Текст книги "Forbidden"
Автор книги: Табита Сузума
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lochan
Never in my life have I heard such a terrible sound. A scream of pure horror, of undiluted hatred and fury and rage. And it keeps coming, rising louder and louder, closer and closer, blocking out the sun, sucking out everything: the love, the warmth, the music, the joy. Tearing at the brilliant light all around us, slashing against our naked bodies, ripping the smile from our faces, the breath from our lungs.
Maya grabs hold of me in horror, arms wrapped around me, gripping me tight, face pressed against my chest, as if imploring her body to merge into mine. For a moment I cannot react, simply clutching her to me, intent only on protecting her, shielding her body with my own. Then I hear the sobs – the shrieking, hysterical sobs, the screeching accusations, the demented wails. I force my head up and see, framed in the open door, our mother.
As soon as her horrified eyes make contact with mine, she launches herself at us, grabbing me by the hair and yanking back my head with astonishing force. Her fists pound against me, her long nails cutting into my arms, my shoulders, my back. I don’t even try to push her off. My arms circle Maya’s head, my body presses down over hers, acting as a human shield between her and this madwoman, desperately trying to protect her from the attack.
Maya cries out in terror beneath me, trying to bury herself in the mattress, pulling me down against her with all her might. But then the shrieks begin to coalesce into words, perforating my frozen brain, and I hear: ‘Get off her! Get off her! You monster! You evil, twisted monster! Get off my baby! Get off! Get off! Get off!’
I will not move, will not let go of Maya even as I continue to be yanked by the hair and half dragged from the bed. Maya, suddenly realizing that the intruder is our mother, starts struggling to free herself from my grasp.
‘No! Mum! Leave him! Leave him! He didn’t do anything! What are you doing? You’re hurting him! Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!’
She is screaming at her now, sobbing in terror, pulling herself out from beneath me, trying to reach over and fight Mum off, but I won’t let them touch, won’t let the monster reach her. When I see a clawed hand descend towards Maya’s face, I swing my arm wildly, making contact with Mum’s shoulder. She staggers back and there is a thud, the sound of books tumbling from shelves, and she is gone, her wails echoing all the way down to the floor below.
I leap from the bed, hurl myself at the bedroom door and slam it shut, shooting the bolt across.
‘Quick!’ I yell at Maya, grabbing knickers and T-shirt from her clothes pile and tossing them over. ‘Put them on. She’ll come back with Dave or someone. The lock’s not strong enough—’
Maya is sitting in the middle of the bed, sheet clutched to her chest, hair wild and tangled, face white with shock and wet with tears.
‘She can’t do anything to us,’ she says desperately, her voice rising. ‘She can’t do anything, she can’t do anything!’
‘It’s all right, Maya. It’s all right, it’s all right. Just please put these on. She’s going to be back!’
I can only find my underwear – the rest of my stuff must be buried beneath the heap of fallen books.
Maya pulls on her clothes, leaps up and runs over to the open window. ‘We can climb out,’ she gasps. ‘We can jump—’
I yank her back, forcing her to sit down on the bed. ‘Listen to me. We can’t run away – they’d catch us anyway, and think, Maya, think! What about the others? We can’t just abandon them. We’re going to wait here, OK? No one’s going to hurt you, I promise. Mum’s just being hysterical. And she wasn’t trying to attack you, she was trying to rescue you. From me.’ I am fighting for breath.
‘I don’t care!’ Maya is shouting again, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘Look what she did to you, Lochie! Your back is bleeding! I can’t believe she hurt you like that! She was pulling out your hair! She – she—’
‘Shh, sweetheart, shh . . .’ Turning to face her on the edge of the bed, I clasp the tops of her arms in an attempt to hold her still. ‘Maya, you’ve got to calm down. You’ve got to listen to me. No one’s going to hurt us, d’you understand? They just want to rescue you—’
‘From what?’ she sobs. ‘From who? They can’t take me away from you! They can’t, Lochie, they can’t!’
More yelling. We both freeze at the sound, this time coming from the street. I am the first to reach the window. Mum is pacing up and down in front of the house, shouting and screaming into her mobile phone.
‘You’ve got to come now!’ she’s sobbing. ‘Oh God, please hurry! He’s already punched me, and now he’s bolted himself in with her! When I went in, he tried to suffocate her! I think he’s going to kill her!’
Curious neighbours are popping their heads out of windows and doors, some already hurrying across the street towards her. I feel myself break out in a cold sweat and my legs threaten to give way.
‘She’s calling Dave,’ Maya shouts, trying to pull away as I drag her from the window. ‘He’s going to break the door down. He’s going to beat you up! I’ve got to go down and explain everything! I’ve got to tell them you haven’t done anything wrong!’
‘Don’t, Maya, don’t. You can’t! It won’t make any difference! You have to stay here and listen. I have to talk to you.’
Suddenly I know what I must do. I know that there is only one solution, only one way left to save Maya and the kids from harm. But she won’t listen, struggling and kicking her bare feet against my legs as I lock my arms around her to stop her from running to the door. I force her back down on the edge of the bed, pinning her against me.
‘Maya, you have to listen. I – I think I have a plan, but you’ve got to listen or it won’t work. Please, sweetheart. I’m begging you!’
Maya stops struggling. ‘OK, Lochie, OK,’ she whimpers. ‘Tell me, I’m listening. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.’
Still gripping her, I stare at her terrified, wild-eyed face and breathe deeply in a frantic effort to organize my thoughts, calm myself, hold back the mounting tears that will only terrify her further. I tighten my grip on her wrists and prepare to grab her should she make a run for the door.
‘Mum isn’t calling Dave,’ I explain, my voice shaking hard. ‘She’s calling the police.’
Maya freezes, her blue eyes wide with shock. Tears hang on her lashes, the colour is gone from her face. The silence in the room is broken only by her frantic gasps.
‘It’s all right,’ I say firmly, struggling to keep my voice steady. ‘In fact it’s a good thing. The police will sort this out. They’ll calm Mum down. They’ll take me away for questioning, but it will only be—’
‘But it’s against the law.’ Maya’s voice is quiet with horror. ‘What just happened. We’ll be arrested because we’ve broken the law.’
I take another deep breath, my lungs cracking under the strain, my throat threatening to close up completely. If I break down, it’s all over. I’ll frighten her so much she’ll stop listening to me and will never agree to what I’m about to suggest. I have to convince her that this is the best way, the only way.
‘Maya, you’ve got to listen, we have to go through this fast, they could be here any minute.’ I stop to catch my breath again. Despite the terror in her eyes, she just nods, waiting for me to continue.
‘OK. First you’ve got to remember that being arrested does not mean going to prison. We won’t be going to prison because we’re only teenagers. But listen to me now: this is very, very important. If we both get arrested, we’ll be kept in for questioning. That could take a few days. Willa and Tiffin will come back to find us gone. Mum will probably be drunk, and even if she’s not, Social Services will be called in by the police and all three kids will be taken away because of what we’ve done. Just imagine Willa, imagine Tiffin, imagine how terrified they’ll be. Willa was worried—’ My voice quavers and I break off for a moment. ‘W-Willa was worried about spending just one night away!’ Tears force their way into my eyes like knives. ‘D’you understand? D’you understand what will happen to them if we both get arrested?’
Maya shakes her head at me in silent horror, mute with shock, fresh tears filling her eyes.
‘There is a way,’ I carry on desperately. ‘There’s a way we can prevent all that. They won’t take them away if there’s one of us here to look after them and cover for Mum. D’you get it, Maya?’ My voice begins to rise. ‘One of us has to stay. It has to be you—’
‘No!’ Maya’s cry slices straight through my heart. I tighten my grip on her wrists as she begins to pull away. ‘No! No!’
‘Maya, if they’re taken away by Social Services, neither of us will ever see them again until they’re adults! They’ll be scarred for life! If you let me go, there’s a good chance I’ll be out in a few days.’ I stare at her, desperately hoping she trusts me enough to believe this lie.
‘You stay!’ Maya looks at me, her eyes imploring. ‘You stay and I’ll go! I’m not scared. Please, Lochie. Let’s do it that way!’
I shake my head in desperation. ‘It won’t work!’ I say frantically. ‘Remember that conversation we had a few weeks ago? No one will believe us if we say it was you who forced me. And if we tell them it was consensual, they’ll arrest us both! We have to do it like this. Don’t you understand? Think, Maya, think! You know there are no other options! If one of us is to stay behind, it has to be you!’
Maya’s whole body crumples forward as the reality hits her. She falls towards me but I cannot take her in my arms, not yet.
‘Please, Maya,’ I beg her. ‘Tell me you’ll do it. Tell me now, right now. Otherwise I’ll go crazy not knowing – not knowing whether you and the others are safe or not. I won’t be able to take it. You’ve got to do it. For me. For us. It’s our only chance to ever be together as a family again.’
She hangs her head, her beautiful amber hair hiding her face from view.
‘Maya—’ A frantic sound escapes me and I give her a shake. ‘Maya!’
She nods silently, without looking up.
‘You’ll do it?’ I ask.
‘I’ll do it,’ she whispers.
Several minutes pass and she doesn’t move. With shaky hands, I wipe the sweat from my face. Then, suddenly, Maya raises her head with a strangled sob and holds out her arms for comfort. I can’t do it. I simply can’t. With a sharp shake of the head, I move away from her, straining my ears for the sound of a siren. A low murmur of voices rises from beneath us – no doubt concerned neighbours, rushing in to comfort our mother. Denied the hug she so desperately needs, Maya seeks comfort instead from a pillow drawn up against her chest. Rocking back and forth, she appears to be in a state of complete shock.
‘There’s one more thing . . .’ I turn to her, realizing suddenly. ‘We – we have to get our stories straight. Otherwise they’ll hold me for longer and you’ll be pulled in repeatedly for questioning and things will get much worse—’
Maya closes her eyes as if to shut me out.
‘We haven’t got time to make anything up,’ I say, my voice catching on every word. ‘We’ll – we’ll just have to tell it exactly how it was. E-everything that happened, how it first started, how long it’s been . . . If our stories don’t match up they could arrest you too. So you’ve got to tell the truth, Maya, d’you understand? Everything – every detail they ask you for!’ I take a frantic breath. ‘The only thing we’re going to add is that – is that I forced you. I forced you into everything we did, Maya. D’you hear me?’
I’m losing control again, the words shaking like the air around me. ‘The first time we kissed, I said you had to go along with it, or – or I’d beat you. I swore that if you told anyone, I’d kill you. You were terrified. You really believed I was capable of it, and so from then on, every time I – I wanted you, you – you just did what I asked.’
She looks up at me in horror, silent tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘They’ll send you to prison!’
‘No.’ I shake my head, struggling to sound as convincing as possible. ‘You’ll simply say you don’t want to press charges. If there’s no accuser, there’ll be no court case. I’ll be out in a few days!’ I stare at her, silently imploring her to believe me.
She frowns and shakes her head slowly, as if desperately trying to comprehend. ‘But that doesn’t make sense . . .’
‘Trust me.’ I’m breathing too fast. ‘Most sexual abuse cases are never taken to court because the victims are too afraid or ashamed to press charges. So you’ll just say you don’t want to press charges, either . . . But, Maya’ – I reach out and grip her arm – ‘you must never, ever say this was consensual. You must never, ever admit to taking part in this freely. I forced you. Whatever they ask, whatever they say, I threatened you. D’you understand?’
A stunned nod.
Unconvinced, I grab her roughly by the arms. ‘I don’t believe you! Tell me what happened! What did I do to you?’
She looks up at me, bottom lip quivering, eyes glistening. ‘You raped me,’ she replies, and presses her hands to her mouth to muffle a scream.
We huddle together beneath the duvet one last time. She is curled in towards me, cheek resting against my chest, shaking in shock. I hold her tight, staring up at the ceiling, terrified I will start crying, terrified she will see just how afraid I am, terrified she will suddenly realize that even though she won’t press charges, there’s someone else who will.
‘I d-don’t understand,’ Maya gasps. ‘How could this happen? Why did Mum come back today of all days? How the hell did she get in without her key?’
I’m too stressed to even think about that, or care. The only thing that matters is that we’ve been caught. Reported to the police. I never really thought it could actually come to this.
‘It must have been a neighbour. We weren’t careful enough with the curtains.’ Maya shakes with a silent sob. ‘You’ve still got time. Lochie, I just don’t understand! Why won’t you run?’ Her voice rises in anguish.
Because then I won’t be around to tell my version of the story. The version I want the police to hear. The version that absolves you of all wrongdoing. If I run, they could arrest you instead. And if we both go, we expose ourselves as accomplices and it’s all over.
I say nothing, just hold her tighter in the hope that she will trust me.
The sound of the siren makes us both start. Maya jack-knifes from the bed and tries to leap for the door. I force her back and she starts to cry.
‘No, Lochie, no! Please! Let me go downstairs and explain. It looks so much worse like this!’
I need it to look worse. I need it to look as bad as it can. From now on I have to think like a rapist, act like a rapist. Prove I’ve been holding Maya against her will.
Sounds of slamming car doors rise from the street below. Mum’s hysterical voice starts up again.
The front door bangs. Heavy treads in the hallway. Maya screws up her eyes and clings to me, sobbing silently.
‘It’ll be all right,’ I whisper desperately in her ear. ‘This is just protocol. They’ll only arrest me so they can question me. When you tell them you don’t want to press charges, they’ll just let me go.’
I hold her tight, stroking her hair, hoping that one day she’ll understand, that one day she’ll forgive me for lying. Careful not to think, careful not to panic, careful not to waver. Loud voices from below, Mum’s mainly. The sound of multiple footsteps on the stairs.
‘Let go of me,’ I whisper urgently.
She doesn’t respond, still pressed up against me, her head buried against my shoulder, arms wound tightly around my neck.
‘Maya, let go of me, now!’ I try to unhook her arms. She won’t let go. She won’t let go!
The thuds against the door make us both start violently. The noise is followed by a sharp, authoritative voice: ‘This is the police. Open the door.’
I’m sorry, but I’ve just raped my sister and am holding her here against her will. I cannot be so obliging.
They give me a warning. Then the first strike is heard. Maya lets out a terrified scream. She still won’t let go of me. It’s vital I turn her round so that when they get in, they find me grasping her with her back to me, arms pinned by her sides. Another crack. The wood around the bolt splinters. Just one more strike and they will be in.
I push Maya away from me with all my strength. I look into her eyes – her beautiful blue eyes – and feel the tears surge. ‘I love you,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry!’ Then I raise my right hand and strike her hard across the face.
Her scream fills the room seconds before the lock breaks and the door crashes open. The doorway is suddenly crowded with dark uniforms and crackling radios. My arm circles Maya’s arms and waist, pinning her back against me. Beneath the hand clapped over her mouth, I feel a reassuring trickle of blood.
When they order me to let go of her and step away from the bed, I cannot move. I need to co-operate, but physically I can’t. I am frozen in fear. I am terrified that if I uncover Maya’s mouth, she will start to tell them the truth. I’m terrified that once they take Maya away, I will never see her again.
They ask me to put my hands up. I begin to loosen my grip on Maya. No, I’m screaming inside. Don’t leave me, don’t go! You are my love, my life! Without you, I am nothing, I have nothing. If I lose you, I lose everything. I raise my hands very slowly, fighting to keep them in the air, fighting against the overwhelming urge to take Maya back into my arms, kiss her one last time. A female officer cautiously approaches as if Maya were a wild animal, about to take flight, and coaxes her out of the bed. She lets out a small, muffled sob, but I hear her take a deep breath and hold it. Someone wraps a blanket around her. They are trying to usher her from the room.
‘No!’ she screams. Bursting into a sudden volley of broken sobs, she turns frantically back towards me, blood staining her lower lip. Lips that once touched me so gently, lips I know so well, love so much, lips I could never have imagined hurting. But now, with her cut lip and tear-stained face, she looks so shocked and battered that even if she were to lose her resolve and tell the truth, I’m almost confident she would not be believed. Her eyes meet mine, but under the officers’ watchful gaze I’m unable to give her the slightest sign of reassurance. Go, my love, I beg her with my gaze. Follow the plan. Do this. Do this for me.
As she turns, her face crumples and I fight against the urge to cry out her name.
As soon as Maya is out of the way, the two male officers descend upon me. Each grabbing me by an arm, they instruct me to stand up slowly. I do so, tensing every muscle and clenching my teeth in an effort to stop shaking. A thick-set officer with small eyes and a puffy face smirks as I get up from the bed and the sheet falls away and I’m left standing in my boxers. ‘Don’t think we need to frisk this one,’ he chuckles.
I can hear the sound of Maya crying downstairs. ‘What are they going to do to him? What are they going to do to him?’ she keeps shouting.
The reply is repeated over and over by a soothing female voice. ‘Don’t worry. You’re safe now. He won’t be able to hurt you again.’
‘Have you got some clothes?’ the other officer asks me. He looks not much older than me. How long has he been in the police force? I wonder. Has he ever been involved in a crime as disgusting as this?
‘In my b-bedroom . . .’
The young officer follows me to my room and watches me get dressed, his radio sputtering into the silence. I feel his eyes on my back, on my body, full of disgust. I can’t seem to find anything clean. For some irrational reason, I feel the need to wear something that’s freshly washed. The only thing to hand is my school uniform. I sense the man’s impatience in the doorway behind me but I am so desperate to cover my body that I can’t even think straight, can’t remember where I keep my things. Finally I pull on a T-shirt and jeans, shoving my bare feet into my trainers before realizing that my T-shirt is inside out.
The bulky officer joins us in the room. They seem far too big for this confined space. I’m painfully aware of my unmade bed, the socks and underwear that litter the carpet. The broken curtain rail, the old chipped desk, the peeling walls. I feel ashamed of it all. I glance at the small family snapshot still tacked to the wall above my bed, and suddenly wish I could take it with me. Something, anything, to remind me of them all.
The older officer asks me some basic questions: name, date of birth, nationality . . . My voice still manages to shake despite all my efforts to keep it steady. The more I try not to stammer, the worse it gets. When my mind goes blank and I can’t even remember my own birthday, they stare me down, as if they think I’m deliberately withholding this information. I strain for the sound of Maya’s voice but can hear nothing. What have they done to her? Where have they taken her?
‘Lochan Whitely,’ the officer states in a flat, mechanical tone. ‘An allegation has been made to the police that you raped your sixteen-year-old sister a short time ago. I am arresting you for breach of Section Twenty-five of the Sexual Offences Act for engaging in sexual activity with a child family member.’
The accusation hits me like a fist in my stomach. This makes me sound like more than a rapist: a paedophile. And Maya, a child? She hasn’t been one for years. And she isn’t below the age of consent! But of course, I realize suddenly, even just two weeks shy of her seventeenth birthday, she is still considered a child in the eyes of the law. At eighteen, however, I am an adult. Thirteen months. Might as well be thirteen years . . . The officer is now reading me my rights. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ His voice is deliberate, heavy with authority; his face a mask – blank, cold, devoid of all expression. But this is not some cop show. This is real. I have committed a real crime.
The young officer informs me they will now take me outside to the ‘transport vehicle’. The corridor is too narrow for the three of us. The big officer leads the way, his tread heavy and slow. The other grips me tightly just above the elbow. I’ve been able to hide the fear until now, but as we approach the staircase, I suddenly feel a surge of panic begin to rise. Stupidly, it’s triggered by nothing more than the need to pee. But suddenly I realize I’m desperate to go and have no idea when I’m next going to get the chance. After hours of questioning, locked up in some cell, in front of a whole bunch of other prisoners? I stumble to a halt at the top of the stairs.
‘Keep moving!’ I feel the press of a firm hand between my shoulder blades.
‘Can I – can I please just use the bathroom before I go?’ My voice comes out frightened and frantic. I feel my face burn, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I sound pathetic.
They exchange glances. The thick-set man sighs and nods. They let me into the bathroom. The younger officer stays in the open doorway.
The cuffs don’t make it easy. I feel the man’s presence fill the small room. Shuffling round so I have my back to him, I struggle to unbutton my jeans. Sweat prickles across my neck and down my back, trapping the T-shirt against my skin. The muscles in my knees seem to vibrate. I close my eyes and try to relax, but I need to go so badly it’s impossible. I can’t. I just can’t. Not like this.
‘We haven’t got all day.’ The voice behind me makes me flinch. I button up and flush the empty toilet. Turning round, I’m too embarrassed to even raise my head.
As we jolt and shuffle our way down the narrow stairs, the young officer says in a gentler tone, ‘The station’s not far. You’ll have some privacy there.’
His words throw me. A small hint of kindness, a note of reassurance, despite the terrible thing I’ve done. I feel my façade begin to slip. Breathing deeply, I bite my lip hard. Just in case Maya sees me, it’s imperative I make it out of the house without falling apart.
Voices rise and fall from the kitchen. The door is firmly shut. So that’s where they’ve taken her. I hope to God they are still treating her as the victim, comforting her rather than bombarding her with questions. I have to grit my teeth, clench every muscle in my body to prevent myself from running to her, hugging her, kissing her one last time.
I notice a pink skipping rope hanging over the banisters. A single Jelly Baby from last night remains on the carpet. Small shoes are scattered over the rack by the front door. Willa’s white sandals, and the lace-up trainers she has finally learned to tie – all so tiny. Tiffin’s scuffed school shoes, his much-prized football boots, his gloves and ‘lucky’ ball. Above them their school blazers hang discarded, empty, like ghosts of their real selves. I want them back, I want my children back. I miss them, the pain like a hole in my heart. They were so excited to go that I didn’t even have time to hug them. I never got to say goodbye.
Just as I am being jolted past the open door of the front room, a movement catches my eye and makes me stop. I turn my head towards a figure in the armchair and, to my astonishment, find Kit. He is sitting, white-faced and immobile, beside a woman police officer, his carefully packed Isle of Wight bags lying carelessly discarded at his feet. As he slowly turns towards me, I stare at him, uncomprehending. I am pushed from behind, told to ‘move it’. I stumble against the door-frame, my eyes begging Kit for some kind of explanation.
‘Why are you here?’ I can’t believe he is witnessing this. I can’t believe they somehow got hold of him before he left, involving him too. He’s only thirteen, for chrissakes! I want to scream. He should be on the trip of his life, not watching his brother being arrested for sexually abusing his sister. I want to kick at them in fury, force them to let him go.
His eyes leave my face, travelling down to the cuffs circling my wrists, then to the police officers trying to drag me away. His face is white, stricken.
‘You told him!’ he shouts suddenly, making me jump.
I stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’
‘Coach Wilson! You told him about the heights thing!’ Suddenly he is screaming at me, his face distorted with fury. ‘As soon as I got to school, he took me off the abseiling list in front of the whole class! Everyone laughed at me, even my friends! You ruined what was going to be the best week of my life!’
Forcing myself to keep breathing, I feel my heart start to pound. ‘It was you?’ I gasp. ‘You knew? About Maya and me? You knew?’
He nods wordlessly.
‘Mr Whitely, you need to come with us right now!’
The comment about Maya and me being left home alone, the sound of the door while we were kissing in the kitchen . . . Why on earth didn’t he confront us? Why wait until now before telling?
Because he didn’t want to be taken into care. Because he never intended to tell.
For some strange reason I am desperate for him to know I never asked him to be taken off the abseiling list, never dreamed he might be humiliated in front of his friends, never meant to ruin his first ever trip, the most exciting day of his life. But the officers are shouting at me, pushing me out of the front door with considerable force now, banging my shoulders against the walls, dragging me towards the waiting police car. I twist and turn my head, frantically trying to call back to him over my shoulder.
The neighbours have come out in full force, congregating en masse around the waiting police car, watching with fascination as I am pushed down into the back seat. The belt is drawn across me and the door beside me slams. The large officer gets into the front, his radio still crepitating, the younger one gets into the back, beside me. The neighbours are closing in now like a slow wave, leaning, peering, pointing, their mouths opening and closing with silent questions.
Suddenly there is a violent thud against the door at my side. I whip my head round in time to see Kit, pummelling frantically at the window.
‘I’m sorry!’ he screams, the sound heavily muffled by the reinforced glass. ‘Lochie, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t think about what would happen – I never thought she’d call the police!’ He is crying hard, in a way he hasn’t done for years, tears lashing his cheeks. His body convulses with violent sobs as he punches at the window in a frenzied bid to free me. ‘Come back!’ he screams. ‘Come back!’
I wrestle with the locked door, desperate to tell him it’s OK, that I will be back soon – even though I am well aware this isn’t true. More than anything though, I want to tell him it’s OK, that I know he never intended for it to come to this, that I understand he simply lashed out in hurt and anger and bitter, bitter disappointment. I want to let him know that of course I forgive him, that absolutely none of this was his fault, that I love him, that I always have, despite everything . . .
A neighbour drags him off and the car begins to pull away from the kerb. As we pick up speed, I turn my head for one last look and, through the back window, see Kit sprinting after us, his long legs pummelling the pavement, the familiar look of single-minded determination on his face – the same determination he showed during all those football, catch, and British Bulldog games we used to play . . . Somehow he keeps pace with the car until we reach the end of the narrow street, until we accelerate out onto the main road. Frantically craning my head to keep him in sight, I see him finally stumble to a halt, his hands by his sides: defeated, crying.
You don’t let Kit lose! I want to shout at the officers. You never let any of them lose! Even when giving them a run for their money, you always, always let them catch you in the end.
He stands there, staring at the car as if willing us back, and I watch him rapidly shrink as the space between us grows. Soon my little brother is just a tiny speck in the distance – and then I can no longer see him at all.
