Sitting across from him at the kitchen table, watching him help Willa with her homework, I’m overcome with this terrible ache, this profound sense of loss. Stirring my long-cold tea, I watch all his familiar traits: the way he blows the hair out of his eyes every few minutes, chews on his lower lip whenever he feels tense. I look at his hands, with their bitten-down nails, resting on the tabletop, his lips, which once touched mine, now chapped and raw. The pain I feel when looking at him is more than I can bear but I force myself to keep watching, to soak in as much of him as I can, trying to recapture, in my mind at least, all that I’ve lost.
‘The boy went into the c – a – v – e.’ Willa sounds the letters out. Kneeling up on the kitchen chair, she points at each letter in turn, her fine golden hair curtaining her face, the ends brushing the page of her book with a faint whispery sound.
‘What word does that make?’ Lochan prompts her.
Willa studies the picture. ‘Rock?’ she says optimistically, glancing up at Lochan, her blue eyes wide and hopeful.
‘No. Look at the word: c – a – v – e. Put the sounds together and say them quickly. What word does it make?’
‘Kav?’ She is restless and inattentive, desperate to go and play but pleased, nonetheless, by the attention.
‘Nearly, but there’s an e at the end. What do we call that e?’
‘A capital e?’
Lochan’s tongue darts out, rubbing his lip in impatience. ‘Look, this is a capital e.’ He flicks through the book in search of one, fails, and writes one himself on a piece of used kitchen roll.
‘Eugh. Tiffin blew his nose on that.’
‘Willa, are you looking? That’s a capital e.’
‘A snotty capital e.’ Willa begins to laugh; she catches my eye and I feel myself smile too.
‘Willa, this is very important. It’s an easy word – I know you can read it if you try. This is a magic e. What does a magic e do?’
She frowns hard and leans over the book again, curling her tongue above her lip in concentration, her hair partially obscuring the page. ‘It makes the vowel say its name!’ she shouts out suddenly, punching the air triumphantly with her small fist.
‘Good. So which one’s the vowel?’
‘Hm . . .’ She returns to the page with the same frown, the same curled tongue. ‘Hm . . .’ she says again, stalling for time. ‘The a?’
‘Good girl. So the magic e turns the a sound into an—’
‘Ay.’
‘Yes. So try and sound out the word again.’
‘C – ay – v. Cave! The boy went into the cave! Look, Lochie, I read it!’
‘Clever girl! See, I knew you could do it!’ He smiles, but there is something else in his eyes. A sadness that never fades.
Willa finishes reading her book and goes to join Tiffin in front of the TV. I pretend to sip my tea, watching Lochan over the rim of the mug. Too tired to move, he sits back, limp, bits of paper and scattered books and school letters and Willa’s book bag spread out in front of him. A long silence stretches out between us, as taut as a rubber band.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask him eventually.
He gives a wry smile and appears to hesitate, gazing down at the littered table. ‘Not really,’ he replies at length, avoiding my gaze. ‘You?’
‘No.’ With the rim of my mug I press my lip down against my teeth in an attempt to stop the tears. ‘I miss you,’ I whisper.
‘I miss you too.’ He is still staring down at the cover of Willa’s reading book. His eyes seem to catch the light. ‘Maybe—’ His voice comes out unsteady so he tries again. ‘M-maybe you should give DiMarco another chance. Rumour has it he’s – he’s pretty crazy about you!’ A forced laugh.
I stare at him in stunned silence. I feel like I’ve been dealt a blow to the head. ‘Is that what you want?’ I ask with carefully controlled calm.
‘No – no. That’s not what I want at all. But maybe it would . . . help?’ He glances up at me with a look of pure desperation.
I continue pressing my teeth into my lip until I’m sure I’m not going to start crying, swirling his outrageous proposition around in my head. ‘Help me or help you?’
His bottom lip quivers for a moment and he immediately bites down on it, apparently unaware that he is making a concertina out of the cover of Willa’s reading book. ‘I don’t know. Maybe both of us,’ he says in a rush.
‘Then you should go out with Francie,’ I shoot back.
‘OK.’ He doesn’t look up.
I am momentarily speechless. ‘You – but – I thought you didn’t fancy her?’ The horror in my voice resonates across the room.
‘I don’t, but we’ve got to do something. We’ve got to go out with other people. It’s – it’s the only way—’
‘The only way to what?’
‘To – to get over this. To survive.’
I slam my mug down on the table, sloshing tea over my hand and shirt cuff. ‘You think I’m just going to get over this?’ I shout, the blood pounding in my face.
Ducking his head and flinching as if I am about to deal him a blow, he raises a hand to ward me off. ‘Don’t – I can’t – please don’t make it worse.’
‘How could I?’ I gasp. ‘How could I possibly do anything to make this worse?’
‘All I know is that we have to do something. I can’t go on – I can’t go on like this!’ He inhales raggedly and turns away.
‘I know.’ I lower my voice, forcing myself back into some semblance of calm. ‘Neither can I.’
‘What else can we do?’ His eyes plead with mine.
‘Fine.’ I shut down my thoughts, shut down my senses. ‘I’ll tell Francie tomorrow. She’ll be over the moon. But she’s a decent person, Lochan. You can’t just dump her after a week.’
‘I won’t.’ He looks at me, his eyes full. ‘I’ll stay with her for as long as she likes. I’ll marry her, if that’s what she wants. I mean, at the end of the day, what the hell does it matter who I end up with if it can’t be you?’
Everything feels different today. The house is chilled and alien. Kit, Tiffin and Willa seem like impersonators of their real selves. I can’t even look at Lochan, the embodiment of my loss. The streets on the way to school seem to have changed overnight. I could be in some foreign town, in some far-flung country. The pedestrians around me don’t feel quite alive. I don’t feel alive. I’m not sure who I am any more. The girl who existed before that night, before the kiss, has been erased from life. I am no longer who I was; I still don’t know who I will become. The nervous honks of cars jar me, as do the sounds of feet on the pavement, buses going by, shops opening their shutters, the high-pitched chatter of children making their way to school.
The building is bigger than I remember: a stark, colourless concrete landscape. Pupils hurrying this way and that look like extras on a film set. I must move in order to fit into all this activity, just as an electron must obey the current. I take the stairs very slowly, one at a time, as people shove and push past me. When I reach my form room, I see things I have never noticed before: the fingerprints on the walls, the speckled lino, cracked like a delicate eggshell, disappearing rhythmically beneath my feet. Far off, voices try to bump up against me, but I repel them. The sounds bounce off me without registering: the scraping of chairs, the laughs and the chatter, Francie’s nattering, the history teacher’s drone. Sunlight breaks through the blanket of cloud, slanting in through the great glass windows, across my desk, into my eyes. White spots form in the space in front of me, dancing bubbles of colour and light that hold me captive until the bell goes. Francie is at my side, her mouth full of questions, her painted red lips forming and re-forming – lips that will soon touch Lochan’s. I have to tell her now before it’s too late, but my voice is gone and all that comes out is empty air.
I skip second period to escape her. Walk around the empty school, my giant prison cell, searching for answers that can never be found. My shoes tap against the steps as I go up and down
and round and round each floor, searching for – what – some kind of absolution? The harsh winter light strengthens, flooding through the windows and bouncing off the walls. I feel the pressure of it against my body, burning holes into my skin. I am lost in this maze of corridors, staircases, floors stacked one above the other like a pile of cards. If I keep going, maybe I will find my way back – back to the person I used to be. I am moving more slowly now. Maybe even floating. I swim through space. The earth has lost its gravity, everything feels liquid around me. I reach another staircase, the treads melting down. The sole of my shoe peels off the topmost one and I step into nothingness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lochan
I stare at the back of Nico DiMarco’s head. I fix on his dark, blunt-fingered hand resting on the edge of his desk, and the thought of those fingers touching Maya makes me feel physically sick. I can’t stand by and watch anyone go out with my sister, any more than I myself can go out with Francie or any other girl and pretend she can replace her. I need to find Maya and hope to God it’s not too late. I need to tell her the deal is off. Perhaps, with time, she will find someone she can be with. And I will be happy, if only for her. But for me there can never be anyone else. The absolute certainty of this fact suffocates me.
Above the board, the hands of the clock are moving. Second period is almost over. She wouldn’t have told Francie yet, surely? She must be planning to wait until morning break. I feel spectacularly ill. Just because I can’t go ahead with this doesn’t mean she will feel the same way. It may have been my idea, but she proposed the exchange. Maybe she has made up her mind to give DiMarco a second chance. Maybe the agony of the past few weeks has made her realize what a relief a normal relationship would be.
The bell goes and I shoot out of my seat, grabbing my bag and blazer as I go, ignoring the teacher’s shouts about homework. There is a massive jam on staircase five. I head for the stairs at the other end. Throngs of people have accumulated here too. Except they are motionless. They have stopped in their tracks, an amoeba-like cluster, turning to one another to talk in urgent, excited tones. I push past them. Thick red tape strung across the top of the staircase brings me to a halt. As I duck underneath, I’m pulled back by a hand on my shoulder.
‘You can’t go down that way,’ a voice says. ‘There’s been an accident.’
I take an involuntary step back. Oh, this is just great.
‘Some girl fell. They’ve only just moved her to the medical room. She was unconscious,’ someone else adds in a reverential tone.
I look at the tape, tempted just to duck underneath again.
‘Who fell?’ I hear another voice behind me ask.
‘It was a girl from my class. Maya Whitely. I saw it happen – she didn’t fall, she jumped.’
‘Hey!’
I dive under the tape and race down the two flights of stairs, the soles of my shoes screeching on the lino. The ground floor is crawling with pupils heading out to break, everyone moving in slow motion. I shove my way through the crowds, shoulders bruising shoulders, people jostling me from all angles, angry shouts following me as I force my way past.
‘Hey, hey, hey—’ Someone has me by the arm. I spin round, ready to shove them back, and find myself staring into the face of Miss Azley. ‘Lochan, you need to wait out here – the nurse is busy—’
I wrench my arm out of her grasp and she moves to block the entrance.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asks. ‘Are you feeling unwell? Sit here and let me see if I can help you.’
I take an involuntary step backwards. ‘Let me past,’ I gasp. ‘For God’s sake, I need to—’
‘You need to wait here. Someone’s just had an accident and Mrs Shah is dealing with that at the moment.’
‘It’s Maya—’
‘What?’
‘My sister!’
Her face changes. ‘Oh God. Lochan, listen, she’s going to be fine. She just fainted. She didn’t fall very far—’
‘Please let me see her!’
‘Sit down for a second and I’ll ask the nurse.’
Miss Azley disappears through the door. I sit on one of the plastic chairs and press my fist against my mouth, my lungs crying out for air.
Minutes later, Miss Azley comes out to tell me that Maya is fine, just a little shocked and bruised. She asks me for our mother’s phone number – I tell her that she is away and that I will take Maya home. She looks concerned and informs me that Maya needs to be taken to A&E to be checked for concussion. I insist I can deal with that too.
Finally they let me see her. She is in the small white anteroom, sitting on a bed, sagging back against a cushion, a lime-green blanket pulled halfway across her lap. Her tie has been removed and her right sleeve rolled up, revealing a thin white arm with vivid pink bruising. A large plaster covers her elbow. Her shoes have been taken off too and her bare legs hang off the side of the bed, a white crepe bandage enveloping one knee. Her copper hair, freed from its ponytail, hangs loose over her shoulders. Her face is drained of all colour. Cracked, dried blood surrounds a small cut on her cheekbone, the crimson stain contrasting painfully with the rest of her face. Violet shadows underline pink-rimmed, empty eyes. She doesn’t smile when she sees me: the light is gone from her face, a dull look of shocked resignation in its place.
As I take a step into the small space between the door and the bed, she seems to shrink away. Quickly I move back again, pressing my sweaty palms against the cold wall behind me.
‘What – what happened?’
She blinks a couple of times and studies me wearily for a moment. ‘It’s all right. I’m all right—’
‘Just t-tell me what happened, Maya!’ There is an edge to my voice that I can’t conceal.
‘I fainted while I was going down the stairs. I skipped breakfast and I was dehydrated, that’s all.’
‘What did the nurse say?’
‘That I’m fine. That I shouldn’t miss meals. She wants me to go to the hospital to be checked out for concussion but there’s no need. My head doesn’t hurt.’
‘They think you fainted because you missed breakfast?’ My voice begins to rise. ‘But that’s absurd! You’ve never fainted before and you hardly ever eat breakfast.’
She closes her eyes as if my words are hurting her. ‘Lochie, I’m fine. Really. Could you please just persuade the nurse to let me out of here?’ She opens her eyes again and looks troubled for a moment. ‘Or – or have you got classes you can’t miss?’
I gape at her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m taking you home with me right now.’
She gives me a little smile and I feel as if I’m falling. ‘Thank you.’
Mrs Shah calls a cab to take us to the local hospital, but as soon as we’re outside the gates, Maya sends the driver away. She moves away from me along the pavement, her hand trailing the wall for balance. ‘Come on. I’m going home.’
‘The nurse said you might have concussion! We’ve got to go to the hospital!’
‘Don’t be silly. I didn’t even bump my head.’ She continues her unsteady path down the road, then half turns, holding out her hand. At first I just stare at it, uncomprehending.
‘Can I lean on you a bit?’ Her eyes are apologetic. ‘My legs feel kind of wobbly.’
I rush to her and grab her hand, wrapping her arm round my waist, putting my arm around her. ‘Like this? Is – is this OK?’
‘That’s great, but you don’t have to squeeze me so tight . . .’
I loosen my grip fractionally. ‘Better?’
‘Much better.’ We move off down the road, her body, leaning against mine, as light and frail as a bird’s.
‘Hey, look at this,’ she says, a hint of amusement in her voice. ‘I got us both a whole day off school and it’s not even’ – she lifts my hand from her waist to get a look at my watch – ‘eleven o’clock.’ With a smile, she raises her face so that her eyes meet mine and the late morning sun washes across her colourless face.
&
nbsp; I force an uneven breath into my lungs. ‘Crafty,’ I manage, swallowing hard.
We walk on for a few minutes in silence. Maya is holding onto me tightly. Now and again she slows to a halt and I ask her if she wants to sit down but she shakes her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says softly.
God. No. The air starts to shudder in my chest.
‘It was my idea too,’ she adds.
I take a deep breath and hold it, turning my head away. If I bite my lip hard enough and force myself to meet the stares of curious passers-by, I can keep myself together for a bit longer, just a bit longer. But she can tell. I feel her concern permeate my skin like a gentle warmth.
‘Lochie?’
Stop. Don’t speak. I can’t bear it, Maya. I can’t. Please understand.
She turns her face towards me. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, Lochie. It wasn’t your fault,’ she whispers against my shoulder.
Maya goes into the kitchen while I hang back, pretending to sort through the post, trying to pull myself together. And then, suddenly, I’m aware of her silhouette in the doorway. She looks battered, with her tangled hair and crumpled clothes and bandaged knee. A burgundy stain is spreading beneath the skin of her cheekbone: in a couple of days it will have bloomed into a large bruise right across her cheek. Maya, I’m so sorry, I want to say. I never ever meant to hurt you.
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