Checkmate by Malorie Blackman Read Free Book Online Page B

going to dance around this?
    'I'll be fine. Why wouldn't I be?' I challenged.
    'If you need me, just phone.'
    'Meggie, I'm quite capable of putting my own daughter to bed,' I said patiently.
    'I didn't say you weren't. Oh, by the way, don't let her watch the TV this evening though,' said Meggie, her voice grim.
    'Why?'
    'There's a programme on at eight o'clock about the history of the Liberation Militia. They might mention
    'I see.' Now I sounded just as grim as Meggie. Every time the Liberation Militia were mentioned on the TV, my blood ran ice-cold. I was probably over-reacting; after all, Callum's name had only been mentioned in a documentary once – at least, that I knew about. That was part of the reason I'd finally decided against giving Callie
Rose her dad's surname. And that was something over which Meggie held no sway and had no say. But that didn't stop the panic rising whenever the L.M. were mentioned. I didn't want my baby to hear any of that. I didn't want my baby to know . . . Not yet. Plenty of time to tell her the truth when she was old enough to deal with it, to understand it. But it wasn't just the ashes of past sins that I was afraid of being stirred up. Each time the L.M. came on the TV, I waited with bated breath to hear Jude's name.
    'Have you heard from Jude recently?' I asked.
    The colour drained from Meggie's face, then a slow curtain of red began to rise, covering her neck, her cheeks. She looked away from me.
    'No. Why?'
    I frowned at Meggie. Why was she so embarrassed? No, it was more than embarrassed. She was lying.
    'If you had seen him, would you tell me?'
    'Why would I hide it?' Meggie looked me in the eye to say, 'And why ask me about him now? You haven't mentioned his name in ages.'
    'He's in the L.M., isn't he?'
    'Not any more,' said Meggie.
    'Who told you that?'
    'Jude did.'
    'When?
    'The last time I spoke to him.'
    'And you believed him?'
    'Jude wouldn't lie to me,' said Meggie, drawing herself up.
    Was she serious?
    'Jude does nothing but lie,' I told her. 'He killed that Cross hairdresser, Cara Imega, and he boasted about it.'
    'I don't beli— That's not true. Jude says he didn't do it and I believe him,' said Meggie.
    In the battle of 'he said, she said', Jude was the clear winner. I trailed in a poor, weary second.
    'Besides, if he did say that, he probably only said it to . . . to . . .'
    Couldn't Meggie hear herself? Didn't she hear the ridiculous excuses she was making for her demon incarnate son.
    'Yes?' I prompted. 'Why would he say such a thing if it wasn't true? To wind me up? Or maybe just to rub my nose in the fact that I helped a stone-cold killer escape justice? Which reason sounds more plausible to you?'
    'Jude didn't kill that girl,' Meggie insisted.
    This was an entire waste of my time and my breath. 'If you say so, Meggie. Enjoy your dinner.'
    I turned my attention back to the TV. Meggie stood still for a few moments, then headed out of the room and out the house. Only when I heard the front door slam did I allow myself to relax completely.
    I found it very hard to relax in Meggie's house, sitting in Meggie's chair with Meggie's things all around me. And impossible to relax around Meggie. She saw everything her way and no one else's. And she didn't trust me. Not even close. But how could anyone in full possession of their faculties really believe that Jude wasn't a member of the L.M. or that he didn't have anything to do with Cara Imega's murder.
    Cara Imega . . .
    That name would haunt me till the day I died. For a long while, I thought that all the terrible things that happened to me after Cara's death were my punishment. The fates tearing me to pieces for my culpability. But that was before I realized that I didn't need the fates or divine retribution or any other external source to punish me. I was doing a first-rate job all on my own.
    Jude was a murderer.
    But by helping to hide his guilt, what did that make me?
    By not coming forward when I had the chance, what