Split Second by Sophie McKenzie Read Free Book Online Page B

it, but Charlie seems nice.’ She leaned closer. ‘Not a bit like her cousin.’
    ‘Yeah, that’s not hard.’ I grinned. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry for showing you up.’
    ‘Timbuktu sorry?’ Jas said, raising her eyebrows and smiling.
    ‘And back again,’ I said.
    We laughed, but it made me feel sad. Moments like this were just faint echoes of a time long past, when our home had been full of nonsense in-jokes like that one from
Oliver
. . . stuff
that didn’t really make sense, but which connected us in a way that outsiders couldn’t hope to understand. I’d always been close to Jas – I was older than her by half an
hour: ‘Fighting to come out you were,’ Mum once told me, ‘unlike poor Jas who didn’t want to come out at all’ – but I missed the closeness that our whole family
once shared.
    Charlie was hovering about, waiting for Jas. She was looking vaguely in my direction, though not meeting my eyes. She really was very pretty. I tore my gaze away.
    ‘See ya later,’ I said to Jas, then headed to the canteen, praying that Charlie wasn’t going there too.
    She wasn’t. In fact, I didn’t see her again that day and managed to avoid her for most of the rest of the week. To my relief, Charlie didn’t try and speak to me again
either.
    But I always knew when she was in the room, almost as if I had a sixth sense for her presence. And, as the week drew to a close, I was forced to admit that Jas had been right – Charlie
did
seem nice. She wasn’t all giggly and simpering like Rosa and so many of the other girls and she was certainly good with Jas. I hadn’t seen my sister smile so much at school
in a long time.
    I was also increasingly certain that Charlie had no idea Lucas had been involved in the bombing. Which of course made sense. After all, it had been chaos in that market. If the police
hadn’t realised Lucas was involved with the bomb, why would an innocent bystander like Charlie have done?
    The weekend came and I did all the usual stuff: a meagre food shop with Jas, then several hours helping Dad at the garage. Two of our regular clients announced they were no longer able to pay
their bills. It was a blow but, as Dad pointed out, at least we didn’t need the Future Party’s free food bags just yet. Posters featuring Roman Riley had sprung up all over north
London, advertising where the next handouts were going to take place. Since the Canal Street market bomb the Future Party no longer used any covered or indoor venues, but they were still organising
free food in the poorest areas of almost every town in the country. As a result, they had won the last two by-elections – which meant more seats in Parliament. There were ten Future Party MPs
now including, of course, the leader, Roman Riley.
    On Sunday, I met Callum and the others in the park for a game of football. Mum was in when I got back that afternoon. She was watching the news on TV, a cup of coffee growing cold in her hands.
There had been a riot in south London in response to the Government’s latest austerity measure: the closing of two local hospitals.
    Mum didn’t take her eyes from the screen as I came in and sat down at the table.
    ‘Imagine if they closed Lucas’s hospital,’ she breathed, worry etched across her face.
    The screen switched to an interview with the Mayor of London. He was surrounded by a scrum of reporters.
    ‘There is simply no choice,’
the Mayor said.
‘I know it’s hard, but everyone has to bear their fair share.’
    Mum shook her head.
    The shot switched to a studio panel containing three opposition politicians. The Future Party’s Roman Riley sat at the end of the row.
    ‘We have just heard Mayor Latimer claim that everyone has to share responsibility for the crisis,’
Riley said.
‘But why? If a man robs a shop we expect him to pay
for his crime. Him. Not the shop. And certainly not his neighbours. Yet in closing a hospital the Government is forcing the poorest and most vulnerable