Forbidden

‘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, ru

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 u

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 pla

‘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.