Forbidden

Drawing back, he cups his hands over his nose and mouth, his eyes wide, and nods at me. I’ve never seen him look so afraid. Then he turns and walks back across the hallway and into the office.

I break into a run, heading towards the heavy double doors at the end of the corridor. The black and white lino disappears rhythmically beneath my feet. The bright colours on the walls seem to swim . . . The sudden shout from behind me rips like a bullet through my chest. ‘They’ve found Sandra’s number!’

One hand on the door, I stop. Lochan’s face is alight with relief.

When they finally come through the school doors after another agonizing ten-minute wait, Tiffin is blowing pink bubbles, his mouth full of gum, and Willa is brandishing a lollipop. ‘Look what I got!’

I hug Willa so tight I can feel her heart beat against mine. Her lemon-scented hair is in my face, and all I can do is squeeze her and kiss her and try and keep her in my arms. Lochan has one arm round Tiffin as he wriggles and giggles in his grasp.

It’s clear that neither of them have a clue that anything was amiss, so I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying. Sandra turns out to be nothing more sinister than an elderly lady, childminder to one of the boys in another class. According to her, Lily Whitely rang just after four this afternoon, explaining that she was too ill to leave the house and asking whether she could do her a favour and pick up the children. Sandra had kindly returned to the school, collected Willa and Tiffin and tried to drop them back home. Getting no reply when she rang the bell, she dropped a note through the door and took them back to her own charge’s house, awaiting Lily’s phone call.

As we cross the playground, I hold Tiffin and Willa tightly with each hand and try my best to engage in the prattle about their unexpected ‘playdate’. I overhear Lochan thanking Sandra and see him scribble down his mobile number, telling her to call him should Lily ever ask her for a ‘favour’ of this kind again. As soon as we leave the school, Tiffin tries to disengage himself from my grasp, looking for something in the gutter to kick and dribble down the road. I tell him I’ll play Battleships with him for half an hour if he holds my hand all the way home. Surprisingly, he agrees, bounding up and down like a yo-yo on the end of my arm, threatening to dislocate it from its socket, but I don’t care. As long as he keeps hold of my hand, I really don’t care.

We follow Lochan all the way home. He strides ahead, and something prevents me from trying to catch up with him. Tiffin and Willa don’t seem to mind: they are still full of stories about the new PlayStation they got to try out. I start a spiel on stranger-danger but it emerges that they have already been picked up by Callum’s childminder several times.

As soon as we get in, Tiffin and Willa spot Mum, still half passed out on the couch. With a whoop they run over to her, delighted to find her home for a change, their anecdotes pouring out all over again. Mum uncovers her face, sits up and laughs, hugging them tight. ‘My little bu

I stand in the doorway, the sharp edge of the frame cutting into my shoulder, watching this little scene unfold in silence. Tiffin is showing off his juggling skills with some old te

I must have dozed off, for when I hear Tiffin shout ‘Di

The atmosphere in the kitchen is jarring. Mum has mutated into a butterfly – all wispy skirts and trailing sleeves and bright, patterned colours. She has showered and washed her hair – having apparently recovered from her earlier bout of flu. The heavy make-up gives her away – clearly she isn’t staying in to watch EastEnders tonight. She has cooked up some kind of baked beans and sausage dish that Kit is prodding around disdainfully with his fork. Tiffin and Willa sit side by side, swinging their legs and trying to kick each other under the table, tell-tale signs of chocolate round their mouths, ignoring the unappetizing mixture laid out before them.

‘This isn’t food.’ Head propped up on his hand, Kit scowls down at his plate, flicking the pieces of sausage around his plate. ‘Can I go out?’

‘Just shut up and eat,’ Lochan snaps uncharacteristically, reaching into the cupboard for glasses. Kit is about to retort, then appears to decide against it and starts prodding at his food again. The tone of Lochan’s voice suggests that this is no time to argue.

‘Well, get started, everyone,’ Mum says with a nervous giggle. ‘I know I’m not the world’s best cook, but I can assure you this tastes a lot better than it looks.’

Kit snorts and mutters something inaudible. Willa lances a single baked bean with the prong of her fork and brings it reluctantly to her mouth, licking it gingerly with the tip of her tongue. With a long-suffering air, Tiffin takes a mouthful of sausage and then pulls a face, his eyes watering, ready to either gag or spit it out. I quickly bring over the water jug and fill the glasses. Finally Lochan sits down. He smells of school and sweat, and his tousled black hair contrasts sharply with his wan face. I notice the clench of his jaw, the stormy look in his eyes, and feel the tension radiate from his body like white heat.

‘Are you going out again tonight, Mum?’ Willa asks, taking delicate bird bites out of a piece of sausage.

‘No, she’s not,’ Lochan says quietly without looking up. Beneath the table, I press my foot against his in warning.

Mum turns to him in surprise. ‘Davey’s picking me up at seven,’ she protests. ‘It’s OK, bu

‘Forget about it,’ Tiffin mumbles angrily.

‘Seven o’clock is a very early bedtime,’ Willa comments with a sigh, spearing a second bean.

‘You’re not going out again tonight,’ Lochan mutters at her.

There is a stu

I shoot Kit a warning look and shake my head. His face instantly darkens again. ‘What – I’m not even allowed to talk now?’

‘Oh, I won’t be late—’ Mum says with a benign smile.

‘You’re not going out!’ Lochan shouts suddenly, slamming his hand down on the table. The crockery rattles and everyone jumps. I feel a familiar tension headache grip my temples.

Mum claps a hand to her throat and lets out a highpitched exclamation of surprise, a kind of shrill laugh. ‘Oh, listen to the big man of the house, telling his mummy what to do!’

‘See how the other half live,’ Kit mutters.

Lochan throws down his fork, his face puce, the cords standing out in his neck. ‘Two hours ago you were too damn hungover to make it down the street to fetch your own children from school, and you couldn’t even remember you’d asked someone else to pick them up!’

Mum opens her eyes wide. ‘But, darling, aren’t you pleased I’m feeling so much better?’

‘That’s not going to last if you go out for another night on the piss!’ Lochan yells, gripping the edge of the table with both hands, his knuckles white. ‘We nearly had to involve the police today. Nobody had any idea where the kids were. Anything could have happened to them, and you’d have been too out of it to notice!’