Forbidden

‘What happened?’

The familiar voice startles me and I struggle to sit up, my hand grasping feebly at the edge of the desk to stop myself from pitching forward. The jagged breaths intensify and I start shaking again. She’s standing right in front of me, between the nurse and the teacher, her hands cupped over her nose and mouth, blue eyes huge with fright. Relief at seeing her floods through me and I reach out for her frantically, afraid she will suddenly walk away.

‘Hey, Lochie, it’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right.’ She takes my hand in hers, gripping it tightly.

‘What on earth happened?’ she asks the nurse again, panic threading her voice.

‘Nothing to worry about, love, just a panic attack. You can help by keeping nice and calm yourself. Why don’t you sit with him for a bit?’ Mrs Shah snaps her medical bag shut and moves out of sight, followed by Miss Azley.

Nurse and teacher fade to the other side of the classroom, talking softly and rapidly between themselves. Maya pulls up a chair and sits down opposite me, her knees touching mine. She is pale with shock, her eyes, sharp and questioning, boring into mine.

Elbows on thighs, I look up at her and manage an unsteady smile. I want to make some kind of joke but it’s too much effort to breathe and talk simultaneously. I try to stop shaking for Maya’s sake and press my right fist to my mouth to muffle the hiccupping sounds. My left hand grips hers with all my strength, afraid to let go.

Stroking my clammy cheek and taking my right hand in hers, she draws it gently away from my mouth.

‘Listen, you,’ she says, her voice full of concern. ‘What brought all this on?’

I think back to Hamlet and my whole conspiracy theory and realize with a jolt how ridiculous I was being.

‘N-nothing.’ Breath. ‘Being stupid.’ I have to concentrate hard to get each word out between gasps, one cluster at a time. I feel my throat constrict so I shake my head with a wry smile. ‘So stupid. I’m sorry—’ I bite down hard on my lip.

‘Stop being sorry, you idiot.’ She gives me a reassuring smile and strokes the inside of my hand. I find myself involuntarily clutching at her sleeve, afraid she is a mirage and will suddenly evaporate before my eyes.

The bell sounds, startling us both.

I feel my pulse start to race again. ‘Maya, d-don’t go! Don’t go just yet—’

‘Lochie, I’ve no intention of going anywhere.’

It’s the closest we’ve been all week, the first time she’s touched me since that terrible night in the cemetery. I swallow hard and gnaw at my lip, aware of the other two in the room, terrified I’m going to break down.

Maya notices. ‘Loch, it’s all right. This has happened before. When you first started at Belmont, just after Dad left, remember? You’re going to be fine . . .’

But I don’t want to be fine, not if it means she’s going to let go of my hand; not if it means we’re going to go back to being polite strangers.

After a while we go down to the nurse’s room. Mrs Shah checks my pulse and blood pressure, hands me a leaflet on panic attacks and mental health issues. Yet again there is talk of seeing the school counsellor, mention of exam pressure, the danger of overwork, the importance of getting enough sleep . . . Somehow I make all the right noises, nod and smile as convincingly as I can, all the while holding myself tight like a coiled spring.

We walk home in silence. Maya offers me her hand but I decline – my legs are steadier now. She asks me if there was some trigger, but when I shake my head she takes the hint and backs off.

At home I sit at the end of the couch. Right now, alone and uninterrupted, would be the perfect time for that conversation – the one where I apologize to her for what I said that night, explain again the reason for my crazy outburst, try to find out if she is still angry with me, while somehow making it clear that this is in no way an attempt to coerce her back into any kind of abnormal relationship. But I can’t find the words, and I don’t trust myself to utter a single thing. The aftershocks of the panic attack coupled with Maya’s gentle concern have thrown me, and I feel as if I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice.

Being brought juice and a peeled apple cut into quarters like for Tiffin or Willa threatens to tip me over. Maya watches me from the doorway as I switch on and mute the TV, pick at my shirt cuff, pull at a loose button. I can tell how anxious she is from the way she fiddles with her earlobe, a characteristic sign of worry she shares with Willa.

‘How are you feeling?’

I attempt a bright, cheerful smile and the ache in my throat intensifies. ‘Fine! It was just a stupid panic attack.’

I want to make some kind of joke, but instead I feel a sudden tremor in my chin. I pull a face to disguise it.

Her smile fades. ‘Perhaps I should leave you in peace for a little while—’

‘No!’ The word comes out louder than I intended. Heat rushing to my face, I force a desperate smile. ‘I just mean, now that we’ve got some time off, perhaps we should – you know – hang out together, l-like old times. Unless of course you’ve got homework to do or something . . .’

A hint of amusement touches her lips. ‘Yeah, right. I’m not about to waste an afternoon off school on homework, Lochan James Whitely!’

Closing the door behind her, she curls up in the armchair. ‘So, what are we watching?’

I grab the remote and fumble with the buttons. ‘Uh – well – surely there’s something other than CBeebies . . . How about this?’ I stop cha

She gives me another of her sad smiles. ‘Great.’

Ca

I want to ask her, beg her, to tell me what’s going on inside her head. I want to try and explain what was going on in my head that night, why I reacted like such a bastard. But I can’t even turn to look at her. I feel her eyes, full of concern, on my face. And I’m sinking in a quicksand of despair.

‘D’you want to talk about it?’ Her voice, soft with concern, makes me start. Suddenly I’m aware of the pain from biting my lip, the weight of the tears that have slowly been accumulating in my eyes.

With a panicked breath I quickly shake my head, raising a hand to my face. I press my fingers briefly against my eyes and shake my head dismissively. ‘I’m just feeling a bit weird from before.’ Straining to keep my voice steady, I can still hear its jagged edge. Turning, I force myself to meet her stricken gaze with a desperate smile. ‘But I’m fine now. It’s nothing. Really.’

After a moment’s hesitation she gets up and comes over to sit on the opposite end of the couch, one foot tucked beneath her, auburn wisps framing her pale face.

‘Come on, silly, it’s not nothing if it’s making you cry.’ The words hang in the air, her concern swelling the silence.

‘I’m not – it’s not—!’ I reply hotly, cheeks ablaze. ‘It’s just – I’m just—’ I take a deep breath, frantic to deflect her worry, to pull myself together. The last thing I want is for her to know how devastated I am at having lost her, for her to feel any pressure to resume a relationship that, in her mind, is fundamentally wrong.

She hasn’t moved. ‘You’re just what?’ she asks gently.

I clear my throat and raise my eyes to the ceiling, forcing a short, painful laugh. I run my sleeve rapidly across my eyes as, to my horror, a tear glances off my cheek.

‘Do you want to try to go to sleep for a bit?’

The concern in her voice is killing me. ‘No. I don’t know. I think – I think . . . Oh, for fuck sake—!’ Another tear falls down my cheek and I swipe at it furiously. ‘Shit! What is this?’