Читать книгу Flawed / Perfect - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 14

“Let’s address the elephant in the room,” Bosco says suddenly, reaching for the red wine and filling his glass generously. He insisted we all sit back down at the table, though there isn’t anyone who feels hungry after what we’ve just witnessed. Dad is still with Bob. Mum is in the kitchen preparing the main course.

“I don’t understand,” I say to Bosco. “Angelina Tinder is accused of being Flawed?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he says good-naturedly, his blue eyes dancing as he looks at me. It’s almost as if he is enjoying my reaction.

“But, Angelina is—”

Mum drops a plate in the kitchen, and it smashes and it stops me in my tracks. Was that a warning from her? To tell me to stop talking?

“I’m okay!” she calls, too chirpily.

“What were you going to say about Angelina, Celestine?” Bosco eyes me carefully.

I swallow. I was going to say that she is nice, that she is kind, that she has young children and she’s a great mum and that they need her, that she has never said or done anything wrong in all of the time I’ve spent with her. That she’s the most talented piano player I’ve ever heard, that I hoped I could play just like her when I’m older. But I don’t because of the way Bosco is looking at me and because Mum never usually breaks anything. Instead I say, “But she teaches me piano.”

Juniper tuts beside me in disgust. I can’t even look at Art I’m so disappointed in myself.

Bosco laughs. “We can find you a new teacher, dear Celestine. Though you raise a good point. Perhaps we should think about stopping Angelina from playing. Instruments are a luxury the Flawed don’t deserve.” He tucks into his starter and takes a huge bite of carpaccio, the only person at the table even holding his cutlery. “Come to think of it, I hope that’s all she was teaching you,” Bosco says, his smiling eyes gone.

“Yes, of course,” I say, frowning, confused that he would even question that. “What did she do wrong?”

“Taught you the piano,” Art teases. “Her downfall, if anyone’s heard you.”

Ewan giggles. I smile at Art, thankful for the break in nervous tension.

“It’s not funny,” Juniper says beside me, quietly but firmly.

Bosco’s eyes move to her immediately. “You’re correct, Juniper. It’s not funny.”

Juniper averts her eyes.

And the tension is back.

“No, it’s not funny, comical, but it’s funny, peculiar,” I say, feeling slapped.

“Thank you, Thesaurus,” Juniper says under her breath. It’s what she always calls me when I get bogged down by definitions.

Bosco ignores me and continues to direct his gaze at my sister. “Did Angelina teach you, too, Juniper?”

Juniper looks him square in the eye. “Yes, she did. Best teacher I ever had.”

There’s a silence.

Mum enters the room. Perfect timing. “I must say, I was very fond of Angelina. I considered her a friend. I’m … shocked by this … event.”

“I did, too, Summer, and believe me no one feels more pain than I do in this moment, seeing as I am the one who will have to tell her the verdict.”

“You won’t just tell her, though, will you?” Juniper says quietly. “It will be your verdict. Your decision.”

I’m afraid of Juniper’s tone. This is not the correct moment for one of her soapbox airings. I don’t want her to annoy Bosco. He’s someone who should be treated with respect. Juniper’s language feels dangerous. I’ve never seen anyone speak to Bosco in this way.

“You just never know what those among us, those we consider friends, are really like,” Bosco says, eyes on Juniper. “What lurks beneath those you consider your equals. I see it every day.”

“What did Angelina do?” I ask again.

“As you may well know, Angelina travelled outside this country with her mother a few months ago to perform euthanasia, which is illegal here.”

“But she accompanied her mother on her mother’s wishes, to another country where it was legal,” Juniper says. “She didn’t do anything to break the law.”

“Nor is the Guild a legal courtroom, merely an inquisition into her character, and we feel that in making the decision to travel to another country to carry out the act, she is deemed to have a Flawed character. Had the government known her plans, it would have had a case to stop her.”

There’s silence at the table while we take this in. I knew that Angelina’s mother had been terribly sick for years; she had been suffering with a debilitating disease. I had not known how she had met the end of her days, but we had all been at the funeral.

“The Guild doesn’t take religious views into account, of course,” he continues, perhaps sensing our doubts on his judgement. “We merely assess the character of a person. And strictly observing the accepted teaching about the sanctity of life, in allowing Angelina Tinder to return to this country having done what she did, the Guild would be sanctioning anguish and pain. Whether or not it was in a different country and whether it was legal or not are beside the point. It is her character that we must look at.”

Juniper just snorts in response.

What is it with her? I hate this about my sister. In everybody else’s opinion, we are identical. Though she is eleven months older than I am, we really could pass for twins. However, if you knew us, we would never get away with it, because Juniper gives herself away as soon as she opens her mouth. Like my granddad, she doesn’t know when to shut up.

“Did you know that Angelina Tinder was planning on travelling to kill her mother?” Bosco asks, leaning forward, elbows on the table, focussing on Juniper.

“Of course she didn’t know,” Mum says, her voice coming out as a whisper, and I know she’s only doing that because otherwise she would be shouting.

Juniper stares down at her untouched starter, and I silently beg her to keep quiet. This isn’t fun. A room full of people I love, and my heart is pounding as if something dangerous is happening.

“Will Angelina be branded?” I ask, still in shock that I could actually know a Flawed person, have one live right on this street.

“If found guilty on Naming Day, yes, she will be branded,” Bosco says. Then to Mum, “I’ll do everything to keep it out of the press for Bob’s sake, of course, which won’t be difficult, as the Jimmy Child case is taking over all the airwaves. Nobody cares about a Flawed piano teacher right now.”

Jimmy Child is a football hero who was caught cheating on his wife with her sister for the past ten years and faces a Flawed verdict, which would be disastrous, as it would mean he couldn’t travel overseas for matches. Among the many punishments the Flawed face, they must give up their passports.

“I’m sure Bob will appreciate your discretion,” Mum says, and it sounds so smooth and easy that I know she really feels awkward and stilted in her mind.

“I hope so,” Bosco says, nodding. “I certainly hope so.”

“Where will she be branded?” I ask, obsessed with this. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it and can’t understand why nobody else is asking questions. Apart from Juniper, of course, but hers are more accusing than anything else.

“Celestine,” Mum says harshly, “I don’t think we need to discuss—”

“Her right hand,” Bosco says.

“Theft from society,” I say.

“Indeed. And every hand she goes to shake from now on will know just what she is.”

“If she’s found Flawed. Innocent until proved guilty,” Juniper says, like she’s reminding him.

But we all know Angelina Tinder has no chance. Everyone who goes through the Flawed court is found guilty; otherwise, they wouldn’t be taken in the first place. Unlike Juniper, I understand rules. There is a line, a moral one, and Angelina crossed it, but I just can’t believe that I could know someone who is Flawed, that I could sit in her house beside her at her piano, a piano she touched then I touched with my own fingers. I want to wash my hands immediately. I try to think back on our last conversation, all our conversations, to see if she showed any hint of a dent in her character. I wonder about her daughter, Colleen. Can I still talk to her at school? Probably best not to. But that doesn’t feel right, either. I’m conflicted.

“Where is Cutter?” Bosco suddenly says, looking at Mum angrily.

“He’s with B. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” she says politely.

“That doesn’t look good,” he says. “He should be here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be—”

“I hope she can still play piano,” Juniper interrupts Mum, out of nowhere. “With her hand seared.”

“Do you feel sorry for her?” Bosco asks, his irritation rising.

“Of course she doesn’t,” Art pipes up, mouth full of food, knife and fork squeezed between his huge man hands and pointing up at the ceiling like he’s a caveman. He waves them around as he talks, food spraying off and flying on to the table. “We’re all just shocked, Dad, that’s all. I mean, come on, you could have given us a head’s up that our dinner guests were about to be taken away? When that siren went off, poor Celestine looked like she thought she was about to get carted away to the madhouse, which between me and you is where she belongs, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

He says it so easily, so fresh, so well judged that it seems to remind Bosco of where he is: in his neighbour’s dining room with his son, and not in his courtroom.

“Of course.” Bosco looks confused for a moment, and then he looks at Ewan, who has been remarkably quiet at the table. He reaches out a hand and pats my hand warmly. “Sorry, dear Celestine, I didn’t mean to scare you. Let’s start again, shall we?” He picks up his glass of red wine and holds it in the air with a beaming smile. “Happy Earth Day.”