Forbidden

I don’t understand, I don’t understand. Surely this has happened before. Surely other brothers and sisters have fallen in love. Surely they have been allowed to express their love, physically as well as emotionally, without being vilified, ostracized, thrown into prison even. But incest is illegal. By loving each other physically as well as emotionally, we are committing a crime. And I’m terrified. It is one thing hiding from the world, another to be hiding from the law. So I keep repeating to myself – As long as we don’t go all the way, it will be all right. As long as we don’t actually have sex, we’re not technically having an incestuous relationship. As long as we don’t cross that final line, our family will be safe, the kids won’t be taken away, Maya and I won’t be forced apart. All we have to do is be patient, enjoy what we have, until perhaps one day, when the others are grown up, we can move away and forge new identities and love each other freely.

I have to force myself to stop thinking about it or I can’t get anything done – schoolwork, revision, making di

Whenever I’m apart from Maya, I feel incomplete . . . less than incomplete. I feel like I’m nothing, like I don’t exist at all. I have no identity. I don’t speak, I don’t even look at people. Being around others is just as unbearable as ever – I am afraid that if they see me properly, they might guess my secret. I’m afraid that even if I do manage to speak or interact with people, I might give something away. At break times I watch Maya over the top of my book from my post on the staircase, willing her to come over to sit with me, to talk to me, to make me feel alive and real and loved, but even just talking is too risky. So she sits on the wall at the far end of the playground, chatting to Francie, careful not to glance up at me, as aware as I am of the danger of our situation.

In the evenings I seek her out as soon as Tiffin and Willa have been tucked in, too early for it to be safe. She turns from her desk, her hair skimming the page of her textbook, and points meaningfully at the door behind me to indicate that the little ones are not yet asleep. But by the time they are, Kit is roaming the house, looking for food or watching TV, and by the time he finally goes to bed Maya is passed out in hers.

Half-term brings little respite. It rains all week and, cooped up inside with no money for outings or even the cinema, Tiffin and Willa bicker constantly while Kit sleeps all day and then disappears with his friends until the small hours of the morning. Late one night, restless and burning with relentless agitation, I pull on my ru

‘Lochie needs a plaster,’ Willa a

Maya drops her bag and blazer to the floor and gives a tired smile.

‘Rough day?’ I enquire.

‘Three tests.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘And PE in the hailstorm.’

‘I’m helping Lochie make di

‘I think we’re doing pretty good just the two of us,’ I point out quickly as Maya flops into a chair, her tie askew, and pushes the straggly wisps of hair back from her face, blowing me a discreet kiss.

‘Maya, look! I made my name in capital chips!’ Willa pipes up, noting our exchanged looks, anxious to be included.

‘Very clever.’ Maya gets up and lifts Willa onto her lap before settling down with her and leaning over the tray to try and create her own name. I watch them for a moment. Maya’s long arms encircle Willa’s shorter ones. Willa is full of chatter about her day while Maya is the attentive listener, asking all the right questions. Heads bent close, their long straight hair mingles: Maya’s auburn against Willa’s gold. They both have the same delicate, pale skin, the same clear blue gaze, the same smile. On her lap, Willa is solid and alive, full of bubble and laughter. Maya somehow looks more delicate, more fragile, more ethereal. There is a sadness in her eyes, a weariness that never really leaves. For Maya, childhood ended years ago. As she sits with Willa on her lap, I think: Sister and sister. Mother and child.

‘You can do the M like this,’ Willa declares importantly.

‘You’re good at this, Willa,’ Maya tells her. ‘Now, what were you saying about Lochan needing a plaster?’

I realize I have been chopping up the same bunch of spring onions ever since Maya first came in. I have a board full of green and white confetti.

‘Lochie hurt his hand,’ Willa states matter-of-factly, her eyes still narrowed on the chips.

‘With a knife?’ Maya looks up at me sharply, her eyes registering alarm.

‘No, it’s just a graze,’ I reassure her with a dismissive shake of the head and an indulgent smile towards Willa.

Willa turns to look at Maya. ‘He’s lying,’ she stage-whispers conspiratorially.

‘Can I see?’ Maya asks.

I flash her the back of my hand.

She flinches at the sight and instantly moves to get up, but then, anchored to her seat by Willa, is forced to sit down again. She reaches out. ‘Come here.’

‘I don’t want to see it!’ Willa lowers her head towards the tray. ‘It’s all bleeding and sticky. Eek, yuck, gross!’

I let Maya take my hand in hers, just for the pleasure of touching her. ‘It’s nothing.’

She strokes the inside of my hand with her fingers. ‘Jesus, what happened? Surely not a fight—?’

‘Of course not. I just tripped and scraped it against the wall of the playground.’

She gives me a long disbelieving look. ‘We need to clean it properly,’ she insists.

‘I have.’

Ignoring my last comment, she gently slides Willa off her lap. ‘I’m going upstairs to sort Lochie’s hand out,’ she says. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

In the small confines of the bathroom, I rummage around in the medicine cupboard for the antiseptic. ‘I appreciate the concern, but don’t you think you girls are being a bit paranoid?’

Ignoring me, Maya perches on the edge of the bath and reaches out towards me. ‘It’s only because we love you so much. Come here.’

I oblige, leaning in and closing my eyes for a brief moment, savouring the touch, the taste of her soft lips against mine. Gently she pulls me closer and I turn away, waving the antiseptic bottle aloft. ‘I thought you wanted to play nurse!’

She looks at me with a mixture of uncertainty and surprise, as if trying to gauge whether I’m teasing.

‘Much as I love dabbing up blood, it doesn’t quite match up to grabbing a rare moment to kiss the guy I love.’

I force a laugh. ‘Are you saying you’d rather let me bleed to death?’