse it and I know that doesn't make it right, but he is fighting for something he believes in. To kill that girl, though, in cold blood... A hairdresser, for heaven's sake. And someone who employed noughts and Crosses on an equal basis. He wouldn't do that. But they think he did. And now they won't stop until they catch him and have him and, oh God, hang him.
I can't lose my last child.
Please don't let me lose my last child.
OH GOD, PLEASE, PLEASE, DON'T LET ME LOSE MY LAST CHILD.
'Please, God. Please don't let me lose my last child...
'Please God, please...'
GREEN
New for Old Old for New Changing, Rearranging Absence of Passion Human Nature Mother Nature Sticks and Branches Sharp New Shoots Creativity Revelations The Beginning of the End The End of the Beginning Flexing Olive Khaki Lime Sage Leaf Grass
THE DAILY SHOUTER Friday 27th August Page 8
Noughts
to join
Pottersville
Pottersville, the nation's favourite soap, is to get its first nought family. Catherine Burdon, the show's executive producer, told the Daily Shouter, 'We're really excited about the prospect of a nought family joining our cast of regulars. Having a nought family in residence will bring a whole new dynamic to our show. Pottersville is number one and our new family will bring us an even wider audience.'
Details of the new family are still being kept under wraps but we can reveal that the family will be called the Slotters and will consist of a grandparent, father and mother and four children.
