Текст книги "Forbidden"
Автор книги: Табита Сузума
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
‘It was counter-intuitive to let go of her as she fell. I – I thought I’d c-caught her, not – not wrenched her arm out of its socket. Jesus!’ A tear glances off his cheek. He swipes at it rapidly. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘Lochie!’
His eyes meet mine this time. ‘It – it was an accident, Maya.’
‘I know!’ I exclaim in soft outrage.
The damn woman is scribbling again. ‘Are you often left in charge of your siblings, Lochan?’ she asks.
I recoil back into the chair. Lochan presses his fingers against his eyes and takes some steady breaths, trying to pull himself together. He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Only when our mother has to go away on business.’
‘And how often does that happen?’
‘It – it depends . . . Every couple of months or so . . .’
‘And when she’s away, I presume you have to fetch them from school, cook for them, help them with homework, entertain them, put them to bed—’
‘We do it together,’ I say quickly.
The woman turns towards us both now. ‘That must be exhausting after a long school day—’
‘They’re good at entertaining themselves.’
‘But when they misbehave, you must have to discipline them.’
‘Not really,’ I say firmly. ‘They’re pretty well-behaved.’
‘Have you ever hurt one of your siblings before?’ the woman asks, turning towards Lochan.
He takes a breath. The fight with Kit flashes through my mind. ‘No!’ I exclaim in outrage. ‘Never!’
In the cab on the way home we are all three silent, spent, exhausted. Willa is curled up on Lochan’s lap, her arm strapped up across her chest, the thumb of her other hand in her mouth. Her head rests against Lochan’s neck, spots of light from passing cars float over her golden hair. Lochan holds her tightly against him, staring blankly out of the window, face pale and stunned, his eyes glazed, refusing to meet mine.
We arrive home to a tornado-hit kitchen, the front room’s carpet embedded with crisp, biscuit and cereal crumbs. To our amazement, however, Tiffin is actually in bed and Kit is still in the house, up in the attic, music pounding down through the ceiling. While Lochan gives a groggy Willa a drink and some Calpol and puts her to bed, I climb up the ladder to let Kit know we’re back.
‘So has she broken her arm, or what?’ Despite the nonchalant tone of his voice, I recognize a spark of worry in his eyes as he glances up at me from his Gameboy. I push his legs to one side to make room on his mattress and sit down beside his sprawled-out figure.
‘She hasn’t actually broken anything.’ I explain about the dislocated shoulder.
‘Yeah. Tiff said Loch lost his temper and pulled Willa off the kitchen counter.’ His face darkens suddenly.
I pull my knees to my chest and take a deep breath. ‘Kit, you know it was an accident. You know Lochan would never hurt Willa intentionally, don’t you?’ My voice is questioning, serious. I know the answer, I know he does too, but I need him to be honest with me for a moment and actually admit it.
Kit takes a breath, ready for a sarcastic retort, but then seems to hesitate as his gaze locks into mine. ‘Yeah,’ he confesses after a moment, a hint of defeat in his voice.
‘I know you’re angry,’ I say quietly, ‘about how things turned out with Mum and Dad, about Lochan and me always being the ones in charge – and Kit, you have every right to be . . . but you know what the alternative is.’
His eyes have slid away, back to his Gameboy, uncomfortable about the sudden change in conversation.
‘If Social Services found out that Mum was no longer living at home, that we were on our own—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ he interrupts gruffly, pounding the buttons of his games console viciously with his thumbs. ‘We’d be taken into care and split up and all that shit.’ His voice sounds fed up and angry, but I can sense the fear behind it.
‘It’s not going to happen, Kit,’ I reassure him quickly. ‘Lochan and I will make sure of that, I promise. But it does mean we have to be careful, really careful, about what we say to other people. Even if it’s just some mate at school. All it would take would be for him to mention it to his parents, or to another friend . . . all it would take is one call to Social Services—’
‘Maya, I get it.’ His thumbs stop moving against the buttons and he looks up at me sombrely, suddenly appearing much older than his thirteen years. ‘I won’t tell anybody about Willa’s arm – or anything else that could get us into trouble, OK? I promise.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lochan
We keep Willa off school for the rest of the week in order to avoid awkward questions, and I call in sick and stay at home with her. But by Monday she is bored, has lost the sling and is eager to return to her friends. Mum returns from Devon, and when I finally track her down at Dave’s for money, she shows scant interest in Willa’s injury.
I am having trouble sleeping again. Whenever I ask Willa about her shoulder, she gives me this worried look and assures me that it’s ‘all mended now’. I know she reads the guilt on my face, but this only makes me feel worse.
The green glow of my digital alarm reads 02:43 when I get up and creep out of my room and down the corridor. Released from the warmth of the duvet, I quickly start to shiver in my holey T-shirt and boxers. The creak of the bedroom door makes Maya stir and I wince, anxious not to wake her. Closing it softly behind me, I pad over to the wall opposite her bed, sliding down against it, my bare arms turning silver in the light of the moon. She continues to shift sleepily, nuzzling her face against the pillow, then abruptly raises herself on one elbow, pushing back her long curtain of hair.
‘Lochie, is that you?’ A startled, frightened whisper.
‘Yeah – shh – sorry – go back to sleep!’
She struggles to sit up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Finally her eyes focus on me and she shivers, pulling the duvet around her. ‘Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What on earth are you doing?’
‘I’m sorry – I really didn’t mean to wake you—’
‘Well, you have now!’ She gives me a sleepy smile and holds up the edge of the duvet.
I quickly shake my head. ‘No . . . I just – can I watch you sleep? I know that sounds weird but – but I can’t sleep at the moment and it’s doing my head in!’ I give a sharp, painful laugh. ‘Watching you sleep makes me feel—’ I inhale deeply. ‘I dunno . . . at peace . . . D’you remember, I used to do it when we were young.’
She smiles in faint recollection. ‘Well, you’re unlikely to get to sleep sitting there on the floor.’ She holds out a portion of duvet again.
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just stay here for a while and then go back to bed.’
With a sigh of mock-irritation, she gets out of bed, pads over and pulls me up by the wrist. ‘Come on, get in. God, you’re shaking.’
‘I’m just cold!’ I snap, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.
‘Well, come here then!’
The warmth of her duvet envelops me. She slides onto my lap and the touch of her warm skin, her arms and legs wrapped around me, forces me to begin to relax. Hugging me tight, she buries her face in my neck. ‘My God, you’re an icicle.’
I let out a strained laugh. ‘Sorry.’
For a few moments we are both quiet. Her damp breath tickles my cheek. We lie down and I feel my body gently thaw against hers as she strokes the back of my head, running her fingers across my neck . . . God, how I wish we could stay like this for ever. Suddenly, for no reason, I feel close to tears.
‘Tell me.’
It’s as if she can feel the pain through my skin. ‘Nothing. Just, you know, the usual crap.’
I can tell she doesn’t believe me. ‘Listen,’ she says. ‘Remember what Willa said the other day? We’re the grown-ups. We’ve always shared the responsibilities. You don’t have to start trying to shield me from reality now.’
I press my mouth against her shoulder and close my eyes. I’m afraid of worrying her, afraid of telling her how torn up I feel inside.
‘You think you can do the worrying for the both of us,’ she whispers. ‘But it doesn’t work like that, Loch. Not in an equal relationship. And that’s what ours is. That’s what we’ve always had. Our relationship may be changing in some ways, but we can’t possibly lose what we had before.’
I exhale slowly. Everything she says makes sense. In every way imaginable she is so much wiser than me.
Blowing into my ear, she tickles me. ‘Hey, have you fallen asleep?’
I smile slightly. ‘No, I’m thinking.’
‘Of what, my love?’
A small aftershock runs through me. My love. She has never called me that before. Yet that’s who we’ve become. Two people in love.
‘What happened with Willa . . .’ I begin unsteadily. ‘That must have given you a fright.’
‘I think it gave us both a fright.’
Unspoken words hover in the air between us.
‘Maya, you know, I – I really did pull her arm quite hard. It’s – it’s no wonder she fell,’ I manage in a frantic rush.
She lifts her head from my chest and props it up on one hand, her face turning white in the moonlight. ‘Lochie, did you mean to pull her off the counter?’
‘No.’
‘Did you mean to hurt her?’
‘Course not.’
‘Did you mean to dislocate her shoulder?’
‘No!’
‘OK,’ she says gently, stroking my face. ‘Then that train of thought leads nowhere. It was a complete accident. Don’t let that stupid woman at the hospital make you doubt that for one tiny second!’
Tears of relief threaten to overwhelm me. I didn’t think she blamed me, but I couldn’t be sure. I take a deep breath. ‘But now Social Services have got us on their radar – Jesus!’
‘Then we’ll just have to keep beneath it, same as always.’ Maya pulls herself up onto her elbow, looking down at me. Her hair partly obscures her face and I cannot read her expression. ‘Lochie, you’ll be eighteen next month. We’ve got this far. We can keep going! We can keep this family together, you and I. We’re a good team, we’re a great team. Together we’re strong!’
I nod slowly against the pillow and reach up to stroke her cheek. Maya circles my wrist with her hand and gently kisses each finger. My hand slides down her neck, her chest, comes to rest against her breast . . . Suddenly I can feel my heart.
Maya is watching me intently, her eyes very bright in the shadows. I can hear my breath, hot and heavy, suddenly acutely aware that all that separates our two bodies is a cotton nightie, a thin T-shirt and underwear. I run my hand down her ribs, across her stomach, towards her bare thigh. Maya leans forward. Taking the bottom of my T-shirt in her hands, she begins to raise it, slowly pulling it up and over my head. She then reaches down and pulls off her nightie. I emit a ragged gasp. Her body is perfectly white, in sharp contrast to her hair, almost fiery in the moonlight. Her lips are a dark pink, her cheeks lightly flushed, and her eyes bluer than the sea – watchful, uncertain. The colours and contrasts overwhelm me. My gaze travels down over her, taking in the upward curve of her breasts, the taut skin of her stomach, the long slender legs. I could stare at her for ever. I can make out the ridge of her collarbone, the peaks of her hips. Her skin looks so smooth I long to kiss it. I want to feel every part of her but my hands tighten against the sheet.
‘We can touch each other,’ Maya whispers. ‘Just touch each other. There’s no law against that.’
Reaching out, she gently runs her finger up my stomach, across my chest and into the curve of my neck; cupping my cheek in her hand, she leans forward to kiss me. I close my eyes, and with trembling hands, stroke her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Circling her with my arms, I pull her gently back down against the pillows and slowly, tentatively, as if afraid of hurting her, begin to trace my fingers down her body . . .
I awake with a start to find myself alone in Maya’s bed, but the house around me is silent. A scrap of paper bearing my name is left beside me on the floor. After reading it, I fall back against the pillows, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Last night feels like a dream. I can’t believe we spent it together, naked, our hands stroking each other’s bodies; can’t believe I actually felt her naked form press against mine. At first I was scared we might get carried away – might cross that final, forbidden barrier, but just touching each other was so incredible, so powerful, so thrilling, it took my breath away. I wanted more, of course I wanted more, but I knew that, for now, this would have to be enough.
I am jolted out of my reverie by the slam of the front door, the sound of a school bag being dropped to the floor, followed by softly creaking footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door inches open, and I pull myself up against the headboard as Maya’s face breaks into a smile. ‘You’re awake!’
She bounds over to the window and throws open the curtains, and I rub my eyes against the bright morning light. I yawn and stretch, waving the note she left me.
‘Maya, what were you thinking? We can’t just skip school.’ The reproach in my voice fades as she jumps onto the bed beside me and gives me a cold kiss.
‘Eek, you’re freezing.’
She collapses beside me, the back of her head hitting the wall with a thud, squashing my legs with hers. ‘You didn’t have anything important on today, did you?’
‘I don’t think so . . .’
‘Good, well, me neither.’
I take in her flushed face, the wisps of hair framing her face, her school uniform. ‘You pretended to the others you were going to school and then just came home again?’
‘Yes – as soon as I saw Kit go through the gates, I turned back! You didn’t think I was gonna give you the day off alone, did you?’ She gives me a wicked grin. ‘Come on, you awake yet?’
Shaking my head, I raise my hand to my mouth and yawn again. ‘I don’t think so. How come I didn’t hear the alarm?’
‘I turned it off.’
‘Why?’
‘You were sleeping so deeply, Loch. You’ve been looking so knackered. I just couldn’t bear to wake you—’
I start to smile, blinking at her sleepily. ‘I’m not complaining.’
‘Really?’ I watch her face light up. ‘We have the whole day to ourselves!’ She gazes up at the ceiling in delight. ‘I’m going to get changed, and then I thought we could make pancakes and then we could go for a walk and then—’
‘Wait, wait, wait. Come here first.’ I reach for her arm just as she is about to roll off the bed.
‘What?’
‘Come here!’ Still squinting slightly against the light, I tug at her wrist. ‘Kiss me.’
Maya laughs and obliges, sliding back down beside me. Slowly I unbutton her shirt and she wriggles out of her skirt. Ducking beneath the warmth of the duvet, I start tracing a line of kisses down her body . . .
She is standing naked in front of the open door of her wardrobe when I return from the shower and it takes her a moment to notice me hovering in the doorway, watching her. She turns, meets my gaze, and blushes. She reaches out for the crumpled sheet at the end of her bed and wraps it round beneath her arms. The white material swirls around her feet, making me smile. I pull on my underwear and join her by the window, kissing her cheek. ‘I do.’
She looks at me questioningly and then down at the sheet before breaking into giggles.
‘In sickness and in health?’ she asks. ‘Till death us do part?’
I shake my head. ‘Way beyond that,’ I say. ‘For ever.’
She takes my hands and leans in for a kiss. It hurts. Suddenly everything hurts and I don’t know why.
‘Look at the sky,’ she says, resting her head in the crook of my neck. ‘It’s so blue.’
And suddenly I do know: it’s because everything is so beautiful, so wonderful, so utterly glorious – yet it cannot possibly last, and I want to preserve this moment for the rest of my life.
I wrap my arms around her and press my cheek against the top of her head, then notice the bracelet against her white wrist, the silver glinting in the morning sun. I reach down and touch it.
‘Promise me you’ll always keep it,’ I say, my voice unsteady suddenly.
‘Of course,’ she replies instantly. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I love it. It’s the most beautiful thing I own.’
‘Promise me,’ I say again, running my fingers over the smooth metal. ‘Even if – even if things don’t work out . . . You don’t have to wear it. Just keep it hidden somewhere.’
‘Hey.’ She tilts her head so that I am forced to meet her eyes. ‘I promise. But things are going to work out. Look at us – they already have. You’re about to be eighteen, and then next month I’ll be seventeen. We’re nearly adults, Lochie, and once we are, no one will be able to stop us from doing what we want.’
I lift my head, nod and force a small smile. ‘Right.’
I see her expression shift. She leans her forehead against my cheek and closes her eyes as if in pain. ‘You have to believe it, Lochie,’ she whispers. ‘We both have to believe it with all our might if we want to make it happen.’
I swallow hard and grasp the tops of her arms. ‘I believe it!’
She opens her eyes and smiles. ‘So do I!’
This is the definition of happiness: a whole day stretching out ahead of me, beautiful in its emptiness and simplicity. No crowded classrooms, no packed corridors, no lonely breaks, no cafeteria lunch, no droning teachers, no relentless ticking clock, no counting down the minutes to the end of yet another dreary day . . . Instead we spend it in a kind of joyous delirium, trying to savour every moment, enjoy to the full our bubble of happiness before it bursts. We make pancakes and mess about with the strangest combinations of fillings: Maya wins Most Disgusting with her combination of Marmite, cornflakes and ketchup, which has me gagging over the bin. I win Most Artistic with frozen peas, red grapes and Smarties on a bed of mayonnaise. We close the curtains in the front room and cuddle up on the sofa. Sometime in the early afternoon Maya falls asleep in my arms. I watch her in slumber, tracing my finger across the contours of her face, down her neck, over the smooth white shoulder, down the length of her arm, along each of her fingers. The sun pours in through the hastily drawn curtains, the clock on the mantelpiece ticks its relentless countdown, the thin needle making its way mercilessly round and round the face. I close my eyes and bury my face in Maya’s hair, trying to shut out the sound, desperate to stop the precious time we have together from running through my fingers like sand.
When she wakes, it is just gone three. In half an hour she will have to pick up Tiffin and Willa, while I clean up the mess in the kitchen and carefully remove any remaining items of clothing from her bedroom floor. I cup her flushed, sleepy face in my hands and start kissing her with a fervour bordering on hysteria. I feel angry and desperate.
‘Lochie, listen to me,’ she tries to say between kisses. ‘Listen, my love – listen. We’ll just start skipping school every couple of weeks!’
‘I can’t wait another whole fortnight—’
‘What if we don’t have to?’ she says suddenly, eyes igniting. ‘We could spend every night together, like yesterday. Once we’re sure Tiff and Willa are asleep, you can come and get into my bed—’
‘Every night? What if one of them walks in? We can’t do that!’ But she has my attention.
‘There’s that rusty bolt at the bottom of my door, remember? We can just lock it! Kit always falls asleep plugged into his headphones. And the other two hardly ever wake up in the night any more.’
I chew on my thumbnail, thinking hard about the risks, desperately torn. I look up into Maya’s bright eyes and remember last night, feeling her smooth naked body beneath my hands for the first time. ‘OK!’ I whisper with a smile.
‘Lochie? Are you better, Lochie? Are you taking us to school tomorrow, Lochie?’ Willa is all concern, climbing onto my lap as I sit sprawled out in front of the TV.
Tiffin’s concern is more casual, but present nonetheless. ‘You got flu or what?’ he asks me in his growing East End accent, blowing the long fair hair out of his eyes. ‘Are you ill? You don’t look ill. How long are you gonna be ill for, anyway?’
With a jolt, I realize that my taking a day off school has thrown them. Previously I’ve gone in with flu and even bronchitis, just because the kids had to be taken in, Kit had to be watched, Social Services had to be kept off our backs, so taking a day off wasn’t usually an option. I realize too that they associate any kind of ‘serious’ illness with Mum: Mum collapsing drunk on the doorstep, Mum retching over the toilet bowl, Mum lying passed out on the kitchen floor. They aren’t worried about my supposed headache, they are worried I will disappear.
‘I’ve never felt better,’ I reassure them truthfully. ‘My headache’s all gone. Why don’t we all go and play outside together for a bit?’
It is amazing the difference a day off school can make. Usually, by this time, I am dragged down with exhaustion, snappy and on edge, desperate to get the kids into bed so I can get a moment alone with Maya and a start on homework before I find myself falling asleep at my desk. Today, as the four of us set up a game of British Bulldog, I feel almost weightless, as if the Earth’s gravity has dramatically decreased. So, as the sun begins to set on the mild March day, I find myself standing in the middle of the empty street, hands on knees, waiting for the three of them to come tearing towards me, hoping to make it to the opposite side without getting caught. Tiffin looks all ready for takeoff, one sneakered foot pressed back against the wall, his arms bent, hands clenched into fists, a look of fierce determination in his eyes. I know that on the first round, I have to give him a run for his money without actually catching him. Willa is receiving last-minute instructions from Maya who, by the looks of things, is planning diversionary tactics to allow her to run straight across the road without getting caught.
‘Come on!’ Tiffin yells impatiently.
Maya straightens up, Willa hops up and down in excitement and I count down, ‘Three, two, one, go!’
Nobody moves. I gallop sideways so that I’m directly facing Willa and she squeals in delighted terror, pressing herself back against the wall like a starfish, as if trying to push herself right through. Then Tiffin is off like a bullet, heading away from me at a sharp angle. Anticipating his move, I race towards him, blocking his trajectory. He hesitates, torn between the humiliation of running back to the safety of the wall and the risk of making a run for it. Boldly, he chooses the latter. I give chase immediately, but he’s surprisingly fast for his size. He makes it to the other side by the skin of his teeth, face glowing pink with exertion, eyes triumphant.
Maya has used this diversion to send Willa on her way. She runs wildly towards Tiffin, so intent on reaching safety she almost launches herself straight into my arms. I take a step back and growl in an attempt to send her off in a different direction. She freezes, a rabbit caught in headlights, her blue eyes huge with the thrill of fear. From either side of the street, the other two scream out instructions.
‘Go back, go back!’ Tiffin screeches.
‘Go around him, dodge him!’ Maya yells, confident in the knowledge that I’ll only pretend to try and catch her.
Willa makes a move to my right. I lunge for her, my fingers brushing the hood of her coat, and with a squeal she hurls herself towards the wall, head-butting Tiffin in the stomach, who promptly doubles over with a dramatic yell.
Maya is now the only one left, dancing about on the other side of the street, making Tiffin and Willa laugh.
‘Run, just run for it, Maya!’ Tiffin screams helpfully.
‘Go this way – no this way!’ Willa squeals, pointing wildly in all directions.
I flash Maya an evil grin to signal that I have every intention of catching her, and she bites back a smile, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Hands in pockets, I start sauntering towards her.
She goes for it. Catching me off guard, she sets off at an acute angle. I match her pace for pace and start laughing in anticipated triumph as we approach the boundary. Then, out of nowhere, she wrong-foots me and goes tearing back the opposite way. I hurl myself after her but it’s no use. She makes it to the other wall, yelping in triumph.
In the next round I catch Tiffin, whose disappointment soon turns to glee as he finds himself in the role of predator. Ruthlessly, he goes straight for Willa and catches her within seconds of her leaving the safety of the wall, sending her flying. Bravely she picks herself up, briefly examines her scraped palms, and then dances about excitedly in the middle of the road, stretching her arms out as if hoping to block our path. As we surge towards her, Maya and I both try so hard to allow her to catch us that we end up colliding and she grabs us both, provoking much hysteria. Maya has just begun her turn when, in the distance, I make out a lone figure trailing down the road towards us, and recognize Kit, dragging himself home dejectedly after an hour spent in detention for swearing at a teacher.
‘Kit, Kit, we’re playing British Bulldog!’ Tiffin yells excitedly. ‘Come and join in! Please! Lochie and the girls are all rubbish. I’m ruling this game!’
Kit stops at the gate. ‘You all look like a bunch of retards,’ he announces coldly.
‘Well, come and liven up the game then,’ I suggest. ‘You know, I could do with some competition. This game is piss easy for a runner like me.’
Kit lowers his bag and I see him hesitate, torn between expressing the usual contempt for his family and the desire just to be a kid again.
‘Unless you’re worried I’ll outrun you,’ I say, throwing down the gauntlet.
‘Yeah, right, in your dreams,’ Kit sneers. He turns towards the front door but at the last minute pulls back. Abruptly, he takes off his blazer.
‘Yay!’ Tiffin screams.
‘You can be on our team!’ Willa screams.
‘We don’t have teams, you dumbhead!’ Tiffin yells back.
Soon we are embroiled in yet another round. I am back in the middle and determined to chase Kit into the ground – without actually catching him, obviously. Typically, he is the last to peel himself off the wall after all the others have made it safely to the other side. He waits for what feels like an eternity, clearly trying to test my patience. I start wandering off, turning my back on him, even bending down to tie my shoelace, but he is wise to all my tricks. Only when I am a couple of metres away from him does he finally move, deliberately making it as difficult for himself as possible. He wrong-foots me, legs it sharp right, hesitates as I block him, then begins to back away. He gives me his cocky, mocking smile, but I can see the sharp determination in his eyes. I lunge for him. He dodges me by millimetres and sets off at a blinding sprint. I charge after him, intent on making up the short gap between us. I grab him by his shirt collar just as his hands slap the wall. When he turns to face me, his face is aglow with a delight I haven’t seen in him for years.
We play on, well into the dark. Willa eventually collapses in exhaustion and goes to sit in the warmth of the hallway, watching us and yelling instructions through the open door. Maya is next to join her. I am left with Tiffin and Kit, and suddenly we’re all playing for real. Tiffin’s football skills come in handy, making him impossibly slippery to catch. Kit uses every trick in the book to distract me, and soon the two of them are ganging up on me, using each other as foils, locking me into the role of chaser. Finally, in exhaustion, I go for Kit like a demented bull. I catch him inches away from safety but he refuses to surrender, reaching out desperately for the wall and half dragging me along with him. We fall to the ground and I’m tearing at his shirt to stop him sliding out of my grasp while Tiffin is trying to use himself as a human chain between Kit and the wall.
‘I won, I won!’ Kit yells.
‘No way! You have to touch the wall, you big cheat!’
‘I touched it!’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I touched Tiff’s hand and he’s touching the wall!’
‘That doesn’t count!’
I have Kit pinned to the ground and he screams to Tiffin for help. Tiffin bravely leaves the safety of the wall but immediately gets pulled down on top of us. ‘Got you both!’ I cry.
‘Cheater, cheater!’ They deafen me with their yells.
Soon we can’t move for laughter and exhaustion, Tiffin straddling my back and Kit, shaking with mirth, reaching out for a nearby twig and using that to touch the wall. We finally peel ourselves off the road, filthy and battered. Kit’s face is streaked with dirt and Tiffin’s shirt collar torn as we limp inside, long after dinner time, long after the homework hour. Once the boys have been persuaded to wash their hands, we collapse around the kitchen table with Maya and Willa, feasting on snacks and Nutella straight from the jar.
Kit tries to trip me as I get up to put the kettle on. ‘We should have a rematch,’ he informs me. ‘You need the practice.’
And then he smiles.
