‘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.