‘What’s happened?’ Jazz asks.

‘Need-to-know or not – believe me: you don’t want to know,’ I say.

Mac sorts a plan with Jazz about when and where we can try to meet with Mum, while I drift about the kitchen, making toast. Wondering if DJ will go with our plan. What if he thinks we haven’t got enough to go public? What if he says no? We can’t get it broadcast without his help.

I leave the kitchen, make for the back room. Knock once and go in.

Aiden’s still on the com with DJ. He meets my eyes, gestures for me to be quiet. ‘What is the time frame for that?

‘I’m not sure we can—

‘I see.’

‘Let me talk to him,’ I say.

Aiden mimes pulling his hair out. ‘Fine. Talk to her then.’ He holds the com out to me.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Kyla. Aiden’s been telling me that—’

‘DJ, just listen to me a moment. We need to do this broadcast as soon as we can. No more waiting for more things to go wrong. We’ve got to move before—’

‘Slow down. I agree with you.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. And Kyla, hon, I hear you’ve had a rough time. I’m sorry.’ He pauses, but this time I stay silent. What is there to say? ‘Aiden wants me to ship you out of the country.’

I narrow my eyes at Aiden. ‘I’m not going.’

‘That’s my girl. I think we need you involved in our little movie production. Aiden’s given me the rundown on Stella’s recording, the other things on your camera, the possibility of Sandra Davis’s involvement. You need to make it happen.’

Now I glare at Aiden. ‘We haven’t even asked her yet. She may refuse.’

‘One way or the other, we need to get this wrapped up for transmission tomorrow, or we’ll have to wait months for another opportunity. A bit techy, but all to do with choosing the right moment to interfere with their satellite without detection: we can mask our intrusion as solar activity if it coincides with a geomagnetic storm. And wild weather with thunderstorms later is predicted as well: their satellite and terrestrial communications should be interrupted tomorrow evening if both solar and weather predictions are correct.’

‘Tomorrow? So soon?’ I say, looking at Aiden. He raises his shoulders in a shrug.

‘Can you do it?’

Waiting might give us more to broadcast. But look what happens with waiting: All Souls. That’s what. ‘Yes. We’ll do it.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

‘DJ? I have a question.’

‘Yes?’

‘Did you hear about what Dr Lysander said, about someone high up interfering with my hospital records?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you find out anything else about me? My DNA?’

There is a pause, barely perceptible. ‘Still working on it.’

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

* * *

I’m jittery, nervous. Can’t sit still. Aiden looks at me. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Everything.’ I look at the time. ‘She’s late.’

He glances at the clock. ‘Only about twenty seconds. It’ll be all right.’

‘It’s just I don’t want anything to happen to her. Everyone who gets too close to me seems to pay the price. I don’t want her involved.’

He takes my hand. ‘Because you care. You want her out of harm’s way.’ He doesn’t say anything else, but I know what he is thinking.

‘I couldn’t go.’

‘I know.’ He sighs. ‘It is part of what makes you who you are. But I had to try.’

The door opens.

‘Mum!’ I jump up and run to her. Her arms wrap around me quickly, a tight hug.

She looks over my shoulder at Aiden. ‘Who’s this?’

He stands up. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Aiden.’

She turns to me. Shakes her head. ‘Why are you back? It’s too dangerous.’

‘I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t leave,’ Aiden says. They exchange a look.

‘Stubborn, isn’t she?’ Mum says. ‘Now: why am I here?’

‘We need your help.’

Mum sits down and Aiden explains what we – MIA – are planning to do.

‘So this really will broadcast across the whole country? And in other countries?’

Her eyes turn in, thinking, then meet mine with a spark of excitement. ‘That could work. Though I’m not sure what you think I can do.’

‘I’m really sorry to show you this,’ I say.

‘What?’

I get the camera out. ‘Do you know who Astrid and Stella Connor are?’

She frowns. ‘Astrid Connor went to school with my mother; they were friends. Stella is her daughter. We used to be in touch when we were kids, not lately though. She stopped answering my calls, years ago.’ She shrugs. ‘What do they have to do with anything?’

‘They’re my family. From before I was Slated. I was adopted by Stella; she raised me from when I was a baby, until I was ten. It was her I went off to see.’

‘What?’ Mum’s eyes are round with surprise. She shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe it. But I can’t see what this has to do with me.’

Aiden and I exchange a glance. I’d wanted to warn her what was to come, but he thought it was best for her to see and hear it for herself.

‘Okay. Here’s a recording Stella made. She hid it on my camera, and I only just found it recently. I’m sorry.’

I project it on the wall, hit play. Her face goes pale as she watches and listens, and she grips my hand tight.

After it ends, Mum looks away a moment. Then she meets my eyes. ‘If only I’d known what my parents were planning to do. All these years, I could never understand why my father set up the Lorder government, with all it has led to. I always thought he didn’t know what was really going on, but he did, and he was planning to put a stop to it. Thank you for telling me.’

‘You see,’ Aiden says, ‘this is why we need you. To introduce Stella’s recording in our broadcast: it’ll give it credence. Make people listen.’

‘Also we’ve got a witness who saw your son Robert alive after the bus bombing,’ Aiden says. ‘You could talk about him being missing, also.’

Mum nods. ‘I knew from another source that Robert survived the bombing, but disappeared afterwards. I always assumed he was Slated. If my parents could have said and done what they wanted, would our world be a different place? Would I still have my son. I want to do it for them, to say what they were stopped from saying. Yet this isn’t just about me; things could go wrong. I have Amy’s safety to consider. I need time to think about this.’

‘I’m sorry. That is one thing we haven’t got a lot of,’ Aiden says.

‘When would we need to do this?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. There are technical reasons why the broadcast must happen tomorrow night. Jazz can bring you, if you decide to help us.’

They talk some more about details, but I just hold her hand tight. Imagine the shock: all this time being told one version of why your parents died, and then finding out it was all lies.

‘I should go.’ She hugs me tight. ‘Take care of her,’ she orders Aiden, and then is gone.

‘What do you think she’ll do?’ Aiden asks.

This is so reminiscent of another time, another decision. When she had to decide whether or not to tell the whole country on that live recording what she thought really happened to her son Robert. Then, she didn’t do it; she wouldn’t do anything to put Amy or me in danger. Will this time be any different?

‘I don’t know.’ And part of me hopes she will be there tomorrow; part of me hopes she stays away.

That evening, Aiden is working in the computer room, and Mac has gone off with Jazz to set up for tomorrow, and to copy the footage and photos from my camera and start putting it all together. DJ wants me to do an introduction, to explain how things I witnessed fit together, and I’m trying to think what I can say so I won’t stare at the camera like an idiot.

What can I say about All Souls that explains what happened in a way that makes any sense? What can I say about Ben?

What can I say – what am I willing to say – about my life. My crazy, confused, Lorder-tainted life, and all those it has damaged or destroyed.

I’m stalking back and forth in the front room; Skye gets under my feet. I almost trip over her and curse.

Aiden’s door opens; he comes in. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Just stage fright,’ I say, but look at my feet. I can’t look him in the eye.

‘It’ll be all right.’

‘Just like everything else has been all right, so far?’ And I’m shaking. I don’t know why; is it a delayed reaction, fear, pain, all three?

I look up and take a step towards him; Aiden takes one towards me. Meeting in the middle. His arms slip around me, just gentle, not holding but comforting, like you would a sister, or a child. I nestle my head against his shoulder. I fit against him different to Ben; Ben is taller. His hand smooths my hair, he’s trying to make me feel better but it’s not enough, nothing can ever be enough to take the emptiness away. And I pull him closer and closer. His heart is beating faster and so is mine. I reach up and pull his head down, kiss him. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t care. All I am is cold, dead, empty; Aiden is feeling, warmth, and life.

And at first he kisses back. Then gradually, gently, he pushes me away. Shakes his head. ‘Not like this.’

And I start to cry. Why? Another loss, another cold space. He pulls me to the sofa, wraps a blanket around me. ‘Don’t go,’ I say.

‘I’m not going anywhere. Ever. As long as you don’t want me to.’ But he stands up. ‘Back in a sec.’ He goes down the hall, and comes back with a guitar in his hands.

‘I don’t play very often, but it always makes me feel better. Close your eyes, Kyla. Tomorrow will be a long day. But we’ll get through it. And I’ll be there.’

And he plays: he’s good. Some songs I know, some I don’t. And somehow my eyes close. I slip to a dark, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

* * *

The promised wild weather has arrived. The cold wind whips branches off trees and swirls dead leaves as I run.

I’d slept late, and said I just needed a run, bolting out, not able to meet Aiden in the eye after last night. Half expecting an argument, or an escort. But they let me go.

My feet fly up the canal path, pushing hard to make everything go away, but it’s not working. I dig deep for more: more effort, more speed. And the miles fly by, and it gets closer. This run wasn’t only about escape and release. Will I be able to find it?

Not at first. I know I’m close to where it should be, that there was a particular bend of the path, a climbable tree not far from it. I slow to a jog and retrace my steps until finally I think I see the right one.

The wind is crazy as I climb up the branches, like it’s going to pull me off and throw me to the ground. I squint to avoid getting grit blown in my eyes. How far up was it? I think I’ve come too far, and look back. Anything could have happened to it: a bird or a squirrel with an eye for shiny things could have taken it; the branch it is on could have been victim to the wind. It might be the wrong tree. Now that I’m not running, I’m freezing; I feel around with numb hands, having trouble keeping my footing when I can barely feel my feet. I’m about to give up when my fingers brush something cold, something metal.

I twist to reach it better, and pull it off the branch it is hooked around: Emily’s ring. Clutch it tight in my hand a moment, then start down.