I immediately raise my arm to deflect her. ‘Just give me a minute!’ I can’t halt this – there’s nothing I can do. My chest shudders with repressed sobs. I cup my hands over my face and try holding my breath.
‘Lochie, it’s going to be all right. Please don’t . . .’ Her voice is softly imploring.
The air bursts from my lungs. ‘Goddamnit, I’m trying, OK? I can’t – I j-just can’t seem able to—’ I’m out of control now and it terrifies me. I don’t want Maya to witness this. But neither do I want her to go. I need to get off this couch, out of this house, but my legs won’t obey me. I’m trapped. I can feel the blind panic descending again.
‘Hey, hey, hey.’ Maya firmly takes my hand in one of hers and cups my cheek with her other. ‘Shh. It’s OK, it’s OK. Just a build-up of stress, Lochie, that’s all. Look at me. Look at me. Was it the argument? Was it? Can we talk about that a little bit?’
I’m too tired to fight any more. I feel my torso crumple, slowly tilting towards her until the side of my head rests against hers, my hand covering my face. She strokes my hair and, reaching for my other hand, starts kissing my fingers.
‘In – in the cemetery,’ I choke, closing my eyes. ‘Please just tell me the truth. W-what you said, was it – was it true?’ I breathe deeply, hot tears escaping from beneath my lashes.
‘God, Lochie, no,’ she gasps. ‘Of course it wasn’t! I was just angry and upset!’
Relief floods through me, so strong it almost hurts. ‘Maya, Jesus, I thought it was all over. I thought I’d ruined everything.’ I straighten up, breathing hard, rubbing my face fiercely. ‘I’m so sorry! All that horrible stuff I said. I just totally freaked out. I thought you wanted to – I thought you were going to—’
‘I just wanted to touch you,’ she says quietly. ‘I know we can never go all the way. I know it’s illegal. I know the kids could be taken away if anyone found out. But I thought we could still touch each other, still love each other in other ways.’
I take a frantic breath. ‘I know. Me too. Me too! But we have to be so careful. We can’t get carried away. We can’t – we can’t risk . . . The kids . . .’
I see the sadness in her eyes. It makes me want to scream. It’s so unfair, so horribly unfair.
‘Maybe one day, hey?’ Maya says softly with a smile. ‘One day, when they’ve grown up, we can run away. Start anew. As a real couple. No longer brother and sister. Free from these awful ties.’
I nod, desperately trying to share in some of her hope for the future. ‘Maybe. Yes.’
She gives a tired smile and wraps her arms around my neck, resting her cheek against my shoulder.
‘And until then we can still be together. We can hold each other and touch each other and kiss each other and be with each other in every other way.’
I nod and smile through the tears, suddenly realizing how much we do have. ‘As well as the most important thing of all,’ I whisper.
The corner of her mouth twitches. ‘What’s that then?’
Still smiling, I blink rapidly. ‘We can love each other.’ I swallow hard to ease the constriction in my throat. ‘There are no laws, no boundaries on feelings. We can love each other as much and as deeply as we want. No one, Maya, no one can ever take that away from us.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maya
‘How come it’s you today?’
‘Because Lochan’s not feeling very well.’
‘Did he throw up?’ Willa flicks her long fair hair back behind her shoulders and the tiny gold studs in her ears sparkle in the fading afternoon sun. Remnants of custard dapple the front of her pinafore and she is without her cardigan again.
‘No, no. Nothing serious like that.’
‘Throwing up isn’t serious. Mummy does it all the time.’
Ignoring this last comment, I turn my attention to her clothes. ‘Willa, will you do up your coat? It’s freezing!’
‘Can’t. The buttons are gone.’
‘All of them? You should have told me!’
‘I did. Miss Pierce says I’m not allowed sellotape on my book bag too. She says I have to get a new one.’ She takes my hand and we cross the playground to the football area, where Tiffin is tearing around half undressed with a dozen other boys. ‘And we’re not allowed holes in our tights. I got told off in front of the whole of assembly.’
‘Tiff! Time to go!’ I yell as soon as he shoots past us. The game pauses briefly for a free kick and I yell again.
He glances over angrily. ‘Five more minutes!’
‘No. We’re going now. It’s freezing, and you can play football at home with Jamie.’
‘But we’re in the middle of a match!’
The game resumes and I try to get closer, nervously skirting the running, darting, yelling boys, their cheeks ablaze, eyes fixed on the ball, shouts echoing across the darkening playground. As he races past, I make a valiant grab for Tiffin, missing by miles. Behind me, Willa stands pressed up against the fence, coat flapping open, shivering hard.
‘Tiffin Whitely! Home, now!’ I shout at the top of my voice, hoping to embarrass him into submission. Instead, he dives into a tackle, wrong-footing his opponent and dribbling the ball towards the other side of the pitch at lightning speed. He pauses for a moment as a boy twice his size comes hurtling straight for him. Then he draws back his leg and shoots, the ball skimming the inside edge of the goalpost.
‘Goal!’ His hands punch the air. Whoops and yells join his own as his team-mates rush up to slap him on the back. I give him a moment before diving in and dragging him out by the arm.
‘I’m not going!’ he screams at me as the game resumes behind us. ‘My team was winning! I scored the first goal!’
‘I saw that and it was a great goal but it’s getting dark. Willa is freezing and you’ve both got homework to do.’
‘But we always have to go straight home! How come the others are allowed to play? I’m sick of stupid homework! I’m sick of always being at home!’
‘Tiffin, for God’s sake act your age and stop making a scene—’
‘It’s not fair!’ The tip of his shoe suddenly makes violent contact with my shin. ‘I never get to do anything fun. I hate you!’
By the time we locate Tiffin’s missing school bag and I get them both out of the playground, it’s almost dark and Willa is so cold her lips are purple. Tiffin stalks on ahead, his face puce, blond hair wild, deliberately trailing his coat on the ground to annoy me, kicking at the tyres of parked cars in rage. My leg throbs painfully. Four bloody hours till bedtime, I think ruefully. Another hour before they are actually asleep. Five. My God, almost the length of a new school day. All I want is to reach that moment when the house goes quiet, when Kit finally turns down the rap and Tiffin and Willa stop bombarding me with requests. That moment when rushed, half-finished homework is pushed aside and Lochan is there, his smile tentative, his eyes bright, and anything, almost anything seems possible . . .
‘. . . so I don’t think she wants to be my friend any more,’ Willa finishes mournfully, her icy hand buried in mine.
‘Mm, never mind, I’m sure Lucy will change her mind tomorrow – she always does.’
The small hand is suddenly wrenched from my own. ‘Maya, you’re not listening!’
‘I am, I am!’ I protest quickly. ‘You said that – uh – Lucy didn’t want to be your friend because—’
‘Not Lucy – Georgia!’ Willa cries woefully. ‘I told you yesterday that Lucy and me broke up because she stole my favourite purple pen, the one with the blue hearts on it, and she wouldn’t give it back even though Georgia saw her take it!’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ I fumble, frantically trying to recall the conversation. ‘Your pen.’
‘You always forget everything these days, just like Mum did when she used to live at home,’ she mutters.
We walk on for a few minutes in silence. Guilt coils itself around me, cold and unforgiving as a snake. I try in vain to recall the saga of the
missing pen, and fail.
‘Bet you don’t even know who’s my best friend now,’ Willa says, throwing down the gauntlet.
‘Course I do,’ I answer quickly. ‘It’s – it’s Georgia.’
Willa shakes her head at the pavement in a gesture of defeat. ‘Nope.’
‘Well, then, it’s Lucy really, because I’m sure once she gives you back your pen, the two of you will—’
‘It’s no one!’ Willa shouts suddenly, her voice cutting through the sharp air. ‘I don’t even have a best friend!’
I stop and stare at her in astonishment. Willa has never shouted at me with such fury before.
I try to put my arm around her. ‘Willa, come on, you’ve just had a bad day—’
She pulls away. ‘No I haven’t! Miss Pierce gave me three gold stars and I got all my spellings right. I told you about it but all you said was Mm. You never listen to me any more!’
Wrenching herself away from me, she breaks into a run. I catch up with her just as she rounds the corner into our street. Forcing her round to face me, I squat down and try to hold her still. She sobs quietly, rubbing her face angrily with the palms of her hands.
‘Willa, I’m sorry – I’m sorry, my darling, I’m so sorry. You’re right. I haven’t been listening properly and that was really mean of me. It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that I’ve been so busy revising for my exams and I’ve got so much work and I’ve been so tired—’
‘That’s not true!’ She gives a muffled sob and tears spill over her fingers, running down between the cracks. ‘You don’t . . . listen . . . or play with me . . . as much . . . as you did . . . before . . .’
I clutch at a nearby railing for support. ‘Willa, no – It’s not that – I d . . .’ But even fumbling for excuses, I’m forced to confront the truth behind her words.
‘Come here,’ I say at last, wrapping my arms tightly around her. ‘You’re my favourite girl in the whole world and I love you so, so much. You’re right. I haven’t been listening to you properly because Lochie and I are always trying to sort out all the household things. But that’s all boring stuff. From now on I’m going to start having fun with you again. OK?’
She nods and sniffs and wipes her hair away from her face. I pick her up and she wraps her arms and legs around me like a baby monkey. But through the warmth of her arms round my neck, the heat of her cheek against mine, I sense my words have left her unconvinced.
Despite the loud slap of shoes against the concrete steps, he does not lower his book. I stop halfway up the flight of steps and lean against the rail, waiting, the sounds of the playground rising up from below me. Still he refuses to look up, no doubt hoping whoever it is will ignore him and continue on their way. When it becomes clear that this is not going to happen, he glances briefly over the top of the paperback before almost dropping it in surprise. His face lights up with a slow smile. ‘Hey!’
‘Hey yourself!’
He closes his book and looks at me expectantly. I stand there watching him, fighting back a grin. He clears his throat, suddenly shy, a flush creeping into his cheeks.
‘What – um – what are you doing here?’
‘I came to say hi.’
He reaches for my hand and begins to get up, ready to move further up the staircase, out of sight of the pupils in the playground below.
‘It’s all right, I’m not staying,’ I inform him quickly.
He stops and the smile fades. Registering the school bag on my back, the PE kit slung over my shoulder, he looks concerned. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m taking the afternoon off.’
His eyes sharpen and his expression sobers. ‘Maya—’
‘It’s just one afternoon. I’ve only got art and crap.’
He gives a worried sigh, looking bothered. ‘Yeah, but if you get caught, you know there could be trouble. We can’t risk drawing any more attention to ourselves now that Mum’s never around.’
‘We won’t. Not if you come with me and use your Upper Sixth pass.’
He eyes me with a mixture of uncertainty and surprise. ‘You want me to come too?’
‘Yes please.’
‘I could just give you my pass,’ he points out.
‘But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your company.’
The flush rises again, but the corner of his mouth pulls upwards. ‘Mum said something about popping home today to pick up some clothes—’
‘I wasn’t thinking of going home.’
‘You want to walk the streets till three thirty? I haven’t got any money on me.’
‘No. I want to take you somewhere.’
‘Where?’
‘It’s a surprise. Not far.’
I can see his curiosity is roused. ‘O-OK—’
‘Great. Go get your stuff. I’ll meet you by the main entrance.’
I disappear back down into the playground before he has time to start worrying again and change his mind.
Lochan takes an age. By the time he arrives, break is almost over and I fear he’ll be questioned for leaving the building just before the bell. But the security guard barely glances at his pass as I slip unnoticed ahead of him through the glass doors.
Out on the street, Lochan turns up his jacket collar against the cold and asks, ‘Now are you going to tell me what all this is about?’
I smile and shrug. ‘It’s about having an afternoon off.’
‘We should have planned this. I’ve only got fifty pence on me.’
‘I’m not asking you to take me to the Ritz! We’re just going to the park.’
‘The park?’ He looks at me as if I’m crazy.
Ashmoore on a weekday in the middle of winter is predictably empty. The trees are mostly bare, their long spiked branches silhouetted against the pale sky, the large expanses of grass splashed with silver patches of ice. We follow the wide central path towards the wooded area on the far side, the hum of the city gradually fading behind us. A few damp benches dot the empty landscape, abandoned and redundant. In the distance, an old man is throwing sticks for his dog, the animal’s sharp yaps breaking the still air. The park feels vast and desolate: a cold, forgotten island in the middle of a big city. Curled sandpaper leaves skim across the path, carried by a whisper of wind. A scatter of pigeons dart excitedly around some crumbs, their heads bobbing up and down, pecking feverishly at the ground. As we approach the trees, squirrels dash out boldly in front of us, turning their heads this way and that to eye us with shiny big black beads, hoping for signs of food. High above us in an anaemic sky, the white orb of the sun, like a giant spotlight, fixes the park with its hard wintry rays. We abandon the path and enter the small wood, dried foliage and twigs crackling and crunching against the frozen earth beneath our feet. The uneven ground slopes gently downwards.
Lochan follows me silently. Neither of us have spoken since entering the park gates and abandoning the world behind us, as if we are trying to leave our daily selves behind in the noisy hubbub of dirty streets and jostling traffic. As the trees begin to thicken around us, I duck beneath a fallen log and then stop and smile. ‘This is it.’
We are standing in a small hollow. The shallow dip in the ground is carpeted with leaves and surrounded by a few remaining green ferns and winter shrubs, enclosed in a circle of bare trees. The ground beneath us is a tapestry of russet and gold. Even in the depths of winter, my little piece of paradise is still beautiful.
Lochan looks around in bewilderment. ‘Are we here to bury a body or dig one up?’
I give him a long-suffering look, but just then a sudden gust of wind causes the branches overhead to sway, scattering the sun’s icy rays like shards of glass into my corral, making it feel magical, mysterious.
‘This is where I come when things get too much at home. When I want to be alone for a while,’ I tell him.
He looks at me in astonishment. ‘You come here by yourself?’ He blinks in bewilderment, hands dug de
ep into his jacket pockets, still gazing around. ‘Why?’
‘Because when Mum starts drinking at ten o’clock in the morning, when Tiffin and Willa are tearing around the house screaming, when Kit is trying to pick a row with everyone who crosses his path, when I wish I didn’t have a family to look after, this place gives me peace. It gives me hope. In summer it’s lovely here. It silences the roar that’s constantly in my head . . .
‘Maybe, from time to time, this could be your place too,’ I suggest quietly. ‘Everyone needs time off, Lochan. Even you.’
He nods again, still looking around, as if trying to imagine me here by myself. Then he turns back to me, the collar of his black jacket flapping against his untucked white shirt, tie loosened, the bottoms of his grey trousers muddied by the soft earth. His cheeks are pink from the long cold walk, hair tousled by the wind. However, we are sheltered here, the sun warm on our faces. A sudden flurry of birds alight on the topmost branch of a tree, and as he raises his head, the light is reflected in his eyes, turning them translucent, the colour of green glass.
His gaze meets mine. ‘Thanks,’ he says.
We sit down in my grassy enclave and huddle together for warmth. Lochan wraps his arm around me and pulls me towards him, kissing the top of my head.
‘I love you, Maya Whitely,’ he says softly.
I smile and tilt my face to look up at him. ‘How much?’
He doesn’t answer, but I hear his breathing quicken: he lowers his mouth over mine and a strange hum fills the air.
We kiss for a long time, sliding our hands in between layers of clothing and absorbing each other’s heat until I am warm, hot even, my heart thumping hard, a sparkling, tingling feeling rushing through my veins. Birds continue to peck at the earth around us, somewhere in the distance a child’s whoop breaks the air. Here, we are truly alone. Truly free. If anyone happened to walk by, all they would see is a girl and her boyfriend kissing. I feel the pressure of Lochan’s lips strengthen as if he too realizes how priceless this little moment of freedom is. His hand slides beneath my school shirt and I press my hand up against his thigh.