Текст книги "Forbidden"

Автор книги: Табита Сузума

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CHAPTER FIVE

Lochan

I replay that sentence over and over during the next few days. It is a way of blotting out everything else – the awful incident with Tiffin and Willa, the row with my mother, the constant hell that is school. Every time I decline to answer a question in class, each moment I spend alone bent over a book, I am reminded of what my family think of me. Pathetic. A socially inept weirdo. A teenage son who can’t get a friend, let alone a girlfriend. I try – I really try: small things, like asking my neighbour for the time. He has to lean across the aisle to ask me to repeat my question. I can’t even hear the sound of my own voice. I still don’t fully understand it – I managed to talk to the school staff the afternoon Tiffin and Willa disappeared. But that was an emergency, and the horror of the situation overrode any inhibitions I might have had. Talking to adults is bearable; it’s talking to people my age that’s impossible. So I keep replaying Maya’s words in my head. Maybe there is someone who isn’t ashamed of me after all. Perhaps there is one member of my family whom I haven’t totally let down.

But the void yawns open like a cavern inside my chest. I feel so damn lonely all the time. Even though I’m surrounded by pupils, there is this invisible screen between us, and behind the glass wall I am screaming – screaming in my own silence, screaming to be noticed, to be befriended, to be liked. And yet when a friendlylooking girl from my maths class comes up to me in the canteen and says ‘Mind if I sit here?’ I just give a quick nod and turn away, hoping to God she won’t try to engage me in conversation. And at home it’s hardly as if I’m alone, either. The house is never silent – but Kit is still going through his evil phase, Tiffin is only interested in his Gameboy and his footie friends, and Willa is sweet but still just a baby. I play Twister and Hide-and-Seek with the little ones, help them with their homework, feed them, bathe them, read them goodnight stories, but all the while I have to stay upbeat for them, put on the damn mask, and sometimes I fear it will crack. Only with Maya can I really be myself. We share the burden together and she is always on my side, by my side. I don’t want to need her, to depend on her, but I do, I really do.

At lunch break I am sitting in my usual place during the tired afternoon, watching the cold light slowly move across the empty stairwell beneath me, when footsteps from above startle me. I lower my eyes to my book. Behind me, the feet slow and I feel my pulse rate rise. Someone passes me on the steps. I feel a leg brush against my shirtsleeve and I concentrate on the page of blurred print before me. To my horror, just below me, the footsteps stop altogether.

‘Hi!’ a girl’s voice exclaims.

I flinch. Force myself to look up. I meet the browneyed gaze of someone I vaguely recognize. It takes me several seconds to place her. It’s the girl Maya always hangs around with. I can’t even remember her name. And she is looking at me with a wide, toothy grin.

‘Hi,’ she says again.

I clear my throat. ‘Hi,’ I mumble.

I’m not sure she can even hear me. Her gaze is unflinching and she seems to be waiting for something more.

‘The Hours,’ she comments, glancing down at my book. ‘Isn’t that a film?’

I nod.

‘Any good?’ Her determination to make conversation is impressive. I nod again and return to the page. ‘I’m Francie,’ she says, still grinning broadly.

‘Lochan,’ I reply.

She raises her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘I know.’

I can feel my fingers making damp indentations in the pages of the book.

‘Maya talks about you all the time.’

There is nothing subtle about this girl. Her frizzy hair and dark skin contrast sharply with her blood-red lipstick and she is wearing an obscenely short skirt and huge silver hoops in her ears.

‘You know who I am, right? You’ve seen me hanging around with your sister?’

Another nod, the words evaporating as soon as they reach my throat. I start chewing my lip.

Francie looks at me pensively with a little smile. ‘You don’t talk much, do you?’

My face starts to burn. If she hadn’t been a friend of Maya’s, I would be pushing past her down the stairs by now. But Francie seems more curious than amused.

‘People say I never stop talking,’ she continues breezily. ‘It pisses them off.’

You’re telling me.

‘I have a message for you,’ Francie declares suddenly. ‘From your sister.’

I feel myself tense. ‘W-what is it?’

‘Nothing serious,’ she says quickly. ‘Just that your mum is taking your brothers and sister out to McDonald’s tonight so there’s no need to rush home. Maya wants you to meet her at the postbox at the end of the street after school.’

‘M-Maya asked you to c-come here and tell me that?’ I ask, waiting for her to smirk at my stammer.

‘Well, not exactly. She was trying to send you a text, but then she was kept in to finish off some coursework so I figured I might as well tell you myself.’

‘Thanks,’ I mumble.

‘And . . . I also wanted to invite you to have a drink at Smileys with Maya and me, since the two of you don’t have to go rushing off for once.’

I stare at her, mute.

‘Is that a yes?’ She eyes me hopefully.

My mind has gone blank. I can’t for the life of me think of an excuse. ‘Uh, well – OK.’

‘Cool!’ Her face lights up. ‘I’ll see you at the postbox after school!’

She is gone as suddenly as she arrived.

At the final bell I pack my bag with unsteady hands; I am the last to trail out of the classroom. I make a dive for the toilets and lock myself in a cubicle. Sitting on the closed lid after peeing, I try to pull myself together. On the way out I stop in front of the mirrors. In the afternoon light the pale face staring back at me has the glittering green eyes of some alien creature. Leaning over the basin, I cup icy water in my hands and bring it up to my face, pressing my cheeks into the shallow puddles. I want to hide out here for ever, but someone else bangs in through the door and I have no choice but to leave.

Maya and Francie are standing side by side by the postbox at the end of the street, talking in rapid-fire to each other, their eyes scanning the crowds. It takes all the will in the world to stop me from doubling back, but the look of expectation on Maya’s face forces me forward. Her face breaks into a smile of delight as she catches sight of me.

‘Thought you were going to do a no-show!’ she whispers.

I smile again and nod, words running through my mind like a stream of effervescent bubbles.

‘Well, come on, guys!’ Francie exclaims after a moment’s awkward silence. ‘Are we going to Smileys or not?’

‘Absolutely,’ Maya says, and as she turns to follow her friend, her hand brushes against mine in a gesture of reassurance – or perhaps it is thanks.

Smileys is still mercifully empty at this time. We take a small round table by the window and I hide behind the menu, my tongue rubbing the rough skin beneath my lip.

‘Are you guys getting food?’ Francie wants to know.

Maya glances at me and I give a subtle shake of the head.

‘Shall we share some garlic bread?’ Francie suggests. ‘I’m dying for a Coke.’

Maya leans back in her seat to try and catch the waiter, and Francie turns to me. ‘So, are you looking forward to getting the hell out of Belmont?’

I put down the menu and nod, forcing a smile.

‘You’re so lucky,’ Francie continues. ‘Just another nine months and you’ll be free of this hell-hole.’

Maya finishes ordering and returns to the one-sided conversation, which even Francie is struggling to maintain. ‘Lochan’s going to UCL,’ she announces proudly.

‘Well, no, I – I’m applying—’

‘It’s a dead cert.’

‘Shit, you must really be smart!’ Francie exclaims.

‘He is,’ Maya informs her. ‘He’s been predicted four As.’

‘Fuck!’

I wince and catch Maya’s eye, pleading with her to back off. I want to object, play it down, but I can feel the heat rushing to my face and the words evaporating from my mind the moment I conjure them up.

Maya elbows me gently. ‘Francie’s no fool either,’ she says. ‘She is actually the only person I know who can touch the tip of her nose with her tongue.’

We all laugh. I breathe again.

‘You think I’m kidding?’ Francie challenges me.

‘No . . .’

‘He’s just being polite,’ Maya informs her. ‘I think he’s gonna need proof.’

Francie is all too keen to oblige. She sits up straight, extends her tongue as far as it will go, curls it upwards and touches the very tip to her nose. The cross-eyed look completes the picture.

Maya falls against me with mirth and I find myself laughing too. Francie’s OK. As long as this doesn’t last too long, I think I’m going to survive.

Suddenly there is a commotion in the doorway. Francie spins round in her seat and I identify a group of Belmont pupils by their uniform.

‘Hey, guys!’ Francie shouts. ‘Over here!’

They clatter over, and through blurred vision I recognize a couple of girls from Maya’s class, a guy from one of the other year groups and Rafi, a guy from English. There are greetings and backslaps, and two tables are pushed together and more chairs drawn up.

‘Whitely!’ Rafi exclaims in astonishment. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Just, uh, my sister—’

‘He’s hanging out with us!’ Francie exclaims. ‘Is that a crime? He’s Maya’s brother – didn’t you know?’

‘Yeah, I just never thought I’d see him in a place like this!’ There is no malice in Rafi’s laughter, just genuine surprise, but now everybody’s looking at me and the two other girls are talking.

Maya is doing the introductions, but although I can hear the voices, I can no longer make sense of what is being said. Emma, who has been going out of her way to bump into me since the beginning of term, is determined to engage me in conversation. Their sudden intrusion just as I was beginning to relax, combined with the fact that they all know me as the class weirdo, is suddenly all too much, and I feel like the prey in some claustrophobic nightmare. Their words are like hammers, pounding my skull. I give in to the tide and feel myself beginning to drown. Their mouths move underwater, opening and closing, I read the question marks on their faces – most of their questions are directed at me – but panic has caused my senses to shut down. I cannot distinguish one sentence from another: it has all turned into a blanket of noise. Abruptly I scrape back my chair and get to my feet, grabbing my bag and blazer. I mumble something about having left my mobile at school, raise my hand in goodbye and lunge for the door.

I head down one street, then another. I’m not even sure where I’m going. I suddenly feel stupidly close to tears. I drape my blazer over my school bag and hook the strap over my shoulder, walking as fast as I can, the air rasping in my lungs, the sound of traffic drowned out by the frantic thud of my heart. I hear the smack of shoes on the pavement behind me and instinctively move aside to let the jogger past, but it’s Maya, grabbing me by the arm.

‘Slow down, Lochie, please – I’ve got a really bad stitch . . .’

‘Maya, what the hell are you doing? Go back to your friends.’

She catches hold of my hand. ‘Lochie, wait—’

I stop and pull away from her suddenly, stepping back. ‘Look, I appreciate the effort, but I’d rather you just left me alone, OK?’ My voice begins to rise. ‘I didn’t ask you for help, did I?’

‘Hey, hey!’ She steps towards me, holding out her hand. ‘I wasn’t trying to do anything, Loch. It was all Francie’s idea. I only went along with it because she told me you’d agreed.’

I run my hands through my hair. ‘Jesus, this was such a fucking mistake. Now I’ve gone and embarrassed you in front of your friends . . .’

‘Are you insane?’ She laughs, grabs my hand and swings my arm as we start walking again. ‘I’m glad you left! Gave me an excuse to get out too.’

I check my watch, feeling myself relax slightly. ‘You know, since Mum’s looking after the kids for once, we have the whole evening free.’ I raise a tentative eyebrow.

Maya flicks back her hair and a smile lights up her face, her eyes widening in animation. ‘Ooh, were you thinking of fleeing the country?’

I grin. ‘Tempting . . . But maybe something more along the lines of catching a film?’

She tilts her face up to the sky. ‘But the sun’s shining. It still feels like summer!’

‘OK then, you choose.’

‘Let’s just walk,’ she says.

‘Walk?’

‘Yes. Let’s catch a bus over to Chelsea Harbour. Let’s ogle the houses of the rich and famous and wander down by the river.’

CHAPTER SIX

Maya

As we walk along Chelsea Embankment, I stuff my blazer and tie into my bag and the warm evening breeze brushes my skirt against my bare thighs. The sun is just beginning to turn orange, sprinkling drops of gold across the water’s scaly surface, muscled like the back of a serpent. This is my favourite time of day, the afternoon barely ended, the evening not yet begun; the languid hours of sunshine stretch out ahead of us before fading into dusky twilight. High above us the bridges are heavy with congested traffic – overloaded buses and impatient cars and reckless cyclists, men and women sweating in suits, desperate to get home, ferries and tugboats passing below. Gravel crunches underfoot as we cross the large, empty expanses between the glass office buildings, past the luxury apartments that stack their way high into the sky. It is so sunny that the world feels like a blank of light, a still whiteness. I toss Lochan my bag, take a running step, skip and hop, and do a cartwheel, the grainy path rough against my palms. The sun momentarily disappears and we are plunged into cool blue shade as we pass beneath the bridge, our footsteps suddenly magnified, bouncing off the smooth arch of the supports, startling a pigeon up into the sky. A few paces to my left, keeping a safe distance from my antics, Lochan strides along, hands in his pockets, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. A light thread of veins is visible on his temples, and the shadows beneath his eyes lend him a haunted look. He glances at me with his bright green gaze and gives one of his trademark lopsided smiles. I grin and do another cartwheel, and Lochan lengthens his stride to match mine, appearing faintly amused. But when his gaze shifts away, the smile fades and the lip-biting starts up again. Despite his loping presence at my side, I feel there is a space between us, an indefinable distance. Even when his eyes are on me, I sense that he doesn’t quite see me, his thoughts somewhere else, out of reach. I lose my footing coming out of a forward walkover and stumble against him, almost relieved to feel him solid and alive. He laughs briefly and steadies me but quickly goes back to sucking his lip, his teeth chafing the sore. When we were young, I could do something silly and break the spell, pull him out of it, but now it’s harder. I know there are things he doesn’t tell me. Things he has on his mind.

When we reach the shops, we buy pizza and Coke from a takeaway and head towards Battersea Park. Inside the gates, we wander out into the middle of the vast expanse of greenery, away from the trees, aligning ourselves with the sun, now lying westward and losing its brilliance. Cross-legged, I examine a bruise on my shin while Lochan kneels in the grass, opening the pizza box and handing me a slice. I take it and stretch out my legs, lifting my chin to feel the sun on my face.

‘This is a million times nicer than hanging out with those dorks from school,’ I inform him. ‘That was a good move, leaving when you did.’

Munching solidly, he shoots me a penetrating look and I can tell he is trying to read my mind, seeking the motive behind my words. I meet his gaze full on, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards as he realizes I am being completely honest.

I give up on the food before he does and lean back on my elbows, watching him eat. He’s clearly starving. I open my mouth to tell him he has tomato sauce on his chin, then change my mind. My smile, however, doesn’t go unnoticed.

‘What?’ he asks with a brief laugh, swallowing his last mouthful and wiping his hands on the grass.

‘Nothing.’ I try to reel in the smile, but with his red-streaked chin, tousled hair, untucked shirt and grubby cuffs flapping loosely against his hands, he looks like a taller, dark-haired version of Tiffin at the end of a busy school day.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he persists, regarding me quizzically, a touch self-conscious now.

‘Nothing. I was just thinking of what Francie says about you.’

A hint of wariness touches his eyes. ‘Oh, not that again . . .’

‘Your dimples are apparently very cute.’ I bite back a grin.

‘Ha ha.’ A little smile and he is looking down, pulling at the grass, a flush creeping up his neck.

‘And you have arresting eyes – whatever that means.’

A grimace of embarrassment. ‘Piss off, Maya. You just made that up.’

‘I didn’t. I’m telling you – she says things like that. What else . . . ? Oh yes: your mouth is apparently very snoggable.’

He chokes, showering me with Coke. ‘Maya!’

‘I’m not kidding! Those were her exact words!’

He is blushing hard now, peering intently into the Coke can. ‘Can I finish this or are you still thirsty?’

‘Stop trying to change the subject,’ I laugh.

He shoots me an evil look and swigs down the dregs.

‘She even said she caught sight of you through the open door of the boys’ changing rooms and you looked really—’

He kicks out at me. He is still half joking but it hurt.

I feel confused. Beneath the jokey exterior, he suddenly seems upset. I appear to have inadvertently crossed some invisible line.

‘OK.’ I raise my hands in surrender. ‘But you get the idea, right?’

‘Yeah, thanks a lot.’ He gives another wry smile to show he isn’t angry, and then turns his face away into the breeze. There is a long silence and I close my eyes, feeling the last of the summer sun on my face. The tranquillity is unnerving. Muted playground shrieks reach us from what seems like a million miles away. Somewhere amongst the trees, a dog lets out a couple of short, sharp yaps. I roll over onto my stomach and prop my chin on my hands. Lochan hasn’t realized I’m watching him, and all signs of laughter have been completely erased from his face. Elbows resting on drawn-up knees, he gazes out across the park and I can feel his mind working. Scrutinizing his face for lingering signs of annoyance, I find none. Only sadness.

‘You OK?’

‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t turn.

‘Really?’

He’s about to say something but then remains silent. Instead he starts rubbing at his sore with the side of his thumb.

I sit up. Reaching out, I gently pull his hand down from his face. His eyes dart to meet mine. ‘Maya, I’m not going to go out with Francie.’

‘I know. That’s OK. It doesn’t matter,’ I say quickly. ‘She’ll get over it.’

‘Why are you so keen to set us up?’

I feel awkward suddenly. ‘I dunno. I guess – I guess I thought if you went out with a friend of mine at least I’d still get to see you. You wouldn’t – you’d be less likely to go away.’

He frowns, uncomprehending.

‘It’s just that if you meet somebody next year at university—’ A small pain rises in the back of my throat. I cannot finish the sentence. ‘I mean, of course I want you to, but I don’t – I’m scared . . .’

He gives me a long, steady look. ‘Maya, surely you know I’d never leave you – you or the others.’

I force a smile and look down, tugging at the blades of grass. But one day you will, I can’t help thinking. One day we’ll all leave each other to forge families of our own. Because that’s the way the world works.

‘To be honest, I doubt if I’m ever going to go out with anyone,’ Lochan says quietly.

I look up in surprise. He glances at me and then away, an uncomfortable silence hanging between us.

I can’t help smiling. ‘That’s silly, Loch. You’re the best-looking guy at Belmont. Every girl in my class has a crush on you.’

Silence.

‘Are you saying you’re gay?’

The corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. ‘If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I’m not!’

I sigh. ‘That’s a pity. I always thought it would be pretty cool to have a gay brother.’

Lochan laughs. ‘Don’t lose hope yet. There’s still Kit and Tiffin.’

‘Kit? Yeah, right! Rumour has it he’s already got a girlfriend. Francie swears she saw him snogging a girl from the year above in an empty classroom.’

‘Let’s just hope he doesn’t get her pregnant,’ Lochan says acerbically.

I wince and try to banish the thought from my mind. I don’t even want to think of Kit with a girl. He’s only thirteen, for chrissakes.

I sigh. ‘I’ve never even kissed anyone – unlike most of the girls in my class,’ I confess quietly, running my fingers through the long grass.

He turns to me. ‘So?’ he says gently. ‘You’re only sixteen.’

I pick at the stems and pout. ‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed . . . What about you – have you ever—?’ I break off abruptly, suddenly realizing the absurdity of my question. I try to think of a way of turning it around, but it’s too late: Lochan is already picking at the ground with his fingernails, the colour high in his cheeks.

‘Yeah, right!’ He gives a derisive snort, avoiding my gaze, intent on the small hole he is digging in the earth. ‘Like – like that’s ever going to happen!’ With a short laugh, he glances at me as if imploring me to join in, and through the embarrassment I see the pain in his eyes.

Instinctively I move closer, stopping myself from reaching out and squeezing his hand, hating myself for my moment of thoughtlessness. ‘Loch, it’s not always going to be like this,’ I tell him gently. ‘One day—’

‘Yeah, one day.’ He smiles with forced nonchalance and gives a brief, dismissive shrug. ‘I know.’

A long silence stretches out between us. I look up at him in the scattered light of the afternoon, now nearing its end. ‘Do you ever think about it?’

He hesitates, the blood still hot in his cheeks, and for a moment I think he isn’t going to reply. He continues picking at the earth, still studiously avoiding my gaze. ‘Course.’ It’s so quiet that for a moment I think I might have imagined it.

I look at him sharply. ‘Who?’

‘There’s never really been anyone . . .’ He still refuses to look up, but even though he’s increasingly uncomfortable, he isn’t trying to get out of the conversation. ‘I just think that somewhere there must be—’ He shakes his head, as if suddenly aware he has said too much.

‘Hey, me too!’ I exclaim. ‘Somewhere in my head I have this idea of a perfect guy. But I don’t think he even exists.’

‘Sometimes—’ Lochan begins, then breaks off.

I wait for him to continue. ‘Sometimes . . . ?’ I prompt gently.

‘I wish things were different.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I wish everything wasn’t so damn hard.’

‘I know,’ I say quietly. ‘Me too.’