Forbidden (5 page)

One hand on the door, I stop. Lochan’s face is alight with relief.

When they finaly come through the school doors after another agonizing ten-minute wait, Tiffin is blowing pink bubbles, his mouth ful of gum, and Wila is brandishing a lolipop. ‘Look what I got!’

I hug Wila so tight I can feel her heart beat against mine. Her lemon-scented hair is in my face, and al I can do is squeeze her and kiss her and try and keep her in my arms. Lochan has one arm round Tiffin as he wriggles and giggles in his grasp.

It’s clear that neither of them have a clue that anything was amiss, so I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying. Sandra turns out to be nothing more sinister than an elderly lady, childminder to one of the boys in another class. According to her, Lily Whitely rang just after four this afternoon, explaining that she was too il to leave the house and asking whether she could do her a favour and pick up the children. Sandra had kindly returned to the school, colected Wila and Tiffin and tried to drop them back home. Getting no reply when she rang the bel, she dropped a note through the door and took them back to her own charge’s house, awaiting Lily’s phone cal. As we cross the playground, I hold Tiffin and Wila tightly with each hand and try my best to engage in the prattle about their unexpected ‘playdate’. I overhear Lochan thanking Sandra and see him scribble down his mobile number, teling her to cal him should Lily ever ask her for a ‘favour’ of this kind again. As soon as we leave the school, Tiffin tries to disengage himself from my grasp, looking for something in the gutter to kick and dribble down the road. I tel him I’l play Battleships with him for half an hour if he holds my hand al the way home. Surprisingly, he agrees, bounding up and down like a yo-yo on the end of my arm, threatening to dislocate it from its socket, but I don’t care. As long as he keeps hold of my hand, I realy don’t care.

We folow Lochan al the way home. He strides ahead, and something prevents me from trying to catch up with him. Tiffin and Wila don’t seem to mind: they are stil ful of stories about the new PlayStation they got to try out. I start a spiel on stranger-danger but it emerges that they have already been picked up by Calum’s childminder several times.

As soon as we get in, Tiffin and Wila spot Mum, stil half passed out on the couch. With a whoop they run over to her, delighted to find her home for a change, their anecdotes pouring out al over again. Mum uncovers her face, sits up and laughs, hugging them tight. ‘My little bunnies,’ she says.

‘Did you have a good time? I missed you al day, you know.’

I stand in the doorway, the sharp edge of the frame cutting into my shoulder, watching this little scene unfold in silence. Tiffin is showing off his juggling skils with some old tennis bals and Wila is trying to interest Mum in a game of Guess Who? It takes me a moment to realize that Lochan disappeared upstairs the moment we entered the house. I turn away from the front room, utterly spent, and slowly climb the stairs. Music blasting from the attic above reassures me that at least the third child made it home without incident. I go into my room, shed my blazer and tie, kick off my shoes, and flop down on my bed in an exhausted heap.

I must have dozed off, for when I hear Tiffin shout ‘Dinner!’ I sit up in bed with a start to discover a bluish dusk filing the smal room. Combing the hair out of my eyes with my fingers, I pad sleepily downstairs.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is jarring. Mum has mutated into a butterfly – al wispy skirts and trailing sleeves and bright, patterned colours. She has showered and washed her hair – having apparently recovered from her earlier bout of flu. The heavy make-up gives her away – clearly she isn’t staying in to watch EastEnders tonight. She has cooked up some kind of baked beans and sausage dish that Kit is prodding around disdainfuly with his fork. Tiffin and Wila sit side by side, swinging their legs and trying to kick each other under the table, tel-tale signs of chocolate round their mouths, ignoring the unappetizing mixture laid out before them.

‘This isn’t food.’ Head propped up on his hand, Kit scowls down at his plate, flicking the pieces of sausage around his plate. ‘Can I go out?’

‘Just shut up and eat,’ Lochan snaps uncharacteristicaly, reaching into the cupboard for glasses. Kit is about to retort, then appears to decide against it and starts prodding at his food again. The tone of Lochan’s voice suggests that this is no time to argue.

‘Wel, get started, everyone,’ Mum says with a nervous giggle. ‘I know I’m not the world’s best cook, but I can assure you this tastes a lot better than it looks.’

Kit snorts and mutters something inaudible. Wila lances a single baked bean with the prong of her fork and brings it reluctantly to her mouth, licking it gingerly with the tip of her tongue. With a longsuffering air, Tiffin takes a mouthful of sausage and then puls a face, his eyes watering, ready to either gag or spit it out. I quickly bring over the water jug and fil the glasses. Finaly Lochan sits down. He smels of school and sweat, and his tousled black hair contrasts sharply with his wan face. I notice the clench of his jaw, the stormy look in his eyes, and feel the tension radiate from his body like white heat.

‘Are you going out again tonight, Mum?’ Wila asks, taking delicate bird bites out of a piece of sausage.

‘No, she’s not,’ Lochan says quietly without looking up. Beneath the table, I press my foot against his in warning.

Mum turns to him in surprise. ‘Davey’s picking me up at seven,’ she protests. ‘It’s OK, bunnies. I’l tuck you in before I go.’

‘Forget about it,’ Tiffin mumbles angrily.

‘Seven o’clock is a very early bedtime,’ Wila comments with a sigh, spearing a second bean.

‘You’re not going out again tonight,’ Lochan mutters at her.

There is a stunned silence. ‘Told you he thinks he rules the place!’ Kit looks up from his plate, delighted at his chance to chip in. ‘Are you gonna let him boss you around like this, Mum?’

I shoot Kit a warning look and shake my head. His face instantly darkens again. ‘What – I’m not even alowed to talk now?’

‘Oh, I won’t be late—’ Mum says with a benign smile.

‘You’re not going out!’ Lochan shouts suddenly, slamming his hand down on the table. The crockery rattles and everyone jumps. I feel a familiar tension headache grip my temples. Mum claps a hand to her throat and lets out a highpitched exclamation of surprise, a kind of shril laugh. ‘Oh, listen to the big man of the house, teling his mummy what to do!’

‘See how the other half live,’ Kit mutters.

Lochan throws down his fork, his face puce, the cords standing out in his neck. ‘Two hours ago you were too damn hungover to make it down the street to fetch your own children from school, and you couldn’t even remember you’d asked someone else to pick them up!’

Mum opens her eyes wide. ‘But, darling, aren’t you pleased I’m feeling so much better?’

‘That’s not going to last if you go out for another night on the piss!’ Lochan yels, gripping the edge of the table with both hands, his knuckles white. ‘We nearly had to involve the police today. Nobody had any idea where the kids were. Anything could have happened to them, and you’d have been too out of it to notice!’

‘Lochie!’ Mum’s voice quivers like a little girl’s. ‘I had food poisoning. I couldn’t stop throwing up. I didn’t want to disturb you and Maya at school. What else was I supposed to do?’

‘Food poisoning, my arse!’ Lochan leaps up so violently he sends his chair crashing back against the tiles. ‘When are you going to face reality and accept you’ve got an alcohol problem?’

‘Oh, I’ve got a problem!’ Mum’s eyes flash suddenly, the little-girl act tossed aside. ‘I’m not a conventional mother – so sue me. I’ve had a hard life! I’ve finaly met someone great and I want to go out and have some fun! Fun – something you might want to try experiencing, Lochan, instead of living your life with your head in a book like your father. Where are your friends, hey? When do you ever go out – or bring someone home for that matter?’

Kit has rocked back in his chair, watching the scene with relish.

‘Mum, please don’t—’ I reach out for her but she swats me away. I smel fresh alcohol on her breath – in this state she is capable of saying anything, doing anything. Especialy as Lochan has mentioned the unmentionable.

Lochan has turned to stone, one hand gripping the sideboard for support. Tiffin has his hands clamped over his ears and Wila is looking from one face to the other, her eyes wide and staring.

‘Come on.’ I get up and pul them after me into the corridor. ‘Go up to your room and entertain yourselves for a while. I’l bring you some sandwiches in a minute.’

Wila scampers fearfuly up the stairs; Tiffin scowls, trailing in her wake. ‘We should of stayed at Calum’s,’ I hear him mutter and his words make my throat ache.

With no choice but to return to the kitchen in an attempt at damage-control, I find Mum stil shouting, her eyes narrowed under the weight of her lids. ‘Don’t look at me like that – you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve never had a proper girlfriend, never even managed to make a single friend, for chrissakes! What does being top of the class matter when the school keeps teling me you need to see a psychologist because you’re so shy you can’t even speak to anyone! The only person who’s got a problem is you!’

Lochan hasn’t moved: he’s staring at her with a look of sick horror. His lack of response only serves to spur Mum on as she starts trying to justify her outburst by fueling her own rage. ‘You take after him in every way – thinking you’re better than everyone else with your long words and your top grades. You have absolutely no respect for your own mother!’ she shrieks, her face mottled with fury.

‘How dare you speak to me like that in front of my children!’

I position myself in front of her and start manoeuvring her out of the kitchen. ‘Just go out with Dave,’ I beg her. ‘Go and meet him early or something. Surprise him! Go, Mum, just go.’

‘You always take his side!’

‘I’m not taking anyone’s side, Mum. I just think you’re getting yourself into a state, which isn’t a very good idea considering you haven’t been feeling very wel.’ I manage to get her into the halway. She grabs her handbag, but not without one last barb thrown over her shoulder. ‘Lochan, you can accuse me of not being a normal mother the day you start acting like a normal teenager!’

I propel her out of the door, and it is an effort not to slam it hard behind her. Instead I lean against it, afraid she might unlock it and come storming back in. I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, I notice a figure sitting at the top of the stairs.

‘Tiffin, haven’t you got homework to do?’

‘She said she was gonna tuck us in.’ There’s a tremor in his voice.

‘I know,’ I say quickly, straightening up. ‘And she meant it. But I said I would do it instead because she was running late—’

‘I don’t want you to do it, I want Mum!’ Tiffin shouts, and jumping up, he runs into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Back in the kitchen, Kit has his feet on the table, shaking with silent laughter. ‘God, what a fucked-up family this is!’

‘Just go upstairs. You’re not helping,’ I tel him quietly.

He opens his mouth to protest, then launches himself angrily to his feet, his chair screeching against the tiles. Grabbing Tiffin and Wila’s dinner money from the hal table, he makes for the front door.

‘Where are you going?’ I shout after him.

‘Out to get some fucking food!’

Lochan is pacing the kitchen floor. He seems somehow dismantled, confused. His face is variegated with lines of crimson, giving his skin a curious raw look.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have started it—’ He sounds like he is being shaken. I try to touch his arm but he jumps away from me as if stung. His pain is almost tangible: the hurt, the resentment, the fury, al filing the smal room.

‘Lochie, you had every right to lose your temper. What Mum did today was inexcusable. But listen to me . . .’ I position myself in front of him and try to touch him again. ‘Lochie, listen. That stuff she said was just her way of lashing out. You mentioned her drinking and she just can’t deal with the truth. So she tried to find the most hurtful thing she could to throw back at you—’

‘She meant it, she meant every word.’ He tugs at his hair, rubs his cheeks. ‘And she’s right. I’m not – I’m not normal. There’s something wrong with me and—’

‘Lochie, don’t worry about that right now, OK? It’s something you can work on – it’s something that’s going to get better with time!’

Puling away from me, he continues to pace, as if the continuous movement wil stop him faling apart. ‘But she’s like Kit. She’s – she’s—’ He can’t bring himself to say the word. ‘Ashamed,’ he whispers finaly.

‘Lochie, stop for a minute. Look at me.’

I grab him by the arms and hold him stil. I can feel him trembling beneath my touch.

‘It’s al right. The kids are al right and that’s al that matters. Don’t listen to her. Never, ever listen to her. She’s just a bitter old cow who never grew up. But she’s not ashamed of you. No one’s ashamed of you, Lochie. God, how could anyone be? We al know that without you this family would fal apart.’

He drops his head in defeat. I can feel the clenched muscles in his shoulders beneath my fingers.

‘It is faling apart.’

I give him a smal, desperate shake. ‘Lochan, it’s not. Wila and Tiffin are fine. I’m fine! Kit is your standard screwed-up teenager. We’re al together – al those years since Dad left – since Mum’s problem started. We haven’t been taken into care, and that’s entirely thanks to you.’

There is a long silence. Al I can see is the top of Lochan’s head. He leans towards me slightly. I reach up and put my arms around him and hold him tight. I lower my voice to a whisper. ‘You’re not just my brother, you’re my best friend.’

I replay that sentence over and over during the next few days. It is a way of blotting out everything else – the awful incident with Tiffin and Wila, the row with my mother, the constant hel that is school. Every time I decline to answer a question in class, each moment I spend alone bent over a book, I am reminded of what my family think of me. Pathetic. A socialy inept weirdo. A teenage son who can’t get a friend, let alone a girlfriend. I try – I realy try: smal things, like asking my neighbour for the time. He has to lean across the aisle to ask me to repeat my question. I can’t even hear the sound of my own voice. I stil don’t fuly understand it – I managed to talk to the school staff the afternoon Tiffin and Wila disappeared. But that was an emergency, and the horror of the situation overrode any inhibitions I might have had. Talking to adults is bearable; it’s talking to people my age that’s impossible. So I keep replaying Maya’s words in my head. Maybe there is someone who isn’t ashamed of me after al. Perhaps there is one member of my family whom I haven’t totaly let down. But the void yawns open like a cavern inside my chest. I feel so damn lonely al the time. Even though I’m surrounded by pupils, there is this invisible screen between us, and behind the glass wal I am screaming – screaming in my own silence, screaming to be noticed, to be befriended, to be liked. And yet when a friendlylooking girl from my maths class comes up to me in the canteen and says

‘Mind if I sit here?’ I just give a quick nod and turn away, hoping to God she won’t try to engage me in conversation. And at home it’s hardly as if I’m alone, either. The house is never silent – but Kit is stil going through his evil phase, Tiffin is only interested in his Gameboy and his footie friends, and Wila is sweet but stil just a baby. I play Twister and Hide-and-Seek with the little ones, help them with their homework, feed them, bathe them, read them goodnight stories, but al the while I have to stay upbeat for them, put on the damn mask, and sometimes I fear it wil crack. Only with Maya can I realy be myself. We share the burden together and she is always on my side, by my side. I don’t want to need her, to depend on her, but I do, I realy do.

At lunch break I am sitting in my usual place during the tired afternoon, watching the cold light slowly move across the empty stairwel beneath me, when footsteps from above startle me. I lower my eyes to my book. Behind me, the feet slow and I feel my pulse rate rise. Someone passes me on the steps. I feel a leg brush against my shirtsleeve and I concentrate on the page of blurred print before me. To my horror, just below me, the footsteps stop altogether.

‘Hi!’ a girl’s voice exclaims.

I flinch. Force myself to look up. I meet the browneyed gaze of someone I vaguely recognize. It takes me several seconds to place her. It’s the girl Maya always hangs around with. I can’t even remember her name. And she is looking at me with a wide, toothy grin.

‘Hi,’ she says again.

I clear my throat. ‘Hi,’ I mumble.

I’m not sure she can even hear me. Her gaze is unflinching and she seems to be waiting for something more.

‘The Hours,’ she comments, glancing down at my book. ‘Isn’t that a film?’

I nod.

‘Any good?’ Her determination to make conversation is impressive. I nod again and return to the page. ‘I’m Francie,’ she says, stil grinning broadly.

‘Lochan,’ I reply.

She raises her eyebrows meaningfuly. ‘I know.’

I can feel my fingers making damp indentations in the pages of the book.

‘Maya talks about you al the time.’

There is nothing subtle about this girl. Her frizzy hair and dark skin contrast sharply with her blood-red lipstick and she is wearing an obscenely short skirt and huge silver hoops in her ears.

‘You know who I am, right? You’ve seen me hanging around with your sister?’

Another nod, the words evaporating as soon as they reach my throat. I start chewing my lip. Francie looks at me pensively with a little smile. ‘You don’t talk much, do you?’

My face starts to burn. If she hadn’t been a friend of Maya’s, I would be pushing past her down the stairs by now. But Francie seems more curious than amused.

‘People say I never stop talking,’ she continues breezily. ‘It pisses them off.’

You’re telling me.

‘I have a message for you,’ Francie declares suddenly. ‘From your sister.’

I feel myself tense. ‘W-what is it?’

‘Nothing serious,’ she says quickly. ‘Just that your mum is taking your brothers and sister out to McDonald’s tonight so there’s no need to rush home. Maya wants you to meet her at the postbox at the end of the street after school.’

‘M-Maya asked you to c-come here and tel me that?’ I ask, waiting for her to smirk at my stammer.

‘Wel, not exactly. She was trying to send you a text, but then she was kept in to finish off some coursework so I figured I might as wel tel you myself.’

‘Thanks,’ I mumble.

‘And . . . I also wanted to invite you to have a drink at Smileys with Maya and me, since the two of you don’t have to go rushing off for once.’

I stare at her, mute.

‘Is that a yes?’ She eyes me hopefuly.

My mind has gone blank. I can’t for the life of me think of an excuse. ‘Uh, wel – OK.’

‘Cool!’ Her face lights up. ‘I’l see you at the postbox after school!’

She is gone as suddenly as she arrived.

At the final bel I pack my bag with unsteady hands; I am the last to trail out of the classroom. I make a dive for the toilets and lock myself in a cubicle. Sitting on the closed lid after peeing, I try to pul myself together. On the way out I stop in front of the mirrors. In the afternoon light the pale face staring back at me has the glittering green eyes of some alien creature. Leaning over the basin, I cup icy water in my hands and bring it up to my face, pressing my cheeks into the shalow puddles. I want to hide out here for ever, but someone else bangs in through the door and I have no choice but to leave.

Maya and Francie are standing side by side by the postbox at the end of the street, talking in rapid-fire to each other, their eyes scanning the crowds. It takes al the wil in the world to stop me from doubling back, but the look of expectation on Maya’s face forces me forward. Her face breaks into a smile of delight as she catches sight of me.

‘Thought you were going to do a no-show!’ she whispers.

I smile again and nod, words running through my mind like a stream of effervescent bubbles.

‘Wel, come on, guys!’ Francie exclaims after a moment’s awkward silence. ‘Are we going to Smileys or not?’

‘Absolutely,’ Maya says, and as she turns to folow her friend, her hand brushes against mine in a gesture of reassurance – or perhaps it is thanks.

Smileys is stil mercifuly empty at this time. We take a smal round table by the window and I hide behind the menu, my tongue rubbing the rough skin beneath my lip.

‘Are you guys getting food?’ Francie wants to know.

Maya glances at me and I give a subtle shake of the head.

‘Shal we share some garlic bread?’ Francie suggests. ‘I’m dying for a Coke.’

Maya leans back in her seat to try and catch the waiter, and Francie turns to me. ‘So, are you looking forward to getting the hel out of Belmont?’

I put down the menu and nod, forcing a smile.

‘You’re so lucky,’ Francie continues. ‘Just another nine months and you’l be free of this hel-hole.

’

Maya finishes ordering and returns to the one-sided conversation, which even Francie is struggling to maintain. ‘Lochan’s going to UCL,’ she announces proudly.

‘Wel, no, I – I’m applying—’

‘It’s a dead cert.’

‘Shit, you must realy be smart!’ Francie exclaims.

‘He is,’ Maya informs her. ‘He’s been predicted four As.’

‘Fuck!’

I wince and catch Maya’s eye, pleading with her to back off. I want to object, play it down, but I can feel the heat rushing to my face and the words evaporating from my mind the moment I conjure them up.

Maya elbows me gently. ‘Francie’s no fool either,’ she says. ‘She is actualy the only person I know who can touch the tip of her nose with her tongue.’

We al laugh. I breathe again.

‘You think I’m kidding?’ Francie chalenges me.

‘No . . .’

‘He’s just being polite,’ Maya informs her. ‘I think he’s gonna need proof.’

Francie is al too keen to oblige. She sits up straight, extends her tongue as far as it wil go, curls it upwards and touches the very tip to her nose. The cross-eyed look completes the picture. Maya fals against me with mirth and I find myself laughing too. Francie’s OK. As long as this doesn’t last too long, I think I’m going to survive.

Suddenly there is a commotion in the doorway. Francie spins round in her seat and I identify a group of Belmont pupils by their uniform.

‘Hey, guys!’ Francie shouts. ‘Over here!’

They clatter over, and through blurred vision I recognize a couple of girls from Maya’s class, a guy from one of the other year groups and Rafi, a guy from English. There are greetings and backslaps, and two tables are pushed together and more chairs drawn up.

‘Whitely!’ Rafi exclaims in astonishment. ‘What the hel are you doing here?’

‘Just, uh, my sister—’

‘He’s hanging out with us!’ Francie exclaims. ‘Is that a crime? He’s Maya’s brother – didn’t you know?’

‘Yeah, I just never thought I’d see him in a place like this!’ There is no malice in Rafi’s laughter, just genuine surprise, but now everybody’s looking at me and the two other girls are talking. Maya is doing the introductions, but although I can hear the voices, I can no longer make sense of what is being said. Emma, who has been going out of her way to bump into me since the beginning of term, is determined to engage me in conversation. Their sudden intrusion just as I was beginning to relax, combined with the fact that they al know me as the class weirdo, is suddenly al too much, and I feel like the prey in some claustrophobic nightmare. Their words are like hammers, pounding my skul. I give in to the tide and feel myself beginning to drown. Their mouths move underwater, opening and closing, I read the question marks on their faces – most of their questions are directed at me – but panic has caused my senses to shut down. I cannot distinguish one sentence from another: it has al turned into a blanket of noise. Abruptly I scrape back my chair and get to my feet, grabbing my bag and blazer. I mumble something about having left my mobile at school, raise my hand in goodbye and lunge for the door.

I head down one street, then another. I’m not even sure where I’m going. I suddenly feel stupidly close to tears. I drape my blazer over my school bag and hook the strap over my shoulder, walking as fast as I can, the air rasping in my lungs, the sound of traffic drowned out by the frantic thud of my heart. I hear the smack of shoes on the pavement behind me and instinctively move aside to let the jogger past, but it’s Maya, grabbing me by the arm.

‘Slow down, Lochie, please – I’ve got a realy bad stitch . . .’

‘Maya, what the hel are you doing? Go back to your friends.’

She catches hold of my hand. ‘Lochie, wait—’

I stop and pul away from her suddenly, stepping back. ‘Look, I appreciate the effort, but I’d rather you just left me alone, OK?’ My voice begins to rise. ‘I didn’t ask you for help, did I?’

‘Hey, hey!’ She steps towards me, holding out her hand. ‘I wasn’t trying to do anything, Loch. It was al Francie’s idea. I only went along with it because she told me you’d agreed.’

I run my hands through my hair. ‘Jesus, this was such a fucking mistake. Now I’ve gone and embarrassed you in front of your friends . . .’

‘Are you insane?’ She laughs, grabs my hand and swings my arm as we start walking again. ‘I’m glad you left! Gave me an excuse to get out too.’

I check my watch, feeling myself relax slightly. ‘You know, since Mum’s looking after the kids for once, we have the whole evening free.’ I raise a tentative eyebrow.

Maya flicks back her hair and a smile lights up her face, her eyes widening in animation. ‘Ooh, were you thinking of fleeing the country?’

I grin. ‘Tempting . . . But maybe something more along the lines of catching a film?’

She tilts her face up to the sky. ‘But the sun’s shining. It stil feels like summer!’

‘OK then, you choose.’

‘Let’s just walk,’ she says.

‘Walk?’

‘Yes. Let’s catch a bus over to Chelsea Harbour. Let’s ogle the houses of the rich and famous and wander down by the river.’