Forbidden

I shift away from her, struggling to disengage my hand from hers. ‘I – I just need some sleep . . .’

‘I know you do, but you have to calm down first.’

‘I’m trying!’

Her face is pinched with concern and I’m aware that the sight of me in this state is doing little to reassure her. Her fingers are warm on my wrist, moving up to stroke the inside of my arm, the touch of her hand somehow comforting. ‘Lochie, it wasn’t your fault.’

I bite down hard and turn away.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she says again. ‘Lochie, you know that. Kit’s been trying to provoke you into something like this for ages. Anyone would have snapped.’

There is a mounting pain at the back of my throat, a warning pressure behind my eyes.

‘You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything, just because you’re the eldest. None of this is your fault – Mum’s drinking, Dad leaving, Kit turning out the way he has. There’s nothing more you could have done.’

I don’t know how she’s figured all this out. I don’t understand how she is able to read my mind like this. I turn to face the wall, shaking my head to tell her she’s wrong. I pull my hand away from hers and rub the side of my face, trying to shield it from view.

‘Lochie . . .’

No. I can’t take this any more, I can’t, I can’t. I’m not even going to get her out of the room before it’s too late. My eyes pulsate with a rising ache. If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I’m going to lose this battle.

Her hand touches my shoulder, strokes my back. ‘It’s not always going to be like this.’

A tear skims the side of my cheek. I put my hand up to my eyes to stop the next one. My fingers are suddenly wet. I take a deep breath and try to hold it, but a small sound escapes.

‘Oh – Loch, no. Don’t – not over this!’ Maya sounds softly desperate.

I move closer to the wall, wishing I could disappear into it. I press my fist hard against my mouth. Then the bottled breath explodes from my lungs with a violent choking sound.

‘Hey, hey . . .’ Despite her reassuring tone, I recognize the note of panic. ‘Lochie, please, listen to me. Just listen. Tonight was hideous, but it’s not the end of the world. I know things have been really, really tough recently, but it’s all right, it’s all right. Kit’s fine. You’re only human. These things happen . . .’

I try to dry my eyes on my shirtsleeve, but the tears keep coming and I can’t understand why I am so utterly powerless to stop them.

‘Shh, come here—’ Maya tries to pull me round to face her, I push her roughly away. She tries again. Frenziedly I fend her off with one arm.

‘Don’t! Maya, stop it, for chrissakes – please! Please! I can’t – I can’t—!’ The sobs burst out with each word. I can’t breathe, I’m terrified, I’m falling apart.

‘Lochie, calm down. I just want to hold you, that’s all. Just let me hold you.’ Her voice adopts the soothing tone she uses when Tiffin or Willa are upset. She’s not going to give up.

I scrape the fingernails of one hand against the wall, violent sobs ru

Maya slides into the space between me and the wall, and suddenly there is nowhere for me to hide any more. As she puts her arms around me and pulls me close, I try to resist one final time, but I am drained of all strength. Her body is warm against mine – alive, familiar, reassuring. I press my face against the curve of her neck, my hands clutching at the back of her nightdress as if she might suddenly disappear.

‘I – I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean to – Maya, I didn’t mean to!’

‘I know you didn’t mean to, Lochie. I know that, I know.’

She is talking to me softly now, almost whispering, one arm wrapped tightly around me, the other stroking the back of my head, rocking me gently back and forth. I cling to her as the sobs rack my body with such force, I think I will never be able to stop.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Maya

I open my eyes and find myself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. My head feels fuzzy with sleep, and it isn’t until I find myself blinking over at a desk laden with A-level textbooks, a chair covered in discarded shirts and trousers, that I remember where I am. There is a distinctive smell too – not unpleasant, but unmistakably Lochan. A slight weight on my chest prompts me to look down, and with a start I see an arm slung over my ribcage, bitten-down fingernails, a large black digital watch secured around the wrist. Lochan is fast asleep by my side, stretched out on his front, pressed up against the wall, his arm draped over me.

My mind flashes back to the previous night and I remember the fight, remember coming up and finding him in a really bad way, the shock of seeing him on the verge of tears, the feeling of horror and helplessness as he broke down and sobbed – the first time since the day Dad left. Seeing him like that sucked me back through the years, back to the day Dad came to the house for that ‘special goodbye’ before catching the flight that was to take him and his new wife to the other side of the world. There were presents, and photos of the new house with the pool, and promises of school holidays with him there, and assurances that he would be back regularly. The others had naturally bought into the whole charade – they were still so young – but somehow Lochan and I sensed that was it, we would not be seeing our dad again – ever. And it wasn’t long before we were proved right.

The weekly phone calls became monthly, then only on special occasions, then stopped altogether. When Mum told us his new wife had just given birth, we knew it was only a matter of time before even the birthday presents ceased. And cease they did. Everything ceased. Even Mum’s child support. We older two had expected it – just never guessed he would erase us all from his life quite so fast. I clearly remember that moment after the final goodbye, after the front door had closed and the sound of Dad’s car faded down the street. Huddled up against the pillows with my new cuddly dog and the picture of the house I knew I’d never get to visit, I was suddenly overcome by a huge surge of rage and hatred for a father who had once claimed to love me so much. But to my surprise and a

It feels strange, lying here in Lochan’s bed with him sleeping beside me. Willa used to climb into bed with me whenever she had nightmares – in the morning I’d wake up to find her small body pressed against mine. This is Lochan though: my brother, my protector. Seeing his arm slung so casually across me makes me smile – he would be very quick to remove it if he woke. I don’t want him to wake up just yet though. His leg is pressed against mine, squashing it slightly. He is still in his school clothes, his shoulder heavy against my arm, pi