Текст книги "Forbidden"
Автор книги: Табита Сузума
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Maya
Over the last few weeks a momentous change seems to have occurred. Suddenly everyone seems so much happier, so much more at ease. Kit starts behaving like a civilized human being. Lochan turns eighteen – we all go out to Burger King to celebrate and Willa and I make a delicious, albeit lopsided cake. Mum neglects even to phone. Taking the odd day off school allows Lochan and me time for us, time to tackle the mountain of things that needed doing long ago: trips to the doctor’s, the dentist’s, the hairdresser’s. Lochan helps Kit fix his bike and finally gets enough cash from Mum to buy new uniforms and pay some of the overdue bills. Together, we clean the house from top to bottom, devise a fresh set of house rules to encourage the kids to take on a few responsibilities of their own, but, most important of all, we make time to do things as a family – to play in the park or sit around the kitchen table with a board game. Now that Lochan and I spend our nights together and skip school whenever things start to get too stressful again, time on our own is no longer so limited, and having fun with the children becomes as important as looking after them.
Mum ‘checks in on us’ from time to time, rarely staying more than a night or two, reluctantly handing us the cash that’s supposed to get us through the week, resentfully pulling out her chequebook to pay the bills that Lochan thrusts at her. A lot of her anger stems from the fact that Lochan and I refuse to leave school and get jobs, but there is a deeper reason there too. She is still forced to support a family she is no longer a part of – has chosen to no longer be a part of. But apart from the financial side of things, none of us expect anything from her any more, so no one is disappointed. Tiffin and Willa cease rushing to greet her, no longer beg for a few minutes of her time. Lochan is already starting to look for a job after his A-levels. At university, he insists, he will be able to work part-time and we won’t have to keep begging Mum for money. As a family, we are now complete.
But I live for the night. Stroking Lochan, feeling every part of him, arousing him with just the touch of my hand, makes me long for more.
‘D’you ever wonder what it would be like?’ I ask him. ‘To actually—?’
‘All the time.’
There is a long silence. He kisses me, his lashes tickling my cheek.
‘Me too,’ I whisper.
‘One day,’ he pants softly as I graze my fingers up his thigh.
‘Yes . . .’
Yet some nights we come so close. I feel the longing ache in my body and sense Lochan’s frustration as keenly as my own. When he kisses me so hard it almost hurts and his body thrums against mine, desperate to go further, I begin to worry that by sharing a bed every night we are tormenting each other. But whenever we talk about it, we always agree we would far, far rather be together like this than go back to our separate rooms and not touch each other at all.
At school, as I gaze up at Lochan sitting alone on the steps at break time and he looks back down at me, the gulf between us seems enormous. We discreetly raise a hand in greeting and I count down the hours until I’ll get to see him properly at home. Sitting on the low wall with Francie at my side, I often lose track of the conversation and sit there daydreaming about him, until one day, to my astonishment, I see that he is not alone.
‘Oh my God, who’s he talking to?’ I cut Francie off mid-sentence.
Her eyes follow my gaze. ‘Looks like Declan, that new guy in the Upper Sixth. His family just moved here from Ireland, I think. Apparently he’s super smart, applying for all these universities . . . You must have seen him around!’
I haven’t, but unlike Francie I don’t spend most of my time ogling every male pupil in the Sixth Form.
‘Jesus!’ I exclaim, astonishment sounding in my voice. ‘Why d’you think they’re talking?’
‘They were having lunch together yesterday,’ Francie informs me.
I turn to stare at her. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. And when I passed Lochan in the corridor the other day, we kind of had a conversation.’ She opens her mouth wide.
‘What?’
‘Yeah! Instead of walking straight past me, pretending he hadn’t seen me, he actually stopped and asked me how I was.’
I feel an incredulous smile light up my face.
‘So, you see, he can talk to people.’ Francie lets out a wistful sigh. ‘Maybe I can finally get him to go out with me.’
I look back up at the steps again with a smile of delight. ‘Oh my God . . .’ Declan is still there. He seems to be showing Lochan something on his mobile phone. I watch Lochan make a funny gesture in the air and Declan laughs.
Still reeling with shock, I decide to take the plunge and ask Francie the question I’d been wanting to put to her for some time now.
‘Hey, I’ve been wondering about something . . . Do you – do you think that any two people, if they really and truly love each other, should be allowed to be together no matter who they are?’ I ask.
Francie shoots me a look of amusement, sees that I’m serious, and narrows her eyes in thought. ‘Sure, why not?’
‘What if their religion forbade it? If their parents were devastated or threatened to disown them or something – should they still go ahead anyway?’
‘Sure,’ Francie answers with a shrug. ‘It’s their lives, so they should be allowed to pick who they like. If the parents are crazy enough to try and stop them from seeing each other, they could run away, elope.’
‘What if it was something even more difficult?’ I ask, thinking hard. ‘What if it was – I dunno – a teacher and a pupil?’
Francie’s eyes widen and she suddenly grabs my arm. ‘No way! Who the hell is it? Mr Elliot? That guy in the IT department? The one with the tattoo?’
Laughing, I shake my head. ‘Not me, silly! I was just thinking hypothetically. Like we were talking about in history, about society having changed so much over the last half-century . . .’
‘Oh.’ Francie’s face falls in disappointment.
I look at her with a snort. ‘Mr Elliot? Are you kidding me? He’s about sixty!’
‘I think he’s kind of sexy!’
I roll my eyes. ‘That’s because you’re crazy. But seriously though. Hypothetically . . .’
Francie lets out a laboured sigh. ‘Well, they should probably wait until the pupil was over the legal age limit for starters—’
‘But what if she was? What if she was sixteen and the guy was in his forties? Should they run away together? Would that be right?’
‘Well, the guy would lose his job and the girl’s parents would be worried sick, so they’d probably be better off keeping it secret for a few years. Then, by the time the girl was nineteen or so, it wouldn’t even be a big deal any more!’ She shrugs. ‘I think it would be kinda cool to go out with a teacher. Just imagine, sitting in class, you could . . .’
I tune her out and inhale deeply, frustrated. There is nothing, I suddenly realize, nothing that can compare to our situation.
‘So nothing is taboo any more?’ I interrupt. ‘You’re saying there are no two people who, if they love each other enough, should be forced apart?’
Francie thinks for a moment and then shrugs. ‘I guess not. Not here, anyway, thank God. We’re lucky enough to live in a country which is pretty open-minded. As long as one person isn’t forcing the other one, then I guess any love is allowed.’
Any love. Francie isn’t stupid. Yet the one kind of love that will never be allowed hasn’t even crossed her mind. The one love so disgusting and taboo, it isn’t even included in a conversation about illicit relationships.
The conversation haunts me over the following weeks. Although I have no intention of ever confiding our secret to anyone, I can’t help wondering what Francie’s reaction would be if she somehow found out. She is an intelligent, broad-minded person with a rebellious streak in her. Despite her bold declaration that no love is wrong, I strongly suspect that she would be as horrified as the next person if she knew of my relationship with Lochan. But he’s your brother! I can hear her exclaim. How could you ever do it with your brother? That’s so gross! Oh God, Maya, you’re sick, you’re really sick. You need help. And the strangest thing is that a part of me agrees. Part of me thinks: Yes, if Kit was older and it was with him, then it would be totally gross. The very idea is unthinkable, I don’t even want to imagine it. It actually makes me feel physically sick. But how to get across to the outside world that Lochan and I are siblings only through a biological mishap? That we were never brother and sister in the real sense, but always partners, having to bring up a real family as we grew up ourselves. How to explain that Lochan has never felt like a brother but like something far, far closer than that – a soul mate, a best friend, part of the very fibre of my being? How to explain that this situation, the love we feel for one another – everything that to others may seem sick and twisted and disgusting – to us feels completely natural and wonderful and oh – so, so right?
At night, after kissing and cuddling and touching each other, we lie there and talk, late into the night. We talk about anything and everything: how the kids are doing, funny anecdotes from school, how we feel about each other. And ever since I spotted him on the steps having a conversation, we talk about Lochan’s new-found voice. Although he is keen to play it down, he does confess to having made a sort of friend in Declan, who initially approached Lochan because they both had offers from UCL. Speaking to anyone else is still something he avoids, but I’m overjoyed. The fact that he has made a connection with one person outside the family means that he can, that there will be others, and that once he goes to university he will finally meet people he has something in common with. And the night Lochan tells me he actually managed to stand up in front of the whole of his English class and read out one of his essays, I let out a squeal that has to be silenced by a pillow.
‘Why?’ I ask, gasping in delight. ‘How come? What happened? What changed?’
‘I’d been thinking about – about what you said, that I should take one step at a time and that, well, mainly that you thought I could do it.’
‘What was it like?’ I ask, struggling to keep my voice a whisper, looking into eyes that, even in the half-light, sparkle with a gentle triumph.
‘Horrible.’
‘Oh, Loch!’
‘My hands were trembling and my voice was shaking and the words on the page suddenly turned into this mass of hieroglyphics, but somehow I got through it. And when I finished there were some people – and not just the girls – who actually clapped.’ He lets out a short exclamation of surprise.
‘Well, of course they did! Your essays are completely amazing!’ I reply.
‘There was also this guy – a guy called Tyrese who’s OK – and he came up to me after the bell and said something about the essay. I don’t know what exactly, because I was still deafened by terror’ – he laughs – ‘but it must have been vaguely complimentary because he slapped me on the back.’
‘See?’ I crow softly. ‘They were inspired by your essay! No wonder your teacher was so keen for you to read one out. Did you say anything back to Tyrese?’
‘I think I said something along the lines of oh-umyeah-uh-cheers.’ Lochan lets out a derisive snort.
I laugh. ‘That’s great! And next time you’ll actually say something a little more coherent!’
Lochan smiles and turns on his side, propping his head up on his hand. ‘You know, recently, even when we’re apart, I sometimes think that maybe I’m going to beat this thing, that one day I might be normal.’
I kiss his nose. ‘You are normal, silly.’
He doesn’t respond but begins pensively rubbing a strand of my hair between his fingers. ‘Sometimes I wonder . . .’ He tails off abruptly, suddenly examining my hair in great detail.
‘Sometimes you wonder . . . ?’ I tilt my head and kiss the corner of his mouth.
‘What – what I’d do without you,’ he finishes in a whisper, gaze studiously avoiding mine.
‘Go to sleep at a reasonable time, in a bed where you can actually roll over without falling out . . .’
He laughs softly into the night. ‘Oh yeah, an easier life in so many ways. Mum should never have got pregnant again so quickly after me . . .’
His joke tails off uncomfortably and the laughter is sucked up into the darkness as the truth behind his words sinks in.
After a long silence Lochan suddenly says, ‘She certainly wasn’t meant to have children, but, well, not that I really believe in fate or anything – but what if we were meant to have each other?’
I don’t respond immediately, not quite sure what he’s getting at.
‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe what seemed like a shitty situation for a bunch of abandoned kids actually, because of the way it happened, led to something really special.’
I think about this for a moment. ‘Do you think, if we’d had conventional parents, or just parents, you and I would have fallen in love?’
Silence from him now. Moonlight illuminates the side of his face, a silvery-white glow washing across one half, leaving the other in shadow. He has that distant look in his eyes which either means that his mind is on something else, or that he’s giving my tentative question some very serious consideration.
‘I’ve often wondered . . .’ he begins quietly. I wait for him to continue. ‘Many people claim that the abused often go on to abuse, so for most psychologists, our mother’s neglect – which is considered a form of abuse – would be linked directly to our “abnormal” behaviour, which they would interpret as abuse too.’
‘Abuse?’ I exclaim in astonishment. ‘But who would be abusing who? In abuse, there’s an attacker and a victim. How could we be seen as both abusers and abusees?’
The blue-white glow of the moon casts just enough light for me to notice Lochan’s expression turn from pensive to troubled.
‘Maya, come on, think about it. I’d be automatically seen as the abuser and you the victim.’
‘Why?’
‘How many cases of younger sisters sexually abusing older brothers have you read about? Come to think of it, how many female rapists and female paedophiles are there?’
‘But that’s crazy!’ I exclaim. ‘I could have been the one to force you into a sexual relationship! Not physically, but by – I dunno – bribes, blackmail, threats, whatever! Are you saying that even if I’d abused you, people would still assume I was the victim just because I’m a girl and one year younger?’
Lochan nods slowly, his shaggy hair dark against the pillow. ‘Unless there was some really strong evidence to the contrary – an admission of guilt on your part, witnesses or something – then, yes.’
‘But that’s so sexist, so unfair!’
‘I agree, but people rely heavily on generalizations, and although it must sometimes happen the other way round, it’s gotta be pretty rare. For a start, there’s the physical aspect . . . So it’s not really all that surprising that in situations like this, guys are automatically assumed to be the abusers, especially if they’re older.’
I curl my legs up against Lochan’s stomach and ruminate on this for a while. It all seems so wrong. But at the same time I’m aware that I’m guilty of the same prejudices – if I hear there’s been a rape, or a child’s been abducted, I immediately think male rapist, male paedophile.
‘But what about if no one’s being abused?’ I ask suddenly. ‘What if it’s one hundred percent consensual, like us?’
He exhales slowly. ‘I don’t know. It would still be against the law. It’s still incest. But there’s not much info on it, because apparently it’s something that very, very rarely happens . . .’
We both stop talking for a while. So long, in fact, that I begin to think Lochie has fallen asleep. But when I turn my head on the pillow to check, I see his eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling, bright and intense.
‘Lochie . . .’ I roll onto my side and run my fingers down his bare arm. ‘When you said there’s not much info on it, what did you mean? How do you know?’
He is chewing his lip again. Beside me, his body feels tense. He hesitates for a moment, then rolls back over to face me. ‘I – I did a bit of research on the Internet . . . I just – I just . . .’ He takes a deep breath before trying again. ‘I just wanted to know where we stood.’
‘With what?’
‘With – with the law.’
‘To figure out a way of changing our names? Of living together?’
He rubs his lip, refusing to meet my gaze, looking increasingly agitated and uncomfortable.
‘What?’ I demand loudly, frightened now. ‘To see what would happen if we got caught.’
‘Caught living together?’ I ask incredulously.
‘Caught – caught having a relationship—’
‘Having sex?’
‘Yes.’
‘By who?’
‘The police.’
I am finding it difficult to breathe suddenly, as if my windpipe is constricting. I sit up abruptly, hair falling down around my face.
‘Look, Maya. It’s not – I just wanted to check . . .’ Lochan is pulling himself up against the headboard, struggling to find words to reassure me.
‘Does that mean we can never—?’
‘No, no, not necessarily,’ he says quickly. ‘It just means that we can’t until the kids are grown up and safe, and even then we have to be very, very careful.’
‘I knew it was officially illegal,’ I tell him desperately. ‘But pot’s illegal, so is speeding, so is peeing in a public place. Anyway, how would the police even notice and why would they even care – it’s not like we’re hurting anyone or even ourselves!’ I feel like I’m running out of breath but I’m determined to make my point. ‘And anyway, if we did somehow get caught, what the hell would the police do? Fine us?’ I let out a harsh laugh. Why is Lochan trying to freak me out like this? Why is he acting so serious, as if we would be committing a real crime?
Half propped up against the headboard, Lochan stares at me. If it weren’t for the stricken expression in his eyes, he would look quite comical, his hair all on end. His face radiates a mixture of fear and despair. ‘Maya . . .’
‘Lochie, what? What’s the matter?’
He breathes: ‘If we were found out, we’d be sent to prison.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lochan
Thankfully we were too exhausted to talk about it much more that night. Before sleep overcame us, however, Maya wanted to know further details: what kind of sentence we could face, whether the law was different in other countries – but I could only repeat the little I had gleaned from my closet scouring of the Internet. There is actually precious little information to be found on consensual incest, though there is plenty on the non-consensual kind, which seems to be the only type most people think exists. I have thoroughly searched for online testimonies but found only two that had actually made it into the public domain – neither of them in the UK and both between siblings who met again as adults after being separated at birth.
The topic only resurfaces briefly the following day before being dropped completely. Despite her initial reaction, Maya’s shock and outrage seem to have been assuaged by my assurances that the only legal information I have found has been hypothetical – technically, yes, a couple accused of incest could face a jail sentence, but that would rarely happen in the case of two consenting adults. I am now legally an adult and Maya is close behind me, so we won’t have to wait much longer. Police hardly go out searching for this kind of thing. And in the very unlikely event that some random person did find out – why on earth would they try and have us arrested or taken to court? Because they hated us? Wanted some kind of revenge? And unless we had biological children of our own – which would be insane – how on earth could that person ever get enough proof to stand up in court? They would have to actually catch us in the act, and even then it would be their word against ours.
My main concern for the future is how to protect Kit, Tiffin and Willa from being ostracized in the event of rumours about Maya and I living together and never having partners of our own. But by then they would have their own lives, Maya and I would have hopefully moved away and, if necessary, changed our names by Deed Poll. Yes, we could simply change our names and live as openly and freely as any unmarried couple. No more hiding, no more locked doors. Freedom. And the right to love each other without persecution.
For the time being though, Maya and I have to cram for exams. We are astonished when, out of the blue one day, Kit offers to take Tiffin and Willa to the cinema to give us time to revise. On another occasion he takes them to the park to play football. Roughly since that first game of British Bulldog out in the street, he has stopped goading me, stopped slamming around the house, stopped winding up the kids and stopped trying to undermine me all the time. He hasn’t exactly become an angel overnight but he no longer seems to feel threatened by my role in the family. It’s almost as if he’s accepted Maya and me as surrogate parents. I have no idea where it’s all come from. Perhaps he has joined a nicer group of boys at school. Perhaps he is just growing up. But whatever the reason, I dare to believe Kit has truly begun to turn the corner.
He runs down to dinner one evening, triumphantly waving a piece of paper. ‘I’m going on a school trip when we break up! Nya-na, nya-nya-na!’ He pulls a taunting face at the other two.
‘Where?’ Willa shrieks excitedly as if she were also included.
‘Whoa! So not fair!’ Tiffin exclaims, his face falling. ‘Here, quick, quick, you’ve gotta sign it now!’ Kit waves the sheet above my plate and thrusts a pen in my hand.
‘I didn’t realize your teacher was waiting for this on the doorstep!’
Kit pulls a face at me. ‘Very funny. Just sign it, will you?’
I scan the letter and balk at the price, quickly trying to work out where on earth we’ll get the money from. Cancel the cheque for the phone bill which I only posted yesterday, eat baked beans for the next fortnight, pretend to Mum that we have no running water and need money for a plumber . . .
I forge our mother’s signature. It saddens me a little to see how delirious with excitement Kit is about the trip – it’s only an activity week on the Isle of Wight, but he has never been further afield than Surrey.
‘It’s abroad!’ he crows at Tiffin. ‘We have to take a boat! We’re going to an island in the middle of the sea!’
I open my mouth, about to readjust Kit’s vision of a desert island surrounded by palm trees in order to avoid terrible disappointment, when Maya catches my eye and subtly shakes her head. She’s right. Kit won’t be disappointed. Even rainy and cold, the muddy Isle of Wight will seem like Paradise to him – and a million miles away from home.
‘What are you going to do there?’ Tiffin asks, slouching down in his chair and prodding dejectedly at his chicken with his fork.
Kit throws himself down and kicks back, reading from the newly-signed letter. ‘Canoeing, horse-riding, abseiling, orienteering’ – his voice rises with mounting delight – ‘camping ?’ He returns the front legs of his chair to the floor with an astonished thud. ‘I didn’t see that one. Yes! I’ve always wanted to go camping!’
‘Me too!’ Tiffin cries. ‘Why can’t I go? Are you allowed to bring brothers?’
‘Horse-riding!’ Willa’s eyes are huge with disbelief.
‘How come St Luke’s never takes us on trips?’ Tiffin’s lower lip quivers. ‘Life is so unfair.’
I don’t remember ever seeing Kit so excited. The only problem, though, is his fear of heights. It is something he has never admitted to, but there was that time – for ever etched into my memory – when he fainted on the edge of the top diving board and dropped unconscious into the water. Then, only last year, he started feeling dizzy and fell while attempting to follow his friends across a high wall. He has never been abseiling before and, knowing he would rather die than sit out and watch his classmates, I go to speak to Coach Wilson, the teacher in charge of the expedition, careful to ask for Kit not to be excluded, but for an adult to keep an eye on him. Still, I find myself worrying. Things with Kit are going so well, almost too well. I worry that the trip won’t live up to his expectations; I worry even more that, with his dare-devil nature, he may have an accident. Then I remember what Maya said to me about always thinking about the worst-case scenario and force myself to purge the worry from my mind.
By the end of term Maya and I are exhausted, clawing our way towards the Easter holidays. I can’t believe that school will soon be a thing of the past. Apart from a few revision classes after the holidays, all I have left are the actual exams. Naturally, they scare me a little as my university place hangs in the balance, but beyond them lies the promise of a new life.
Time alone with Maya has been scant and I ache to have her to myself, even just for a day. But as soon as Kit leaves for his trip, the Easter holidays will be upon us, with last-minute revision to cram in around two weeks of childcare. I feel as if we will never get the chance to be properly alone together. After being at school all day, entertaining children all evening, rushing through household chores and then poring over textbooks for hours, there is rarely time for more than a few kisses before falling asleep in each other’s arms. I miss those hours we once had at the end of each day; I miss stroking every part of her body, feeling her hands against mine, talking until we fall asleep. And I bitterly, bitterly resent that, just because our relationship is considered wrong, all those hours of happiness we could have together are being stolen from us, and we are forced instead to sneak about, in constant fear of being caught.
I find myself desperate for even the little things – being able to hold her hand on the way to school, kissing her goodbye in the corridor before heading for our separate classes, having lunch together, spending break times snuggled up together on a bench or kissing passionately behind one of the buildings, running over and hugging when we meet at the gates after the final bell. All things that the other couples at Belmont take for granted. Their liaisons are looked upon with a mixture of awe and envy by the pupils who are still single, despite the fact that they rarely last for more than a few weeks before crumbling over some stupid fight or because a new, better-looking prospect comes along. I don’t view these people with horror or disgust for being so shallow and fickle. So many superficial liaisons surround me, so many guys just looking for sex, for another conquest to add to their brag-list before swiftly moving on. One might struggle to understand why anyone would embark on relationships that lack any real, meaningful emotion, yet nobody judges them for it. They are ‘young’, ‘just having a good time’, and sure, if that’s what they want, why shouldn’t they? But then why is it so terrible for me to be with the girl I love? Everyone else is permitted to have what they want, express their love as they please, without fear of harassment, ostracism, persecution or even the law. Even emotionally abusive, adulterous relationships are often tolerated, despite the harm they cause others. In our progressive, permissive society, all these harmful, unhealthy types of ‘love’ are allowed – but not ours. I can think of no other kind of love that is so totally rejected, even though ours is so deep, passionate, caring and strong that forcing us apart would cause us unimaginable pain. We are being punished by the world for just one simple reason: for having been produced by the same woman.
The anger and frustration chips away at me, even though I try to keep it at bay, even though I keep focusing on the day Maya and I will finally be free to live together openly, free to love each other like any other couple. Sometimes, worse than watching her at school from a distance is seeing her at home, too close to touch, together but apart, so near and yet so far. Having to yank back my hand as I instinctively reach for hers at the dinner table, trying to brush against her accidentally just for the small tingle of pleasure caused by the touch of her skin. Gazing at her face as she reads to Willa on the couch, yearning to feel her hair, her cheek, her mouth. Even though I can’t wait for the holidays to begin so I can spend every minute of the day with her, I know that this tiny but impenetrable distance between us will be torture.
And then, just days before the end of term, a miracle occurs. Maya gets off the phone one evening and returns to the dinner table to announce that Freddie and his little sister have invited both Tiffin and Willa for a sleepover that weekend. The timing could not be better – that same day Kit will be leaving for the Isle of Wight. Two days – two whole days of uninterrupted time together. Two days of freedom . . . Surreptitiously, Maya shoots me a look of pure delight, and elation fills me like helium in a balloon. While Tiffin pretends to fall off his chair in enthusiasm and Willa drums her shoes against the underside of the table, I am ready to bounce off the walls and start dancing.
‘Wow. So by Saturday all three of us will be gone,’ Kit comments almost pensively, looking first at Maya, then at me. ‘It’ll just be you and Maya stuck at home.’
I nod and shrug, struggling to keep the rush of joy from showing on my face.
We don’t have a chance to celebrate until Maya finishes putting Tiffin and Willa to bed, but as soon as she does, she comes hurrying down to where I am squatting, Brillo pad in hand, scrubbing out the fridge.
‘We have so earned this!’ she whispers in near-hysteria, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me an excited shake. Straightening up, I laugh at the sight of her face, her eyes shining in excitement. I drop the Brillo pad and wipe my hands on my jeans as she slides her arms around my neck and pulls me gently towards her. Closing my eyes, I kiss her long and hard, stroking the hair away from her eyes. She reaches up to stroke my face and then pulls back sharply.
‘What?’ I ask in surprise. ‘They’re all upstairs . . .’
