Текст книги "Forbidden"

Автор книги: Табита Сузума

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Have you talked to this English teacher about it?’ I ask. ‘She doesn’t sound too bad, you know. Maybe she could help. Give you some tips. Better than that useless counsellor they forced on you – the one who made you do breathing exercises and asked whether you were breast-fed as a baby!’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Indeed!’ I suddenly jump to my feet, deciding that on our rare day off a bit of fun is called for. ‘And in return for all this wisdom, I want you to do something for me!’

‘Uh-oh.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘It’ll restore the bloodflow to your brain,’ I tell him.

Trying not to look embarrassed and failing, Lochan stands in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. I raise the volume a couple of decibels, place one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. We begin with a few easy steps. Even though he constantly looks down at his feet, he isn’t a bad dancer. He has a good sense of rhythm and picks up new moves more quickly than I do. I show him the new steps Francie taught me. Once he’s got it, we’re on a roll. He treads on my toes a few times, but as we’re both barefoot it just makes us laugh. After a while I start to improvise. Lochan twirls me around and nearly sends me into the wall. Finding this highly amusing, he tries to do it again and again. The sun is on his face, the dust particles swirl about him in the golden light of the afternoon. Relaxed and happy, he suddenly, for a brief moment, seems at peace with the world.

Soon we are breathless, sweaty and laughing. After a while the style of the music changes – a crooner with a slow beat, but it doesn’t matter because I am too dizzy from spinning round and laughing to continue. I hook my arms about Lochan’s neck and collapse against him. I notice the damp hair sticking to his neck and inhale the smell of fresh sweat. I expect him to pull away and return to his physics now that our moment of silliness is over, but to my surprise he just puts his arms around me and we sway from side to side. Pressed up against him, I can feel the thud of his heart against mine, his ribcage expanding and contracting rapidly against my chest, the warm whisper of his breath tickling the side of my neck, the brush of his leg against my thigh. Resting my arms on his shoulders, I pull back a little to get a look at his face. But he isn’t smiling any more.

CHAPTER NINE

Lochan

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

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

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

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

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

The moment I hear the rattle of crockery in the sink, I dash upstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. I lock myself in the bathroom and lean against the door as if to reinforce it. I pull off all my clothes, almost tearing at them in my haste, and, careful not to look down at myself, step under an icy shower, heaving with shock. The water is so cold it hurts, but I don’t care: it’s a relief. I have to stop this . . . this – this madness. After just standing there for a while, eyes tightly closed, I start to go numb and my nerve endings deaden, erasing all signs of my earlier arousal. It stills the racing thoughts, relieves the pressure of the madness that has begun crushing my mind. I lean forward against the wall, letting the frigid water lash my body, until all I can do is shiver violently.

I don’t want to think – so long as I don’t think or feel, I will be fine and everything will return to normal. Seated at my bedroom desk in a clean T-shirt and jogging bottoms, wet hair sending cold rivulets down the back of my neck, I pore over quadratic equations, grappling to keep the figures in my head, fighting to make sense of the numbers and symbols. I repeat the formulae under my breath, cover page after page with calculations, and every time I sense a crack in my self-imposed armour, a chink of light entering my brain, I force myself to work harder, faster, obliterating all other thoughts. I am dimly aware of the others returning, of their raised voices in the hall, of the clatter of plates from the kitchen beneath me. I concentrate on tuning it all out. When Willa comes in to say they’ve ordered pizza, I tell her I’m not hungry: I must finish this chapter by tonight, I must work my way through every exercise at top speed, I have no time to stop and think. All I can do is work or I will go crazy.

The sounds of the house wash over me like white noise, the evening routine for once unfolding without me. An argument, a door slamming, Mum shouting – I don’t care. They can sort themselves out, they have to sort themselves out, I must concentrate on this until it’s so late all I can do is collapse into bed, and then it will be morning and none of this will have happened. Everything will be back to normal – but what am I on about? Everything is normal! I just forgot, for one insane moment, that Maya was my sister.

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

When Maya came into my room yesterday to say goodnight, informing me she had left my dinner in the fridge, I couldn’t even turn round to look at her. This morning I shouted at Willa during breakfast and made her cry, dragged Tiffin out of the door, allegedly causing him grievous bodily harm, completely ignored Kit and snapped at Maya when she asked me for the third time what was wrong . . . I am a person coming undone. I am so disgusted with myself I want to crawl out of my own skin. My mind keeps pulling me back to that dance: Maya, her face, her touch, that feeling. I keep telling myself these things happen, I’m sure they are not all that uncommon. After all, I’m a seventeen-year-old guy – anything can set us off; just because it happened while I was dancing with Maya doesn’t mean a thing. But the words do little to reassure me. I’m desperate to escape myself because the truth of the matter is that the feeling is still there – perhaps it always has been – and now that I’ve acknowledged it, I am terrified that however much I may want to, I will never be able to turn things back.

No, that’s ridiculous. My problem is that I need someone to focus my attention on, some object of desire, some girl to fantasize about. I look around the class but there is no one. Attractive girls – yes. A girl that I care about – no. She can’t just be a face, a body; there has to be more than that, some kind of connection. And I can’t connect, don’t want to connect, with anyone.

I send Maya a text asking her to pick up Tiffin and Willa, then skip last period, go home to change into my running gear and drag myself round the sodden periphery of the local park. After a glorious weekend, the day is grey, wet and miserable: bare trees, dying leaves and slippery mud underfoot. The air is tepid and damp, a fine veil of drizzle speckles my face. I run as far and as hard as I can, until the ground seems to shimmer beneath my feet, and the world around me expands and retracts, blood-red blotches puncturing the air in front of me. Eventually pain courses through my body, forcing me to stop, and I return home to another freezing shower and work until the others return and the evening chores begin.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Am I disturbing you?’

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

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

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

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

‘Tell me,’ she says simply, her words piercing the fragile membrane that surrounds me.

I feel my breathing quicken. She can’t do this to me. I lift my eyes to stare out of the window, but all I see is my own reflection, this small room, Maya’s soft innocence by my side.

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

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

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

‘I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

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

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

‘Are you just generally feeling down about things?’

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

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

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

CHAPTER TEN

Maya

‘Oh my God, oh my God, you’ll never guess what happened this morning!’ Francie’s eyes are burning with excitement, the corners of her cherry-red lips drawn up into a grin.

I drop my bag on the floor and collapse on the seat beside her, my head still echoing with Tiffin’s yells as he had to be dragged to school this morning after a furious row with Kit over a plastic Transformer at the bottom of a cereal packet. I close my eyes.

‘Nico DiMarco was talking to Matt and—’

I force my eyes open to cut her off. ‘I thought you were going on a date with Daniel Spencer.’

‘Maya, I may have decided to give Danny a chance while I wait for your brother to come to his senses, but this has nothing to do with that. Nico was talking to Matt this morning, and guess what he said . . . guess!’ Her voice spikes with excitement and Mr McIntyre stops screeching his pen against the whiteboard for a moment to turn and give us a long-suffering sigh. ‘Girls, if you could at least pretend to pay attention.’

Francie flashes him her toothy smile and then turns back round in her seat to face me. ‘Guess!’

‘I have no idea. His ego got so big it exploded and now he needs surgery?’

‘Nooo!’ Francie clatters her non-regulation school shoes against the lino in a tap-dance of excitement. ‘I overheard him telling Matt Delaney he was going to ask you out after school today!’ She opens her mouth so wide I can actually make out her tonsils.

I gaze at her numbly.

‘Well?’ Francie shakes me brutally by the arm. ‘Isn’t this huge? Everyone’s been after him since he broke up with Anorexic Annie, and he’s gone and picked you! And you’re the only girl in the class who doesn’t wear make-up!’

‘I’m so flattered.’

Francie throws back her head dramatically and groans. ‘Aargh! What the hell’s the matter with you these days? At the beginning of term you were telling me he was the only guy at Belmont you’d ever consider snogging!’

I heave a sigh. ‘Yeah, yeah. So he’s hot. But he knows it.

I might fancy him just like everyone else, but I never said I wanted to go out with the guy.’

Francie shakes her head in disbelief. ‘D’you know how many girls would kill for a date with Nico? I think I’d even put Lochan on hold for a chance to snog Mister Latino.’

‘Oh God, Francie. Then you go out with him.’

‘I went over to find out if he was serious and he asked me if I thought you’d be interested! So of course I said yes!’

‘Francie! Tell him to forget it. Tell him at morning break.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not interested!’

‘Maya, d’you realize what you’re doing here? I mean, he may not give you a second chance!’

I drag myself through the rest of the day. Francie isn’t talking to me because I accused her of being a meddling cow when she refused to go back and tell Nico I wasn’t interested. But I honestly don’t care if she never speaks to me again. A cold slab of despair presses down on my chest, making it difficult to catch my breath. My eyes ache with suppressed tears. By mid-afternoon even Francie is worried, breaking her vow of silence and offering to accompany me to see the nurse. What could the school nurse offer me? I wonder. A pill to make the loneliness disappear? A tablet that would get Lochan to speak to me again? Or perhaps a capsule to turn back time, rewinding the days so I could break away from Lochan when we’d finished dancing the salsa, instead of remaining in his arms, swaying to the gentle crooning of Katie Melua. Is he angry with me because he thinks I planned it somehow? That the salsa was just a ruse to get him to slow-dance with me, our bodies pressed up against each other, the heat of his soaking into mine? I didn’t mean to stroke the back of his neck – it just happened. My thigh rubbing against the inside of his was just an accident. I never meant any of it to happen. I had no idea that something like slow-dancing could get a guy aroused. But when I felt it, pressing against my hip, when I suddenly realized what it was, I felt this crazy head-rush. I didn’t want to stop dancing. I didn’t pull away.

I can’t bear to think I might have lost our closeness, our friendship, our trust. He was always so much more than just a brother. He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning. I always knew I loved him more than anyone else in the world – and not just in a brotherly way, the way I feel about Kit and Tiffin. Yet somehow it never crossed my mind there could be a whole step beyond . . .

But I know it’s ridiculous, too stupid to even think about. We’re not like that. We’re not sick. We’re just a brother and sister who also happen to be best friends. That’s the way it’s always been between us. I can’t lose that or I will not survive.

By the end of the day Francie is pestering me about Nico DiMarco again. She seems to think I’m depressed and that having a boyfriend – especially one of the hottest guys in school – will help snap me out of my funk. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I need a distraction. And what better way to show Lochan that what happened the other day was just an accident, a bit of fun? If I have a boyfriend then he’ll realize that none of that stuff meant anything. And Nico is very cute. His hair is the same colour as Lochan’s. His eyes are kind of greenish too. Although Francie is way off beam when she claims they are in the same league. No way. Lochan is ferociously bright, emotionally intelligent, the kindest, most selfless person I know. Lochan has a soul. Nico might be the same age but he is just a boy in comparison – a spoiled little rich boy, expelled from his posh private school for smoking weed, a pretty face with an arrogant swagger, a charm as carefully crafted as his clothes and hairstyle. But yes, I suppose the idea of dating him, kissing him even, isn’t totally repellent.

After the last bell, as we are crossing the playground towards the gates, I see him heading towards us. He’s been waiting, that much is clear. Francie gives a half-strangled squawk and elbows me in the ribs so hard I am momentarily winded, before swerving away. Nico is coming straight for me. As if drawn towards each other by an invisible cord, we walk and walk. He has removed his tie even though it’s enough to earn him a detention this side of the school exit.

‘Maya, hi!’ His smile broadens. He’s very smooth, very confident: he’s been doing this for years. He stops close to me, too close, and I have to take a step back. ‘How’re you doing? I haven’t had a chance to speak to you for ages!’

He is acting like a long-lost friend, despite the fact that we have barely exchanged more than a few words until now. I force myself to meet his gaze and smile. I was wrong: his eyes are nothing like Lochan’s – the green is muddied with brown. His hair is brown too. I don’t know why I ever saw any similarities.

‘Are you in a hurry,’ he asks, ‘or d’you have time for a drink at Smileys?’

Jesus, he doesn’t waste any time. ‘I have to pick up my little brother and sister,’ I answer truthfully.

‘Listen, I’m gonna be straight with you.’ He places his school bag between his feet as if to indicate that this has turned into a proper conversation, and tosses the hair out of his eyes. ‘You’re a great girl, you know. I’ve always had – you know – a kind of thing for you. I didn’t think it was reciprocated so I haven’t said anything until now. But hell, you know, carpe diem and all that.’

Does he think he’s going to impress me with his command of Latin?

‘I’ve always considered you a good friend, but you know what? I think it could be even stronger than that, you know. All I’m saying is – perhaps we could get to know each other a little better, you know?’

If he says you know one more time, I swear I’m going to scream.

‘I’d be really honoured if you’d let me take you out to dinner one night. Is there even the remotest possibility I could get you to agree to that?’ He flashes his teeth at me again in what could almost pass for a wistful smile. Oh, he’s good at this all right.

I pretend to consider it for a moment. His smile doesn’t falter. I’m impressed. ‘OK, I suppose . . .’

His smile broadens. ‘That’s great. Really great. How would Friday suit you?’

‘Friday’s fine.’

‘Cool. What kind of food do you like? Japanese, Thai, Mexican, Lebanese?’

‘Pizza’s good for me.’

His eyes light up. ‘I know this great restaurant – serves the best Italian food round here. I’ll drive by to pick you up at, say, seven?’

I am about to protest that it would be easier to meet him there when it dawns on me that having him come to the house might be no bad thing.

‘All right. Seven o’clock on Friday.’ I smile again. My cheeks are beginning to ache.

He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. ‘You’ll have to give me your address!’

He produces a pen while I rummage through my pockets and find a crumpled receipt. I write down my address and number and hand it back to him. As I do so, he holds onto my fingers for a moment and flashes another of his high-wattage smiles. ‘I look forward to it.’

I’m beginning to think this might be quite fun, even if it’s just to laugh about him the next day with Francie. I manage a genuine smile this time and say, ‘Yeah, me too.’

Francie leaps out from behind the phone box at the end of the street. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, tell me everything!’

I wince and bring my hand up to my ear. ‘Aargh, Jesus – try and give me a heart attack, why don’t you?’

‘You’re blushing! Oh my God, you said yes, didn’t you?’

I briefly recount the conversation. Francie grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me brutally and starts to shriek. A woman looks round in alarm.

‘Calm down,’ I laugh. ‘Francie, he’s a complete twat!’

‘So? Tell me you don’t fancy him!’

‘OK, maybe I find him slightly attractive—’

‘I knew it! You were complaining just the other week you’d never kissed a guy! As of Friday, you’ll be able to cross that off your list.’

‘Maybe . . . Listen, I’ve got to run. I’m late for Tiffin and Willa.’

Francie grins at me as I begin to move off. ‘You’re gonna tell me everything, Maya Whitely. Every little detail. You owe me that much!’

I have to confess that the prospect of a date with Nico does make me feel fractionally better. Fractionally less abnormal, at least, and that’s quite something. That evening, as I sit at the kitchen table helping Tiffin and Willa with their homework, my mind keeps flicking back to the flirtatious exchange, the way he smiled at me. It’s not a lot – not nearly enough to fill the gaping void inside me – but it’s something. It’s always nice being fancied. It’s always nice being wanted. Even if it’s by the wrong person.

I’d let it slip to Tiffin and Willa. I was ten minutes late picking them up, and when Tiffin demanded to know why, in my stupidity, still a little dazed, I told him that I was talking to a boy from school. I thought this would be the end of it, but I’d forgotten Tiffin is almost nine. ‘Maya’s got a boyfriend, a boyfriend, a boyfriend!’ he sang all the way home.

Willa looked worried. ‘Does that mean you’re going to go away and get married?’

‘No, of course not,’ I laughed, trying to reassure her. ‘It just means I’ve got a friend who’s a boy and maybe I’ll go and see him once in a while.’

‘Like Mum and Dave?’

‘No! Nothing like Mum and Dave. I’ll probably only ever go out with him once or twice. And if I do go out with him more than that, it’ll still be hardly ever. And of course it will only be when Lochie’s at home to look after you.’