Forbidden (9 page)

I brace myself for another angry reaction. But instead he just gazes blankly at the opposite wal. ‘I think – I think maybe everyone does . . . now and again.’

I realize this is the closest I’m going to get to an admission and his words make my throat ache.

‘But you know – you do know you’l never ever find yourself alone like the guy in your story, right?’ I say in a rush.

‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’ He gives a quick shrug.

‘Because, Lochan, you’l always have someone who loves you – just you – more than anybody in the world.’

We are silent for a moment and Lochan goes back to his formulae, but the colour is stil high in his cheeks and I can tel he’s not realy taking anything in. I glance back down at the teacher’s scrawled message at the end.

‘So, hey – did you ever read this out in class?’ I ask brightly.

He looks up at me with a laboured sigh. ‘Maya, you know I’m crap at stuff like that.’

‘But this is so good!’

He puls a face. ‘Thanks, but even if that were true, it wouldn’t make any difference.’

‘Oh, Lochie . . .’

Drawing up his knees, he leans back against the couch, turning his head to gaze out of the window. ‘I’ve got to give this damn presentation soon,’ he says quietly. ‘I don’t know – I realy don’t know what the hel to do.’ He seems to be asking me for help.

‘Did you ask if you could hand it in as a written assignment?’

‘Yes, but it’s that crazy Aussie. I’m teling you, she’s got it in for me.’

‘From the comments and the grades she’s been giving you, it’s clear she thinks pretty highly of you,’ I point out gently.

‘It’s not that. She wants – she wants to turn me into some kind of orator.’ He gives a strained laugh.

‘Maybe it’s time you alowed yourself to be converted,’ I suggest tentatively. ‘Just a little bit. Just enough to give it a go.’

A long silence. ‘Maya, you know I can’t.’ He turns away suddenly, looking out of the window at two boys on bikes doing stunts in the street. ‘It – it feels like people are burning me with their stares. Like there’s no air left in my body. I get the stupid shakes, my heart pounds, and the words just – they just disappear. My mind goes completely blank and I can’t even make out the writing on the page. I can’t speak loud enough for people to hear me, and I know that everyone’s just waiting – waiting for me to fal apart so they can laugh. They al know – they al know I can’t do it—’ He breaks off, the laughter gone from his eyes, his breathing shalow and rapid, as if aware he has already said too much. His thumb rubs back and forth over the sore. ‘Jesus, I know it’s not normal. I know it’s something I’ve got to sort out. And – and I wil, I’m sure I wil. I have to. How else can I ever get a job? I’l find a way. I’m not always going to be like this . . .’ He takes a deep breath, tugging at his hair.

‘Of course you’re not,’ I reassure him quickly. ‘Once you’re free of Belmont, the whole stupid school system—’

‘But I’l stil have to find a way to get through uni – and work, after that . . .’ His voice quavers suddenly and I see desperation in his eyes.

‘Have you talked to this English teacher about it?’ I ask. ‘She doesn’t sound too bad, you know. Maybe she could help. Give you some tips. Better than that useless counselor they forced on you –

the one who made you do breathing exercises and asked whether you were breast-fed as a baby!’

He starts laughing before I do. ‘Oh God, I’d almost forgotten about her – she realy was a nutcase!’ He sobers suddenly. ‘But the thing is – the thing is, I can’t – I realy can’t.’

‘You keep saying that,’ I point out gently. ‘But you massively underestimate yourself, Lochie. I know you could read something out in class. Maybe not start off with a whole presentation, but perhaps you could agree to read out one of your essays. Something shorter, a bit less personal. You know, it’s like with anything: once you take that first step, the next is a whole lot easier.’ I break off with a smile. ‘You know who first told me that?’

He shakes his head and rols his eyes. ‘No clue. Martin Luther?’

‘You, Lochie. When you were trying to teach me to swim.’

He smiles briefly at the memory, then exhales slowly. ‘OK. Maybe I could try . . .’ He shoots me a teasing grin. ‘The wise Maya has spoken.’

‘Indeed!’ I suddenly jump to my feet, deciding that on our rare day off a bit of fun is caled for.

‘And in return for al this wisdom, I want you to do something for me!’

‘Uh-oh.’

I turn on the radio, tuning in to the first pop station I find. I turn to Lochan and hold out my arms. He groans, dropping his head back against the cushions. ‘Oh, Maya, please be kidding!’

‘How am I supposed to practise without a partner?’ I protest.

‘I thought you’d given up salsa dancing!’

‘Only because they moved the lunchtime club to after school. Anyway, I’ve learned loads of new moves from Francie.’ I push the coffee table out of the way, pile up the papers and books, and reach down to grab his hand. ‘On your feet, partner!’

With a dramatic show of reluctance, he obeys, muttering crossly about his unfinished homework.

‘It’l restore the bloodflow to your brain,’ I tel him.

Trying not to look embarrassed and failing, Lochan stands in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. I raise the volume a couple of decibels, place one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. We begin with a few easy steps. Even though he constantly looks down at his feet, he isn’t a bad dancer. He has a good sense of rhythm and picks up new moves more quickly than I do. I show him the new steps Francie taught me. Once he’s got it, we’re on a rol. He treads on my toes a few times, but as we’re both barefoot it just makes us laugh. After a while I start to improvise. Lochan twirls me around and nearly sends me into the wal. Finding this highly amusing, he tries to do it again and again. The sun is on his face, the dust particles swirl about him in the golden light of the afternoon. Relaxed and happy, he suddenly, for a brief moment, seems at peace with the world. Soon we are breathless, sweaty and laughing. After a while the style of the music changes – a crooner with a slow beat, but it doesn’t matter because I am too dizzy from spinning round and laughing to continue. I hook my arms about Lochan’s neck and colapse against him. I notice the damp hair sticking to his neck and inhale the smel of fresh sweat. I expect him to pul away and return to his physics now that our moment of siliness is over, but to my surprise he just puts his arms around me and we sway from side to side. Pressed up against him, I can feel the thud of his heart against mine, his ribcage expanding and contracting rapidly against my chest, the warm whisper of his breath tickling the side of my neck, the brush of his leg against my thigh. Resting my arms on his shoulders, I pul back a little to get a look at his face. But he isn’t smiling any more.

The room is plunged in golden light. Maya is stil smiling at me, her face bright with laughter, tawny wisps of hair hanging in her eyes and down her back, tickling my hands clasped around her waist. Her face glows like an old-fashioned streetlamp, lit from the inside, and everything else in the room disappears as if into a dark fog. We are stil dancing, swaying slightly to the crooning voice, and Maya feels warm and alive in my arms. Just standing here, moving gently from side to side, I realize I don’t want this moment to end.

I find myself marveling at how pretty she is, standing here, leaning against me in her short-sleeved blue shirt, bare arms warm and smooth against my neck. Her top buttons are undone, revealing the curve of her colarbone, the expanse of smooth white skin beneath. Her white cotton skirt stops wel above her knees and I’m aware of her bare legs brushing against the thin, worn fabric of my jeans. The sun highlights her auburn hair, catches in her blue eyes. I drink in every tiny detail, from her soft breaths to the touch of each finger on the back of my neck. And I find myself filed with a mixture of excitement and euphoria so strong that I don’t want the moment to ever end . . . And then, out of nowhere, I am aware of another sensation – a tingling surge across my whole body, a familiar pressure against my groin. Abruptly I let go of her, shove her away from me, and stride over to the radio to cut the music.

Heart slamming against my ribs, I withdraw to the couch, coiling into myself, groping for the nearest textbook to pul across my lap. Stil standing where I left her, Maya looks at me, a bemused expression on her face.

‘They’re going to be back any minute,’ I tel her by way of explanation, my voice rushed and ragged. ‘I’ve – I’ve got to finish this.’

Seemingly unperturbed, she sighs, stil smiling, and flops down onto the couch beside me. Her leg touches my thigh and I recoil violently. I need an excuse to leave the room but I can’t seem to think straight, my mind a mess of jumbled thoughts and emotions. I feel flushed and breathless, my heart hammering so loudly I’m afraid she wil hear it. I need to get as far away from her as possible. Pressing the textbook against my thighs, I ask her if she could make me some more coffee and she obliges, picking up the two used mugs and heading off to the kitchen.

The moment I hear the rattle of crockery in the sink, I dash upstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. I lock myself in the bathroom and lean against the door as if to reinforce it. I pul off al my clothes, almost tearing at them in my haste, and, careful not to look down at myself, step under an icy shower, heaving with shock. The water is so cold it hurts, but I don’t care: it’s a relief. I have to stop this . . . this – this madness. After just standing there for a while, eyes tightly closed, I start to go numb and my nerve endings deaden, erasing al signs of my earlier arousal. It stils the racing thoughts, relieves the pressure of the madness that has begun crushing my mind. I lean forward against the wal, letting the frigid water lash my body, until al I can do is shiver violently. I don’t want to think – so long as I don’t think or feel, I wil be fine and everything wil return to normal. Seated at my bedroom desk in a clean T-shirt and jogging bottoms, wet hair sending cold rivulets down the back of my neck, I pore over quadratic equations, grappling to keep the figures in my head, fighting to make sense of the numbers and symbols. I repeat the formulae under my breath, cover page after page with calculations, and every time I sense a crack in my self-imposed armour, a chink of light entering my brain, I force myself to work harder, faster, obliterating al other thoughts. I am dimly aware of the others returning, of their raised voices in the hal, of the clatter of plates from the kitchen beneath me. I concentrate on tuning it al out. When Wila comes in to say they’ve ordered pizza, I tel her I’m not hungry: I must finish this chapter by tonight, I must work my way through every exercise at top speed, I have no time to stop and think. Al I can do is work or I wil go crazy. The sounds of the house wash over me like white noise, the evening routine for once unfolding without me. An argument, a door slamming, Mum shouting – I don’t care. They can sort themselves out, they have to sort themselves out, I must concentrate on this until it’s so late al I can do is colapse into bed, and then it wil be morning and none of this wil have happened. Everything wil be back to normal – but what am I on about? Everything is normal! I just forgot, for one insane moment, that Maya was my sister.

For the remainder of the weekend I keep myself closeted in my room, buried in schoolwork, and leave Maya in charge. In class on Monday I struggle to sit stil, jittery and restless. My mind has become strangely diffuse – I am possessed by myriad different sensations at once. There is a light flashing in my brain, like the headlight of a train in the dark. A vice is slowly tightening around my head, gripping my temples.

When Maya came into my room yesterday to say goodnight, informing me she had left my dinner in the fridge, I couldn’t even turn round to look at her. This morning I shouted at Wila during breakfast and made her cry, dragged Tiffin out of the door, alegedly causing him grievous bodily harm, completely ignored Kit and snapped at Maya when she asked me for the third time what was wrong .

. . I am a person coming undone. I am so disgusted with myself I want to crawl out of my own skin. My mind keeps puling me back to that dance: Maya, her face, her touch, that feeling. I keep teling myself these things happen, I’m sure they are not al that uncommon. After al, I’m a seventeen-yearold guy – anything can set us off; just because it happened while I was dancing with Maya doesn’t mean a thing. But the words do little to reassure me. I’m desperate to escape myself because the truth of the matter is that the feeling is stil there – perhaps it always has been – and now that I’ve acknowledged it, I am terrified that however much I may want to, I wil never be able to turn things back.

No, that’s ridiculous. My problem is that I need someone to focus my attention on, some object of desire, some girl to fantasize about. I look around the class but there is no one. Attractive girls –

yes. A girl that I care about – no. She can’t just be a face, a body; there has to be more than that, some kind of connection. And I can’t connect, don’t want to connect, with anyone. I send Maya a text asking her to pick up Tiffin and Wila, then skip last period, go home to change into my running gear and drag myself round the sodden periphery of the local park. After a glorious weekend, the day is grey, wet and miserable: bare trees, dying leaves and slippery mud underfoot. The air is tepid and damp, a fine veil of drizzle speckles my face. I run as far and as hard as I can, until the ground seems to shimmer beneath my feet, and the world around me expands and retracts, blood-red blotches puncturing the air in front of me. Eventualy pain courses through my body, forcing me to stop, and I return home to another freezing shower and work until the others return and the evening chores begin.

Over half-term I play footie out in the street with Tiffin, attempt to strike up conversations with Kit and play endless games of Hide-and-Seek and Guess Who? with Wila. At night, after my mind shuts down from information overload, I rearrange kitchen drawers and cupboards. I go through Tiffin and Wila’s bedroom, colecting outgrown clothes and discarded toys, and haul them off to the charity shop. I am either entertaining or tidying or cooking or studying: I comb through revision notes late into the night, pore over my books until the smal hours of the morning, until there is nothing else to do but colapse on my bed and fal into a short, deep and dreamless sleep. Maya comments on my boundless energy but I feel numb, utterly drained from trying to keep myself occupied at al times. From now on I wil just do and not think.

Back at school, Maya is busy with coursework. If she notices a difference in my behaviour towards her, she doesn’t mention it. Perhaps she too feels uncomfortable about that afternoon. Perhaps she too realizes that there needs to be more distance between us. We negotiate each other with the caution of a bare foot avoiding shards of glass, confining our brief exchanges to practicalities: the school run, the weekly shop, ways to persuade Kit to take over the laundry, the likelihood of Mum turning up sober on parents’ evening, weekend activities for Tiffin and Wila, dental appointments, figuring out how to stop the fridge leaking. We are never alone together. Mum is increasingly absent from family life, the pressure of balancing schoolwork and housework intensifies and I welcome the endless chores: they literaly leave me with no time to think. Things are beginning to improve – I’m starting to return to a state of normality – until late one night there is a knock on my bedroom door.

The sound is like a bomb exploding in an open field.

‘What?’ I am horribly jumpy from an overdose of caffeine. My daily coffee consumption has reached new heights, the only way to keep up my energy levels through the days and late into the sleepless nights. There is no reply but I hear the door open and close behind me. I turn from my desk, biro stil pressed against the indentations in my fingers, my borrowed school laptop anchored amidst a sea of scribbled notes. She is in that nightdress again – the white one that she has long outgrown and that barely reaches her thighs. How I wish she wouldn’t walk around in that thing; how I wish her copper hair wasn’t so long and shiny; how I wish she didn’t have those eyes, that she wouldn’t just wander in uninvited. How I wish the sight of her didn’t fil me with such unease, twisting my insides, tensing every muscle in my body, setting my pulse thrumming.

‘Hi,’ she says. The sound of her voice pains me. With that single word she manages to exude both tenderness and concern. With just one word she conveys so much, her voice caling to me from outside a nightmare. I try to swalow, my throat dry, a bitter taste trapped in my mouth. ‘Hi.’

‘Am I disturbing you?’

I want to tel her she is. I want to ask her to leave. I want her presence, her delicate, soapy smel, to evaporate from this room. But when I fail to reply, she sits down on the end of my bed, inches away from me, one bare foot tucked beneath her, leaning forward.

‘Maths?’ she asks, glancing down at my sheaves of paper.

‘Yeah.’ I return my gaze to the textbook, pen poised.

‘Hey—’ She reaches out for me, making me flinch. Her hand misses mine as I jerk away, and comes to rest, loose and empty, against the desk’s surface. I train my eyes back on my computer screen, the blood hurting my cheeks, heart paining my chest. I am stil aware of her hair, faling like a curtain around her face, and there is nothing between us but torturous silence.

‘Tel me,’ she says simply, her words piercing the fragile membrane that surrounds me. I feel my breathing quicken. She can’t do this to me. I lift my eyes to stare out of the window, but al I see is my own reflection, this smal room, Maya’s soft innocence by my side.

‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ Her voice continues to puncture the silence like an unwanted dream.

I push my chair away from her and rub my head. ‘I’m just tired.’ My voice grates against the back of my throat. I sound alien, even to my own ears.

‘I’ve noticed,’ Maya continues. ‘Which is why I’m wondering why you carry on running yourself into the ground.’

‘I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

Silence tightens the air. I sense she is not going to be brushed off so easily. ‘What happened, Lochie? Was it something at school? The presentation?’

I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you, of all people. Throughout my life you were the one person I could turn to. The one person I could always count on to understand. And now that I’ve lost you, I’ve lost everything.

‘Are you just generaly feeling down about things?’

I bite down on my lip until I recognize the metalic taste of blood. Maya notices and her questions stop, leaving in their place a muddy silence.

‘Lochie, say something. You’re frightening me. I can’t bear seeing you like this.’ She reaches again for my hand and this time makes contact.

‘Stop it! Just go to bed and leave me the fuck alone!’ The words fire from my mouth like bulets, ricocheting off the wals before I can even register what I am saying. I see Maya’s expression change, her face freeze in a look of incredulous surprise, her eyes wide with incomprehension. No sooner have my words slammed into her than she is moving away, flicking her head to hide the tears pooling in her eyes, the door clicking shut behind her.