Forbidden

But today, mercifully, I am left alone. I speak to no one for the whole morning. I catch sight of Maya across the lunch hall, and she glances at the usual girl gabbing away at her side and then rolls her eyes. I smile. As I fork my way through mouthfuls of watery shepherd’s pie, I watch her pretend to listen to her friend, Francie, but she keeps glancing over at me, pulling faces to crack me up. Her white school shirt, several sizes too big, hangs over her grey skirt, several inches too short. She is wearing her white PE lace-ups because she has misplaced her school shoes. She is without socks, and a large plaster, surrounded by a multitude of bruises, covers a scraped knee. Her auburn hair reaches her waist, long and straight like Willa’s. Freckles smatter her cheekbones, accentuating the natural pallor of her skin. Even when she is serious, her deep blue eyes always hold a glimmer that suggests she is about to smile. Over the last year she has turned from pretty to beautiful in an unusual, delicate, u

After lunch I take my class copy of Romeo and Juliet, which I actually read years ago, and ensconce myself on the fourth step down of the north stairwell outside the science block, the one least frequently used. This is how my wasted hours accumulate, much like my loneliness. I keep my book open in case anyone approaches, but I’m not really in the mood to read it again. Instead, from my concrete post, I watch a plane trace a white slash across the deep blue of the sky. I look at the tiny aircraft, shrunk down by distance, and marvel at the vast expanse between all those people on that huge crowded plane, and me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Maya

‘When are you going to introduce him to me?’ Francie asks me mournfully. From our usual position on the low brick wall at the far end of the playground, she has followed my gaze to the lone figure sitting hunched on the steps outside the science building. ‘Is he still single?’

‘I told you a million times: he doesn’t like people,’ I reply tersely. I look at her. She exudes a kind of restless energy, the zest for life that comes naturally with being an extrovert. Trying to imagine her going out with my brother is almost impossible. ‘How d’you know you’ll even like him?’

‘Because he’s fucking hot!’ Francie exclaims with feeling.

I shake my head with a smile. ‘But the two of you have nothing in common.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She looks hurt suddenly.

‘He doesn’t have anything in common with anyone,’ I reassure her quickly. ‘He’s just different. He – he doesn’t really speak to people.’

Francie tosses back her hair. ‘Yeah, so I’ve heard. Taciturn as hell. Is it depression?’

‘No.’ I play with a strand of hair. ‘The school made him see a counsellor last year but that was just a waste of time. He speaks at home. It’s just with people he doesn’t know, people outside the family.’

‘So what? He’s just shy.’

I sigh doubtfully. ‘That’s a bit of an understatement.’

‘What’s he got to be shy about?’ Francie asks. ‘I mean, has he looked in a mirror recently?’

‘He’s not just like that around girls,’ I try to explain. ‘He’s like that with everyone. He won’t even answer questions in class – it’s like a phobia.’

Francie whistles in disbelief. ‘God, has he always been like that?’

‘I don’t know.’ I stop playing with my hair for a moment and think. ‘When we were young, we were like twins. We were born thirteen months apart, so everyone thought we were twins anyway. We did everything together. I mean, everything. One day he had tonsillitis and couldn’t go to school. Dad made me go and I cried all day. We had our own secret language. Sometimes, when Mum and Dad were at each other’s throats, we pretended we couldn’t speak English, so we spoke to no one but each other for the whole day. We started getting into trouble at school. They said that we refused to mix, that we had no friends. But they were wrong. We had each other. He was my best friend in the world. He still is.’

* * *

I come home to a house full of silence. The hall is empty of bags and blazers. Maybe she’s taken them to the park, I think hopefully. Then I almost laugh out loud. When was the last time that happened? I go into the kitchen – cold coffee mugs, overflowing ashtrays and cereal congealing at the bottom of bowls. Milk, bread and butter still left out on the table, Kit’s hardened uneaten toast staring accusingly up at me. Tiffin’s forgotten book bag on the floor. Willa’s abandoned tie . . . A sound from the front room prompts me to spin on my heel. I walk back down the hall, noticing the dappled sunlight highlight the dusty surfaces.

I find Mum looking dolefully up at me from beneath Willa’s duvet on the couch, a wet cloth covering her forehead.

I gape at her. ‘What happened?’

‘I think I’ve got stomach flu, sweetie. I’ve got this pounding headache and I’ve been throwing up all day.’

‘The kids—’ I begin.

Her face dims and then reignites again, like a flickering match in the dark. ‘They’re at school, sweetie pie, don’t worry. I took them in this morning – I was all right then. It was only after lunch that I started—’

‘Mum . . .’ I feel my voice begin to rise. ‘It’s four thirty!’

‘I know, sweetie. I’ll get up in a minute.’

‘You were supposed to pick them up!’ I am shouting now. ‘They finish school at half past three, remember?’

My mother looks at me, a horrible, bottomless look. ‘But isn’t it you or Lochan today?’

‘Today’s Tuesday! It’s your day off! You always fetch them on your day off!’

Mum closes her eyes and lets out a little moan, modulated to elicit pity. I want to hit her. Instead I lunge for the phone. She has turned the ringer off but the answerphone’s little red light flashes accusingly. Four messages from St Luke’s, the last one terse and angry, suggesting that this isn’t the first time Ms Whitely has been extremely late. I instantly press callback, rage thudding against my ribs. Tiffin and Willa will be terrified. They will think they have been abandoned, that she has walked out, as she keeps threatening to do when she’s been drinking.

I get through to the school secretary and start blurting out my apologies. She cuts me off with a swift, ‘Isn’t your mother the one who should be calling, dear?’

‘Our mother isn’t well,’ I say quickly. ‘But I’m leaving right now and I’ll be at the school in ten minutes. Please tell Willa and Tiffin I’m coming. Please, please just tell them that Mum’s fine and Maya’s on her way.’

‘Well, I’m afraid they’re not here any more.’ The secretary sounds a little put out. ‘They were eventually picked up by the childminder half an hour ago.’

My legs buckle. I sink down onto the arm of the couch. My body has gone so limp, I nearly drop the phone. ‘We don’t have a childminder.’

‘Oh—’

‘Who was it? What did she look like? She must have given a name!’

‘Miss Pierce will know who it was. The teachers don’t let the children go off with just anyone, you know.’ Again the prim voice, coupled now with a defensive edge.

‘I need to speak to Miss Pierce.’ My voice shakes with barely controlled calm.

‘I’m afraid Miss Pierce left when the children were finally picked up. I can try and reach her on her mobile . . .’

I can hardly breathe. ‘Please ask her to come straight back to the school. I’ll meet her there.’

I hang up and I am literally shaking. Mum lifts the fla

I am racing through the hall, shoving on shoes, grabbing keys, mobile phone, pressing speed-dial one as I slam out of the house. He answers on the third ring.