Forbidden (7 page)

I’ve let go, he’s got away, doubled over on hands and knees, coughing and retching, strings of saliva hanging from his mouth. Someone is restraining me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides, but al the strength has suddenly left me and I can barely sit up. I hear gasping sounds from Kit as he lurches to his feet, and suddenly he is towering over me.

‘You ever touch me again and I’l kil you.’ His voice is hoarse and rasping. I hear him leave, hear him thunder up the wooden stairs, hear the sound of a wailing child. I seem to be faling, except the carpet is solid beneath me and the cold hard wal presses against my back. Through a dim haze I see Wila wrap her legs around Maya’s waist as Maya lifts her into a hug and murmurs, ‘It’s al right, it’s al right, my love – they just had a sily argument. Everything’s fine now. Let’s go back upstairs and tuck you into bed, OK?’

They leave the room and the wails fade but continue above me, on and on and on. My legs are unsteady as I make my way to my room. Safely inside, I sit down on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, cupping my hands over my nose and mouth, trying to stop hyperventilating, the pain in my stomach sending smal aftershocks through my body. I feel sweat running down the sides of my face and cannot stop trembling. The halo round the light bulb above me expands and retracts, creating dancing spots of light. The ful horror of what happened is only just starting to hit me. I have never got into any kind of physical fight with Kit before, yet tonight I provoked one, I almost wanted one; once I’d got my hands round his throat, I honestly didn’t want to let go. I don’t understand what’s happening to me – I seem to be unraveling. So Kit came home a few hours late – what teenager hasn’t? Parents get angry with their children, sure: they shout, threaten, swear at them maybe, but they don’t try to strangle them.

The knock on the door sends another jolt through my body. But it’s only Maya, looking completely wiped out as she sags against the doorframe.

‘Are you al right?’

Hands stil covering my mouth, I nod, desperate for her to leave but unable to speak. She observes me soberly in the gloom, hesitates for a moment, then switches on my overhead light and comes in.

I take my hands away from my face, clenching them into fists to stop them shaking. ‘I’m fine,’ I say, my voice raw and ragged. ‘We should al just go to bed.’

‘You don’t look fine.’ She closes the door and leans against it, her eyes huge, her expression unreadable. I can’t tel if she’s angry, horrified, disgusted . . .

‘Maya, I’m sorry, I – I just lost it . . .’ A jagged pain runs through me.

‘I know, Loch, I know.’

I want to tel her just how sorry I am. I want to ask her whether Wila is OK. I want to ask her to check on Kit, make sure he’s not packing his bags and planning to run away, reassure me that I haven’t hurt him, even though I know I have. But I can’t get the words out. Only the sound of my heaving breaths fils the air. I press my hands against my nose and mouth to try to muffle the sound, push my elbows down hard against my knees in an effort to stop shaking, and find myself rocking back and forth without knowing why.

Peeling herself off the door, Maya moves towards me, taking a seat beside me on the bed. Instinctively my arm flies up to ward her off. ‘Maya, d-don’t – I don’t need—’

She takes my outstretched hand and gently puls it onto her lap, rubbing my palm in circular motions with her thumb. ‘Try and relax.’ Her voice is gentle – too gentle. ‘It’s al right. Everyone’s OK. Wila’s gone back to sleep and Kit’s fine.’

I shift away from her, struggling to disengage my hand from hers. ‘I – I just need some sleep . . .’

‘I know you do, but you have to calm down first.’

‘I’m trying!’

Her face is pinched with concern and I’m aware that the sight of me in this state is doing little to reassure her. Her fingers are warm on my wrist, moving up to stroke the inside of my arm, the touch of her hand somehow comforting. ‘Lochie, it wasn’t your fault.’

I bite down hard and turn away.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she says again. ‘Lochie, you know that. Kit’s been trying to provoke you into something like this for ages. Anyone would have snapped.’

There is a mounting pain at the back of my throat, a warning pressure behind my eyes.

‘You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything, just because you’re the eldest. None of this is your fault – Mum’s drinking, Dad leaving, Kit turning out the way he has. There’s nothing more you could have done.’

I don’t know how she’s figured al this out. I don’t understand how she is able to read my mind like this. I turn to face the wal, shaking my head to tel her she’s wrong. I pul my hand away from hers and rub the side of my face, trying to shield it from view.

‘Lochie . . .’

No. I can’t take this any more, I can’t, I can’t. I’m not even going to get her out of the room before it’s too late. My eyes pulsate with a rising ache. If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I’m going to lose this battle.

Her hand touches my shoulder, strokes my back. ‘It’s not always going to be like this.’

A tear skims the side of my cheek. I put my hand up to my eyes to stop the next one. My fingers are suddenly wet. I take a deep breath and try to hold it, but a smal sound escapes.

‘Oh – Loch, no. Don’t – not over this!’ Maya sounds softly desperate.

I move closer to the wal, wishing I could disappear into it. I press my fist hard against my mouth. Then the bottled breath explodes from my lungs with a violent choking sound.

‘Hey, hey . . .’ Despite her reassuring tone, I recognize the note of panic. ‘Lochie, please, listen to me. Just listen. Tonight was hideous, but it’s not the end of the world. I know things have been realy, realy tough recently, but it’s al right, it’s al right. Kit’s fine. You’re only human. These things happen .

. .’

I try to dry my eyes on my shirtsleeve, but the tears keep coming and I can’t understand why I am so utterly powerless to stop them.

‘Shh, come here—’ Maya tries to pul me round to face her, I push her roughly away. She tries again. Frenziedly I fend her off with one arm.

‘Don’t! Maya, stop it, for chrissakes – please! Please! I can’t – I can’t—!’ The sobs burst out with each word. I can’t breathe, I’m terrified, I’m faling apart.

‘Lochie, calm down. I just want to hold you, that’s al. Just let me hold you.’ Her voice adopts the soothing tone she uses when Tiffin or Wila are upset. She’s not going to give up. I scrape the fingernails of one hand against the wal, violent sobs running in shock waves through my body, tears soaking my sleeve. ‘Help,’ I find myself gasping. ‘I don’t understand what’s wrong with me!’

Maya slides into the space between me and the wal, and suddenly there is nowhere for me to hide any more. As she puts her arms around me and puls me close, I try to resist one final time, but I am drained of al strength. Her body is warm against mine – alive, familiar, reassuring. I press my face against the curve of her neck, my hands clutching at the back of her nightdress as if she might suddenly disappear.

‘I – I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean to – Maya, I didn’t mean to!’

‘I know you didn’t mean to, Lochie. I know that, I know.’

She is talking to me softly now, almost whispering, one arm wrapped tightly around me, the other stroking the back of my head, rocking me gently back and forth. I cling to her as the sobs rack my body with such force, I think I wil never be able to stop.

I open my eyes and find myself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. My head feels fuzzy with sleep, and it isn’t until I find myself blinking over at a desk laden with A-level textbooks, a chair covered in discarded shirts and trousers, that I remember where I am. There is a distinctive smel too – not unpleasant, but unmistakably Lochan. A slight weight on my chest prompts me to look down, and with a start I see an arm slung over my ribcage, bitten-down fingernails, a large black digital watch secured around the wrist. Lochan is fast asleep by my side, stretched out on his front, pressed up against the wal, his arm draped over me.

My mind flashes back to the previous night and I remember the fight, remember coming up and finding him in a realy bad way, the shock of seeing him on the verge of tears, the feeling of horror and helplessness as he broke down and sobbed – the first time since the day Dad left. Seeing him like that sucked me back through the years, back to the day Dad came to the house for that ‘special goodbye’

before catching the flight that was to take him and his new wife to the other side of the world. There were presents, and photos of the new house with the pool, and promises of school holidays with him there, and assurances that he would be back regularly. The others had naturaly bought into the whole charade – they were stil so young – but somehow Lochan and I sensed that was it, we would not be seeing our dad again – ever. And it wasn’t long before we were proved right. The weekly phone cals became monthly, then only on special occasions, then stopped altogether. When Mum told us his new wife had just given birth, we knew it was only a matter of time before even the birthday presents ceased. And cease they did. Everything ceased. Even Mum’s child support. We older two had expected it – just never guessed he would erase us al from his life quite so fast. I clearly remember that moment after the final goodbye, after the front door had closed and the sound of Dad’s car faded down the street. Huddled up against the pilows with my new cuddly dog and the picture of the house I knew I’d never get to visit, I was suddenly overcome by a huge surge of rage and hatred for a father who had once claimed to love me so much. But to my surprise and annoyance, Lochan had seemed to go along with it al, rejoicing with the others at the idea of us al jetting off to Australia some day soon. I actualy thought he was stupid. I sulked and ignored him al day while he forced himself through his charade. Only later that night, once he thought I was asleep, did he break down – softly sobbing into his pilow in the bunk above mine. He had been inconsolable then too –

fighting me off when I attempted to give him a hug before finaly giving in, letting me snuggle under the duvet and cry with him. We’d promised each other then that even when we grew up, we would always stay together. Finaly, exhausted and al cried out, we’d falen asleep. And now here we are, five years on, and so much has changed, and yet so little.

It feels strange, lying here in Lochan’s bed with him sleeping beside me. Wila used to climb into bed with me whenever she had nightmares – in the morning I’d wake up to find her smal body pressed against mine. This is Lochan though: my brother, my protector. Seeing his arm slung so casualy across me makes me smile – he would be very quick to remove it if he woke. I don’t want him to wake up just yet though. His leg is pressed against mine, squashing it slightly. He is stil in his school clothes, his shoulder heavy against my arm, pinning it to the bed. I am wel and truly wedged in

– in fact we both are: his other arm has disappeared down the narrow crack between the mattress and the wal. I turn my head gingerly to see if he looks as if he might wake up anytime soon. He doesn’t. He is sound asleep, taking those long, deep, rhythmical breaths, his face turned towards me. It’s not often that I have him so near – not since we were young. It is strange to observe him at such close range: I see things I’ve barely noticed before. The way his hair, drenched in a shaft of sunlight slanting through the curtains, is not quite jet-black but actualy contains streaks of golden brown. I can make out a pattern in the fine tracing of veins beneath the skin of his temples, even distinguish the individual hairs of his eyebrows. The faint white scar above his left eye from a childhood fal has not completely faded, and his eyelids are fringed with surprisingly long dark lashes. My eyes folow the smooth ridge of his nose down to the bow of his upper lip, so clearly defined now that his mouth is relaxed. His skin is smooth, almost translucent; the only blemish a self-inflicted sore beneath his mouth where his teeth have repeatedly rubbed, chafed and scraped at the skin to leave a smal crimson wound: a reminder of his ongoing battle with the world around him. I want to stroke it away, erase the hurt, the stress, the loneliness.

I find myself thinking back to Francie’s comment. A kissable mouth . . . What does that mean exactly? At the time I thought it was funny, I don’t any more. I wouldn’t want Francie to kiss Lochan’s mouth. I wouldn’t want anyone to. He is my brother, my best friend. The idea of anyone seeing him like this, so close, so exposed, is suddenly unbearable. What if they hurt him, broke his heart? I don’t want him to fal in love with some girl – I want him to stay here, loving us. Loving me. He shifts slightly, his arm sliding up my ribcage. I can feel his sweaty warmth against my side. The way his nostrils contract slightly each time he inhales reminds me of the tenuous, precarious hold we al have on life. Asleep, he looks so vulnerable it frightens me.

There are shouts, yelps from downstairs. Thundering feet on the stairs. A loud bang against the door. Tiffin’s unmistakable, over-excited voice yeling, ‘Homey! Homey!’

Lochan’s arm contracts and he opens his eyes with a start. For a long moment he just stares at me, emerald irises flecked with blue, his face very stil. Then his expression begins to change.

‘What – what’s going on?’

I smile at the blurriness of his speech. ‘Nothing. I’m stuck.’

He glances down at his arm, stil slung across my chest, and retracts it quickly, struggling to sit up.

‘Why are you—? What on earth are you doing here?’ He looks disorientated and slightly panicked for a moment, tousled hair hanging in his eyes, face hazy with sleep. The imprint of the pilow has left scarlet indentations across his cheek.

‘We were talking late last night, remember?’ I don’t want to mention the fight, or its aftermath. ‘I guess we both just crashed out.’ I pul myself up against the head-board, curl my legs up beneath me and stretch. ‘I haven’t been able to move for the last fifteen minutes because you were half crushing me.’

He has retreated to the far end of the bed, leaning against the wal, dropping his head back with a thud. He closes his eyes for a moment. ‘I feel rough,’ he murmurs as if to himself, hugging his knees, his torso limp and yielding.

Concern grips me: it’s not like Lochan to complain. ‘Where does it hurt?’

He releases his breath with a ghost of smile. ‘Everywhere.’

The smile fades when I don’t return it and he holds me with his gaze, eyes heavy with sadness.

‘Today’s Saturday, right?’

‘Yes, but everything’s fine. Mum’s up – I heard her voice a few minutes ago. And Kit’s up too. It sounds like they’re al downstairs having breakfast or brunch or something.’

‘Oh. OK. Good.’ Lochan sighs in relief and closes his eyes again. I don’t like the way he is talking, sitting, behaving. He seems helpless somehow, in pain and utterly defeated. There is a long silence. He doesn’t open his eyes.

‘Lochie?’ I venture softly.

‘Yeah.’ He looks at me with a start and blinks rapidly as if attempting to engage his brain.

‘Stay here while I get you some coffee and painkilers, OK?’

‘No, no . . .’ He catches me by the wrist to restrain me. ‘I’m fine. I’l wake up properly once I’ve had a shower.’

‘OK. There’s paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet.’

He gazes blankly at me. ‘Right,’ he says duly.

Nothing happens. He doesn’t move. I begin to feel uneasy.

‘You’re not looking too good, you know,’ I inform him gently. ‘How about you get back into bed for a bit and I’l bring you breakfast?’

He turns his head to look at me again. ‘No – seriously, Maya, I’m fine. Just give me a minute, OK?’

The unspoken rule in our family is that Lochan is never il. Even last winter, when he had flu and a high temperature, he insisted he was wel enough to do the school run.

‘Then I’m going to get you some coffee,’ I declare abruptly, jumping up from the bed. ‘Go and have a hot shower and—’

He stops me, catching my hand before I reach the door. ‘Maya . . .’

I turn, tightening my fingers around his. ‘What?’

His jaw tenses and I see him swalow. His eyes seem to be searching mine, hoping for something –

a sign of understanding perhaps. ‘I can’t – I realy don’t think I can—’ He breaks off, breathing deeply. I wait. ‘I don’t think I’ve got the energy to do the whole family meal thing today.’ He puls an apologetic face.

‘Wel, of course I’l do it, you sily!’ I think for a moment and begin to smile. ‘Hey, I’ve got an even better idea.’

‘What?’ He looks hopeful suddenly.

I grin. ‘I’l get rid of them al – you’l see.’

I stand in the doorway for a moment, soaking up the chaos. They are seated around the kitchen table, a mess of Coco Pops, Coke cans, Jaffa Cakes and crisps strewn out in front of them. Mum must have sent Tiffin to the corner shop when she discovered only muesli and brown bread for breakfast. But at least she’s up before noon, albeit stil in her sleazy pink dressing gown, her blonde hair uncombed, great bags beneath her bloodshot eyes. Judging by the ashtray, she has already been through half a packet of cigarettes, but despite her appearance, she seems surprisingly spry and perky, helped no doubt by the shot of whisky I can smel in her coffee.

‘Princess!’ She holds out her arms. ‘You look like an angel in that dress.’

‘Mum, this is the same nightie I’ve been wearing for the last four years,’ I inform her with a sigh. Mum just smiles complacently, my words barely registering, but Kit chuckles through a mouthful of Coco Pops, showering the table. I’m relieved to see that he looks none the worse for his run-in with Lochan last night. Beside him, Tiffin is trying to juggle with three oranges from the fruit bowl, his sugar levels clearly sky-high. Wila is talking rapidly and indistinctly, her mouth crammed to capacity, chocolate smeared across her chin. I make some coffee, retrieve the muesli from the cupboard and start slicing the bread on the sideboard.

‘Wanna Mars bar?’ Tiffin offers me generously.

‘No thanks, Tiff. And I think you’ve probably had enough chocolate for today. Remember what happens when you have too much sugar?’

‘I get sent to the head,’ Tiffin responds automaticaly. ‘But I ain’t at school now.’

‘I’m not at school now,’ I correct him. ‘Hey, guess what, I’ve had a realy good idea for a family day out!’

‘Oh, how lovely!’ Mum exclaims eagerly. ‘Where are you going to take them?’

‘Actualy I was thinking of a day out with the whole family,’ I continue jovialy, careful to keep the edge out of my voice. ‘And we’d definitely want you to come too, Mum!’

Kit glances up at me with dark, mistrustful eyes, snorting in derision. ‘Yeah, let’s go to the seaside or something and have a fucking picnic and pretend we’re just one big happy family.’

‘Where, where?’ Tiffin shouts.

‘Wel, I was thinking we could al go to—’

‘The zoo, the zoo!’ Wila cries, practicaly faling off her chair in excitement.

‘No, the park!’ Tiffin counters. ‘We can play three-aside footbal.’

‘How about the bowling aley?’ Kit suggests unexpectedly. ‘They have arcade games there.’

I smile indulgently. ‘We might be able to do al three. There’s a massive fairground that’s just opened in Battersea Park – there’s a zoo on the other side of the park, and I think the fairground even has arcade games, Kit.’

A flicker of interest registers in his eyes.

‘Mum, wil you buy me candyfloss?’ Tiffin yels.

‘And me, and me!’ Wila shrieks.

Mum smiles wanly. ‘A day out with al my bunnies. How lovely.’

‘But you’l al have to get ready double quick,’ I warn. ‘It’s almost noon.’

‘Mum, come on!’ Tiffin yels at her. ‘You gotta put on al your make-up and get dressed right now!’

‘Just one last ciggie . . .’

But Tiffin and Wila have already gone tearing out of the room to put on their coats and shoes. Even Kit has swung his feet off the table.

‘Is Lochan coming on this little jaunt?’ Mum asks me, dragging heavily on her cigarette. I notice Kit’s eyes sharpen suddenly.

‘No, he’s got a ton of homework to catch up on.’ I stop clearing the table suddenly and slap a hand to my forehead. ‘Oh no. Damn!’

‘What’s the matter, sweetie?’

‘I completely forgot. I can’t come today. I promised I’d babysit the Davidsons’ new baby this afternoon.’

Mum looks alarmed. ‘Wel, can’t you just cancel and say you’re il or something?’

‘No, they’re going to a wedding and I told them I’d do it ages ago.’ I can’t believe what a good liar I am. ‘Besides,’ I add pointedly, ‘we could do with the money.’

Tiffin and Wila return to the kitchen, bundled up in their coats, and stop, instantly sensing the change in atmosphere.

‘Clever Maya’s just realized we can’t go after al,’ Kit informs them.

‘We’l go tomorrow instead!’ Mum exclaims brightly. ‘Nooo!’ Tiffin’s howl is one of despair. Wila looks up at me accusingly, her blue eyes stricken.

‘But you can stil go with Mum,’ I say casualy, carefuly avoiding her gaze. Tiffin and Wila turn to gaze at her, their eyes pleading. ‘Mum! Mum, pleeeease!’

‘Oh, al right, al right,’ she sighs, shooting me a pained, almost angry look. ‘Anything for my babies.’

As Mum goes upstairs to get dressed and Tiffin and Wila tear about the house in a sugar-induced frenzy, Kit returns his feet to the table and starts idly flicking through a comic. ‘Wel, look how that turned out,’ he mutters without looking up.

I feel myself tense but continue to clear the table. ‘What difference does it make?’ I retort quietly.